So. Long.: Bad Boy Next Door (34 page)

A car honks. I pop up.

Crap. Green.

I step on the gas, and my car shoots forward. I gnaw my
bottom lip the rest of the drive home from Jackson’s place.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

Damn.

Well, it’s only been two months since I had my last pill. I
wonder how long they stay in the system.

Why, oh why haven’t I renewed my birth control prescription?

I was too busy
not
having sex, because I was trying
to have my book ready to publish before Valentine’s Day. That was my sole
priority.

I was writing a book and trying to tell other women how to
catch the man of their dreams.

Today, the
anti
-man of my dreams fucked me until I
could hardly breathe, brought me ten times the pleasure any other guy has even
wanted to give—much less delivered—and now I might be pregnant.

And he’s a confirmed bachelor.

Please, God, don’t let me be fertile.

TEN

Shouldering my large carry-all filled with colored permanent
markers and the beautiful bookmarks I had made just for this purpose, I head
inside.

Excitement bubbles in my chest, almost too much to contain.
My cheeks already hurt from all the smiling I’ve done this morning. And the
only person I’ve seen so far is Shay.

The bookstore manager shows me where to set up my small
folding table and gives me the low-down on how things usually go. As I tie my
brand new banner across the front of the table, the bubbles in my chest turn to
lead weights.

What if no one wants me to sign their book? Will anyone want
one of my books? What am I doing here? No one’s even going to speak to me.

The store is sparsely populated at the moment. Maybe things
will get busier as lunchtime approaches.

I breathe into my palm. Okay, my breath is fresh. I check my
nails; no chips. I pull the small mirror from my bag and reapply my lip gloss,
smiling to make sure I don’t have spinach in my teeth.

What am I thinking? I don’t even eat spinach. Deep breaths.
Relax. It’s all right.

I arrange and straighten the books and bookmarks for the
fifth time before the first person comes over. If no one is interested, it’s
fine. No different than if I’d have just stayed at home. Except at least then I
could have gotten some laundry folded.

There she is. And she’s smiling. A reader. Someone who’s
actually read my words. The petite woman saunters over, her gaze darting around
the table at my books.

When she looks up at me, she says, “Do you know where the
ladies’ room is?”

I slump.

“I think it’s over in the far corner.” I smile. “Have a nice
day.”

Damn.

The next person who stops by the table actually picks up a
book, but then lays it back down without even making eye contact.

Foot traffic does pick up not long before noon. Several
people stop by, pick up the book, check the back cover copy, and lay it back
down, walking away. Finally, someone who’s read my book stops by.

“Oh, I saw you on Jackson Tremaine’s show and picked up your
book. It was great.”

My heart soars. “Thank you. I’m so glad you liked it. Have
you caught the man of your dreams?”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it. That chapter on respecting
his drive to protect his woman—that was amazing. I’d never really thought about
that. But I think you’re right. I used to think men were just being
knuckled-headed jealous types, but now it makes all the sense in the world.”

We chat until another reader comes up. And another. And the
lead weight lifts so I can breathe again. There’s a line forming. An actual
line.

Shay bumps the table with her hip, handing me her book,
smiling. “I really need you to sign my copy.”

I roll my eyes. “Your copy is already signed, silly woman.”

“I know, but not at a for real book signing.”

And this is why she’s my best friend. Even though she
doesn’t even believe in love, she believes in me.

I sign book after book. Apparently, a lot of people watch
Jackson’s show. The excitement builds in my chest. I can’t wait to take a look
at sales figures. Maybe things have finally started to take off. Maybe someday,
I’ll be able to afford a place of my own. A new car. A vacation.

The line is excited. Murmurs morph into talking, which
becomes more animated by the second. Their excitement is contagious, and it
infuses me. Like a symbiotic relationship, they’re happy because I’m here, and
I’m thrilled that they’ve all shown up to see me. My fingers cramp, but I
wouldn’t give up this experience for the world.

I hand the lady in front of me her book with a smile. “Thank
you so much, and best of luck on snagging your dream guy.”

I grab some more bookmarks and arrange them in front of me.
A man steps up to the table. I glance up.

Jackson stands before me, book in hand. “Hello, Ms. Fitz.
Please sign my copy.”

I have to suppress the instant excitement that seeing Jack
generates in my chest. Not even a full twenty-four hours has passed since I
last laid eyes on him. This is silly.

I lick my lips. “Sure thing. Who would you like me to sign
it to?”

“Just make it out to Bull. He was really impressed with you
when you two met. He hopes to see you again really soon. Like, maybe later
today?”

A little spark of excitement lights in my belly. I shrug
with a grin. I sign the book.

Bull,

Keep your master on a tight leash. A ton of women will
try to use this book to catch him.

