by Anita Kidesu
Matt asked, “Why did you write her number on your hand?”
“I left my notebook in her mother’s office.” Jon shrugged. “She had a pen, I had a palm.”
Matt stood and crossed the room as far away from his brother as he could. “Uh, you might want to look at your hand. I think the moisture from the beer bottle did a number, no pun intended, on her number.”
Jon jumped from the couch, and Matt cringed. Jon had a long fuse, but when he got mad, holy hell, the world had better watch out.
“Fuck… Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Jon stomped his feet and swung his fists between each word. He picked up a pillow and threw it across the room.
When Jon slapped his palm against his forehead, leaving a streak of blue ink, Matt bit back a laugh, picked up the bottles, and took them to the kitchen. He hadn’t seen his brother in such a snit in a long time.
“I’m such a dumb shit,” Jon said. “I should have gone to my car and gotten some paper. I’m always losing information when I write it on my hand. When the hell will I learn?”
“Guess you weren’t thinking straight at the time.”
“Yeah. I’d just kissed her again, and…” Jon sunk to the couch and dropped his head in his hands.
“Your brain wasn’t functioning?”
“Yeah, neither of them. Well, at least one of them was, but not the right one.” Jon grinned. “I mean the right one was, but…”
Matt laughed. Jon was really tied up in knots. “I get it.” Sensing the worst of Jon’s anger was over, he handed him a fresh beer. “Can’t you go to her mother’s office and ask for it?”
“Sure, what a great idea. I’ll just say, ‘Hey Zelda, I was wondering if I could get your daughter’s phone number. I had such a great time fucking her on your bed in your office and using your condoms that I want to do it again.’”
Matt shook his head. “I guess that wouldn’t work. And I suppose you can’t find out from the university because of privacy.”
Jon took a swig of his beer and slammed the bottle on their new coffee table.
“Hey, watch it, will ya?” Matt yelled.
“Sorry. I’m just frustrated. I can’t imagine her going to her mother and asking for my number from the registration sheets, either.” Jon swiped his hands down his face. “Especially if we didn’t find all the condoms, and she doesn’t get the sheets put back before Zelda realizes they’re missing. She might put two and two together, and we’re screwed.”
The last comment was too good to pass up. Jon wouldn’t appreciate it, but Matt couldn’t help it. “No, you won’t.”
“Won’t what?”
Matt bit his lip. “Be screwed. You know—because you don’t know how to reach her.”
Jon threw a pillow at him. “Shut the fuck up.” He stood. “I’m going to bed.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Matt headed down the hallway to his room. “We have a lot of work to do on the next book before I leave for Comic-Con.”
“When is that again?”
“The third week in August.” He stopped at his bedroom door and faced his brother. “That only gives us about seven weeks to work on it. Plus, we’ll have edits for the last one to get done.”
Jon stood at his door and stared at his palm. “Good thing we’ll be busy so I won’t think about her.”
Matt shook his head, entered his bedroom, and shut the door. Poor sap. It must be tough falling that hard for some woman. He hoped his brother got over it quickly, because he didn’t want to spend his time looking at his glum face. He hoped like hell he never lost his heart like that. As he fell asleep, he realized Jon had never mentioned her name.
Chapter Seven
Matt stood behind his table in the convention center and tapped his foot to an up-beat tune playing at the booth beside his. It was playing loud enough to drown out the multitude of conversations going on around him. He was tired. Tired from the last seven weeks of constant work. Tired from his flight from Texas to Chicago for Wizard World Comic-Con. Tired from having to get up early this morning to catch a red-eye, then rushing to check into the hotel and hauling his stuff down to the convention center. Thankfully, he’d been able to get a room at the hotel next door and didn’t have to lug his things far.
He’d made the three o’clock set-up deadline by the skin of his teeth. The rush of other vendors getting ready had come to a halt, and they all now waited impatiently for the onslaught of comic fans. If he did well at this convention, Eric was going to get him into several more being held around the country. He wished Jon was more inclined to do the publicity part of their business and take the some of the publicity load from him.
