Page 6 of Muscle Cub

I knew he thought he was being polite by asking, but there was nothing more specifically awkward than having to convince someone who clearly isn’t your audience that they didn’t have to act interested in your book. And nothing made that more difficult than having to yell about it in a crowded bar over loud dance music. “Literary fiction. It’s really just one book that anyone would know me for.”

“Two books!” Eric corrected, shoving his fingers in our faces.

Technically, it was three books if you counted my research, which was academically published due to the success of the first novel. But we were at a naked campground, where I still held some small hope of getting laid, and it probably wouldn’t be because of my fiction or my thoughts on twentieth century British literature.

“We don’t speak of the second book,” I shouted at Eric for the hundredth time. To Austin, I said, “It was all a while ago.” I meant the hoopla—the “fame”—as much as the publication dates. At the rate things were going, there might never be a third novel.

“That’s really interesting.”

“Is it?” I arched an eyebrow, daring him to show me how easily he might lose interest. “Why? Do you read?”

“I mean, I can.” Austin’s expression was so believably innocent and earnest like he was pleading with me to find him worthy of the conversation. It was disarmingly sweet, and if the humor had been intentional, it was a pretty fucking clever comeback to my bitchiness.

I didn’t want to smile, but I couldn’t help myself.

Austin grinned too. Smugly. He knew he’d won something. A little battle of wits.

Cross conversations between Austin’s friends and mine demanded our attention for a while, but Austin remained standing close to me. I studied him as he interacted with others. As I’d witnessed at dinner, there was a stream of men who came up to him for a small verbal exchange or a touch, adoration on their faces like they were meeting a celebrity. They seemed happy to have any attention from him, and he was generous with it. He made eye contact with them and smiled and nodded along to whatever they were saying.

I was impressed. At my signings, I’d often taken sedatives and hid in bookstore bathrooms until the very last possible minute. This guy knew how to be a star. It was about sharing your light, making other people feel seen.

“Isn’t he precious?” Eric shouted close to my ear. He elbowed me, pointedly cutting his eyes to Austin. “He likes you.”

I rolled my eyes.

“He chatted you up pretty hard, and he hasn’t moved from your side. He’s usually bouncing all over the bar.”

As if on cue, the music changed to something thumping and sinister. Austin and his friends clearly recognized it, and they started dragging him toward the dance floor.

Austin grabbed my hand. “Come dance with us.”

“Oh, no, no, no.” I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Please.” He obviously thought pouting was effective, and it nearly was. For a second, I thought I might do anything to keep him holding my hand like this.

“I really don’t dance.”

Austin pinned me with a side-eye. “Can’t or won’t?”

I’d just said don’t. It was like he was purposefully mishearing me as a tactic. I grasped at a more convincing argument. “I’m terrible at it. Truly. Really awful.”

“You don’t have to be good at it.” Austin pulled a face. “You just have to do it.”

“Trust me.” My self-consciousness and four decades of awkwardness was hardwired at this point. “It’s not a pretty sight. I would only embarrass you.”

“Prof.” Austin tilted his head like he pitied me, which was a disturbing way to be looked at by a creature with large black horns. “You’re supposed to dance like nobody’s watching.”

“Oh Jesus Christ.” I rolled my eyes.

He was shameless with his cheesiness. He grinned, but he dropped my hand. He pointed at me. “All right. But just know, before this is over, I’m gonna get you to dance with me.”

Before what was over? The night? The weekend? Whatever he was implying, it definitely sounded like it went beyond this moment.

“But until then,” Austin continued, “I’m gonna dance for you.”

What the fuck did he mean by that?

Austin threw out his arms, the set of his jaw determined, his body language clearly transitioning into performance mode.