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“Then you got this,” Colt says. “She’s smiling down on you.”
Gently, he cups my shoulder, clad in a white bodysuit. It’s more like a long-sleeved, one-piece swimsuit with a silver turtleneck, intergalactic epaulets, and a black harness for my laser blaster. But instead of a plastic gun, I’m loaded with black Sharpies.
Colt’s right. I think of my mom and clench my fists, lifting my chin.
I can do this.
Mom used to pay me a dollar for every short story I wrote on an old typewriter. I loved tapping away on that thing, and she loved supporting my dream. She raised me like a pro.
“You sure you don’t want us to stay with you?”
Beau sounds worried, not about my outfit celebrating my genre. It’s for his fans, who have been rabid for me since their three pre-season wins.
Why?
Because when a reporter shoved a microphone in Beau’s sexy, sweaty face in the locker room after their first win, asking why Beau kept smiling on the field, he answered, “What can I say? I love the game. I love my team. And I love who’s waiting at home for me.”
I haven’t been able to leave his house since. There’s no way I’ll go to their games.
Not yet.
When Beau had the idea of my first book signing to cheer me up, I decided to turn it into my debut. I want to be surrounded by my kind of people in my favorite world—a bookstore brimming with romance readers.
But some people in line are wearing his Atlanta jersey, and some are press for sure. So, that’s why I came up with the plan with his publicist to give away signed Touchdown panties to every reader and fan here, too.
What can I say?
Go shameless or go home.
“Nope, I got this,” I answer Beau while he stops his truck in front of the back door. “Vale’s in there to help me. Ruby, too. There’s a shit-ton of security. We’re giving away romance books, football panties, blue alien sports bottles, and purple penis-shaped iced sugar cookies to all. What could go wrong?”
“Okay. Go for the win, baby.” Beau leans over so I meet his lips halfway. “Text us if you need us.”
We kiss, then kiss again. And I want to kiss Colt too, so I glance and make sure no paps are hiding. We’re clear, so quickly, I lean toward the backseat, and we steal a kiss.
“Proud of you,” Colt whispers over my lips.
“Where are you taking him?” I ask.
“Top Golf,” Colt answers. “I’m taking him on a date so your dad won’t hand us our asses the first time we play.”
“Sorry, guys.” I grab my Hello Kitty backpack. “That’s the one thing my dad does better than you.”
Beau grins as I open the door. “You saying you doubt our strokes?”
“Not if you keep practicing your strokes with Colt,” I tease back. “See you in four hours.”
“We’ll be right here,” Colt answers.
There are moments you want to slow time and this is one.
I don’t want this afternoon to end. I’m overwhelmed by meeting my readers. I can’t give enough hugs, signatures, and selfies because I cherish them.
All those lonely days when I felt like the geeky author in middle school, the one not invited to sit at the popular romance girls’ table. The one who barely made ends meet, so I sold dildos to get by.
Little did I know it was fate all along.
Because that’s where I met my friends at Delta’s. That’s where my twin and I grew even closer. That’s where I proudly sold vibrators to pay for kinky, cute alien book cover art. And that’s where this guy I loved to hate in college stumbled in on Valentine’s Day, buying a French maid’s outfit and stealing my heart all over again.