Thanks to Eric and their mother, five banners—one for each of their books—stood behind him on portable display stands. He still couldn’t get over the fact that they had that many erotic comic books in print. Stacks of the books were displayed on a black tablecloth. Another banner stretched across the front of the table, showing their pen name and a picture of him—or maybe it was Jon. He wasn’t sure whose picture they’d used for promotion. It didn’t matter. This was the fruit of both his brother’s and his labor.
Pens, notepads, bookmarks, and other junk their publisher and Eric deemed necessary to hand out to promote their work were strewn between the piles of books. Matt sincerely hoped this convention would be successful enough that he wouldn’t have to haul any of the stuff back home. Any books not sold would go back to the publisher unless he purchased them himself.
Matt sat on the hard, metal folding chair supplied by the convention and looked at the various costumes and masks being displayed across the aisle. With this being Thursday afternoon and the first day of the convention, things were slow. Observing other booths would pass the time.
The woman working the booth was dressed in nothing more than a skimpy, bikini-style top and harem pants. A braid, obviously fake because it didn’t match the color of her own hair, hung down her back. She caught him looking, wiggled her fingers and winked. She licked her lips and twisted the braid around her fingers. She swayed her hips in time to the music, keeping her eyes on him. As the beat picked up speed, so did her hips and breasts.
What the hell was wrong with him? Normally, a woman coming on to him would send his libido into overdrive. But there was no spark of interest below his belt. Not even a flicker. Could be he was simply tired. On closer inspection, it could be that her makeup didn’t hide the fact she was a bit over the hill.
He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and pretended to answer it. He turned his back to the aisle. Hopefully, she’d get the idea he wasn’t interested. Even though he was hoping to get lucky while at the convention, it wouldn’t be with the harem princess.
There were other girls out there who would want to put a notch in their belt with an up-and-coming erotic novelist. They could brag to their friends about how they’d fucked someone sort of famous. He’d gotten lucky last year, but if the woman showed up again, he’d be hard-pressed to recognize her. He glanced over his shoulder. Hell, harem princess was still dancing and smiling at him. He pulled out a sketchpad and drew her, thinking she might make a good character in another book.
****
Lost in his world of human-like creatures, Matt didn’t notice the passage of time. A storyline had developed with each stroke of the pencil on the page. He didn’t notice a group of people watching him as he worked until someone finally spoke.
“Wow, you’re good.” A woman’s soft voice eased its way into his subconscious.
There was something about her voice that made him look up. His breath stuck in his throat. He didn’t know what it was about this woman that had caught his eye, or ear as the case was. There was nothing special about the baseball hat she wore with a braid pulled through the hole in the back. A white frilly, short-sleeved top and jeans covered a tall, slim form.
He stretched his neck back to look up at her. Her green eyes, the color of the pencil in his hand, kicked his heart into gear. He set the pencil on the table and
wiped his hands on his thighs.
Matt stood, gave a quick glance at the other four or five onlookers, and brought his attention back to the woman. Could she see his heart slamming against his rib cage? Heat crept to his face. Shit. Was his face as red as it felt?
“Uh, thank you.” Idiot. What a moronic come back, but his brain seemed to have lost its ability to function.
The woman picked up one of their books and smiled a smile so personal it was if she knew him. He knew damned well he’d have remembered if they’d met before.
“I’ve read this one and loved it.” She set it down and picked up their newest one. “Is this part of a series?”
“Uh, yeah.” Shit, man. Quit acting like you’ve never seen or talked to a woman before. That was Jon’s way of operating. Matt was always confident with women, but now? It was as if Jon had taken over his personality. “There are two more after this one.” Whew. He’d managed to string several words together without sounding like a total idiot.
She glanced up at him through her thick lashes and winked. Matt’s cock jumped. She was flirting with him.
“That’s good. How much for this one?”
“Uh.” Fuck. Think man. How the hell much were they selling their books for? “Um…fifteen dollars?”
Her grin slammed through his system. “Are you asking or telling?”
Matt licked his lips and tried not to slap himself in the head. Moron. “Uh, sure, fifteen dollars.”
“Do you take credit cards?”
The little device he used on his cell phone to swipe credit cards lay next to his phone. Now all he had to do was get his brain to recall how to use the damn thing. “I do.”
“Would you like me to sign it?” Matt asked after completing the transaction.
Again, her smile seemed to hold some type of secret. Was he missing something?
“I’d love that,” she said, her voice sultry, like she’d just come from a round of sex.
Matt got lost in her green eyes. Luckily, he’d sat down so she wouldn’t see his erection. “Would you like me to sign it to someone?”
“Why not to me?”
Sure, why not? He hated it when he had to press for a name when he signed books. Why couldn’t people just give him a name?
He held the pen poised over the title page. “And your name would be…”
Chapter Eight
Reenie couldn’t believe her luck in coming across Bart’s table. Why had he said he was an engineer and not an author? Maybe he was both. Either way, she enjoyed his books. After their time together, it wasn’t surprising his love scenes in the stories were so realistic. The man was a natural.
But why was he acting as if he didn’t know her? What the hell kind of game was Bart pulling? Had she simply been a one-time “slam, bam, thank you ma’am”? Sure, it had been six weeks and three days since that night of awesomeness in her mother’s office, but who was counting? When she had seen him sitting at his table, her heart had done a double jig while her skin heated. Her pussy clenched, recalling each and every detail of their encounter. Each word. Each touch. Each orgasm.
“Reenie,” she answered trying to keep sarcasm from her voice. As if he didn’t know. “That’s R. E. E. N. I. E.”
She’d been devastated when he hadn’t called. For some silly reason, she’d believed him to be a man of honor and hadn’t considered their encounter to be a one-night stand. It had been one of the most awesome sexual events of her life. Any future sex would be judged against her time with Bart.
Granted, a month after the eventful night, she’d had to change her phone number because of Perry. But that had given Bart four weeks to call. She had thought about looking online to see if there was a way to contact Bartholomew Sandberg, but that seemed too forward for her.
As he leaned over the book and scribbled something, Bart’s dark hair shone in the lights of the massive convention center. Reenie curled her fingers into her palms to keep from running them through the thick, soft curls. Her stomach flipped when she recalled licking the side of his neck. Her pussy fluttered at the memory of his cock inside her.
Why was he acting like he didn’t know her? She looked at the other people gathering around the table. Evidently, Bartholomew Sandberg was collecting a group of followers. Maybe he didn’t feel he could spend more time with her than anyone else. Yes, that had to be it. He certainly couldn’t deny what had happened between them, could he?
After closing the book, Bart stood, handed it to her, and took her hand in his. “Thank you for stopping by.” He looked deep into her eyes. “I hope we see each other again.”
When he engulfed her hand in his, sparks of electricity arced along her nerves, settling in her core. Her heart skipped a beat. Surely, he noticed her damp palms. The way he gazed at her now unsettled her, excusing when he had acted like he hadn’t recognized her.
“I hope so, too,” she answered, sliding her hand from his. Keeping her gaze on him, she backed away from the table, only stepping on the feet of two people in the process. Her mumbled apologies seemed to satisfy them. Before walking away, she looked over her shoulder. He stared at her until giving his attention to the next fan.
It took all she had not to skip down the aisle. He remembered her. She stopped. Shit. Why hadn’t she given him her phone number again, or told him where she was staying, or at least suggested a place to have a drink? Damn. Staking out his booth probably wouldn’t be wise. Stalking him could get her in trouble. Besides, she knew how it felt to be stalked. If he’d wanted to be with her, he’d have called before this.
Reenie clutched the book to her chest, weaving through the increasing crowd of people yet not taking in any of the commotion going on around her. After bumping into a group of comic book wannabees, she found a bench to relax, setting her precious book beside her. Tonight, she hadn’t dressed in costume, but starting tomorrow, she’d wear her first of many hanging in her room. Maybe she’d stop at Bart’s table again tomorrow to see his reaction.
A person dressed as a villain from one of her favorite movies hurried through the crowd toward her. Even though he wore a mask and had a hood pulled over his head, from the way he moved and his body type, he resembled Perry. Her heart pounded in her ears, black spots flickered before her eyes, and her chest contracted. Moving to the edge of the seat, she tried to view the man through her lashes. The recurring sense of fear zapped through her system. Since coming here, she hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling she was being watched.
How the hell had Perry found her? Reenie grabbed the book, ready to bolt. Which way should she go to escape? As she rose to head in the other direction, a woman broke from the crowd, approached the man, and threw her arms around him, in the process knocking down his hood. Long, bright-red, curly hair flowed to the man’s shoulders.
Reenie dropped back to the bench. Her breath hitched, and a sob rose to her throat. She pressed her palms to her eyes. It wasn’t Perry. She couldn’t live like this anymore, always wondering, worrying when and where he’d show up.
Last year the two of them had gone together to a different Comic Con in California. It had been a disaster. Perry thought her interest in comics and comic book characters was stupid, and spent the weekend telling her so. For the first time Comic Con was ruined.
In her mind, if a person loved her as Perry had proclaimed, but they didn’t share the same interests, it was wrong to put the other person down for that unshared interest. She hadn’t belittled him for enjoying the opera, which she hated with a passion, or his love of golf, which was the dumbest sport in existence. She believed couples could have separate hobbies and still remain in love.
Reenie headed to the hotel connected to the convention center. In the beginning, she enjoyed his attention. But as time went on, he questioned where she went and who she went with—even if it was her girlfriends. He began planning outings without telling her and expecting her to drop everything to be with him. It was suffocating and irritating. Her friends tried to tell
her that he was too obsessive, but she didn’t listen.
Looking back, she realized it was a classic case of him taking over her life, and she hadn’t seen it until it had been too late.
Reenie fingered the raised print on Bart’s book as she walked to the hotel. In the six weeks since her night with Bart, Perry had become even more of a problem. He’d gone from sending her roses and candy to calling her a whore, showing up wherever she was and issuing threats. Had he seen Bart and her in the parking lot? Her mother had convinced her to contact the authorities, who couldn’t do anything except issue a restraining order. Fat lot of good that had done.
Perry had tried to sign up for the trip to Greece, but thankfully, her mother had told him all the slots were filled. It wasn’t the truth, but the jerk couldn’t know that. Reenie stood before the elevator doors. When the doors finally opened, a throng of people dressed in costumes heading to the convention and after parties filed out. She stepped in and pressed the button for her floor.
Tomorrow, she’d get into the action of the convention, which would hopefully include some skin-to-skin time with one Bartholomew Sandberg. Tonight, she’d eat the snacks, drink some of the wine she’d brought, and read Bart’s newest book. Now that she knew the man who wrote the erotic novels, each word would have greater meaning.
****
The next morning, Reenie closed her eyes against the glare coming from her hotel room windows. She slammed a pillow over her head and groaned. Why the hell had she downed an entire bottle of wine last night? Usually, she stopped at one glass, but as she had become more and more engrossed in Bart’s story, the wine had simply flowed down her throat. Intending to have the large bottle last the entire weekend, she’d now have to get another one or spend the exorbitant price for a glass at the hotel bar.
Reenie tried to swallow around the cotton balls in her mouth. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t drink at all and not ruin the convention with a hangover. She lifted an edge of the pillow and peered at the clock. Crap, it was already eleven. She never slept this late but staying up until the wee hours of the morning reading wasn’t part of her routine, either.