All the best,

Ronnie Fitz

I hand him the book with a wink. “There you go. Tell Bull
I’ll catch up with him later.”

A blonde with even bigger tits than mine, though probably
perkier, stumbles up to Jackson. “Oh, my God. Jackson Tremaine! Can I get your
autograph?”

Jackson grins at the girl. “Absolutely.”

She turns to me. Her eyes narrow for a moment, but then she
smiles. “Can we use your pen?”

“Of course.” I hand Jack my pen. “Be my guest.”

He wags his eyebrows at me like a cartoon villain.

She pulls her scoop neck sweater low, until her boob is at
risk of a wardrobe malfunction.

Quick, cover the children’s eyes.

Jack’s grin morphs into a grimace. He turns to me, as though
asking permission. Yeah. As if.

I give him a one shoulder shrug. “Not my dairy, not my milk
cow
.”

“Thanks.” He turns and signs the top edge of her left
breast. “You have a good day now.”

She looks panic stricken. “But… can’t we get a picture?”

“Sure. Why not?”

She readies her phone to take the shot. He turns to the side
and props his arm on her shoulder, and she turns into him so that her boobs
press against his side. She snaps the photo. Jack tries to pull away, but she
grabs the back of his shirt and takes a second and third.

Finally, she lets go, only to throw herself at him, all but
smearing herself down his front side as she hugs him and profusely thanks him.

The next person in line watches all of this in awe, as do I.
At least, by the time the girl lets Jackson loose, I’ve peeled my chin off the
floor.

The floodgates seem to open on Jackson as soon as the girl
walks away. He’s suddenly surrounded by a growing crowd. My line dwindles.

I let out a sigh.

“Thunder thief.” Shay drags over a chair from one of the
tables set up for customers.

“Nah, it’s fine. I had fun while it lasted.”

Jack catches my attention, pleading with his eyes.

I lift an eyebrow and mouth, “Sorry?”

A man steps in front of my table.

I pull my gaze from Jackson, focusing on the only person now
interested in having my attention. Oh, he’s big. The guy is probably at least
six-three.

I smile. “Hey. How’re you today?”

His expression changes from indeterminate emotion to mad as
hell in point-zero-seven seconds. “Are you Ronnie Fitz?”

All the warm and fuzzies I’ve collected all morning scatter
like so much dandelion fluff in the harsh, freezing wind coming off this guy’s
glare.

I stand, backing up a step. “Yes. Can I help you?”

Shay pushes her seat back and rises as well.

The man steps closer, pushing the table into my legs, and
his voice booms. “You
bitch
. My Sara left me after she read your book.”

My eyes widen. Shay’s hand finds my back, steady and
calming.

I square my shoulders. “Sir. I’m so sorry that happened to
you, but I’m not sure what you want me to do.”

“She said something about seeing how I’d never be a good
partner for her.” He grabs the edges of my table and flips it, sending books,
pens, and the rest of the paraphernalia fluttering to the floor.

The world stops. A hush falls over the room.

The man takes another step, reaching for me. I freeze.
Shay’s fingers dig into my back.

A hand clamps down on the man’s shoulder as Jackson says,
“Sir. I suggest you back the fuck off.”

The man turns, his fist flying right in front of my face. I
throw my arms around his bicep. He stops, and his crazed eyes find me.

“What the hell?” He shakes me loose.

Jackson draws back and coldcocks the guy in the jaw. The man
stumbles. He falls. I push against his shoulder as he slumps into me. He’s
bigger than he looks. More than I can hold up.

Shit.

I trip backward into Shay. We end up in a heap on the floor.

Jack shakes out his hand as he jumps over the guy’s legs and
grabs his wrist. “Ronnie, you okay?”

“Just get him off of me.”

The man’s bulk is deadweight on my legs. His head lolls to
the side as Jackson drags him off of us.

The crowd erupts in applause, and several people either take
pictures—or maybe they’re filming this mess.

Great.

“C’mon.” Jack pulls me to my feet, calling over his
shoulder, “Someone get security.”

Shay pops up like she’s on springs. “That was crazy.”

Jackson pulls me into his arms, his hand covering the back
of my head. “What were you thinking, grabbing hold of him like that?”

“I don’t know. It was a reaction when I saw him turn to hit
you.” A shiver runs through me.

He sweeps my curls aside, pushing my head back, and looking
at my forehead. “You sure your head’s all right?”

I nod.

He lays a lingering kiss at my temple. “Silly woman, I can
take a punch. What was all that about anyway?”

The crowd stares, so I pull out of Jack’s embrace, brushing
my slacks as though they’re covered in dirt. “I guess someone named Sara read chapter
fourteen,
Traits Make the Man
, and decided he wasn’t the right choice
for her. Apparently it was my fault that she found him lacking.”

Jackson picks up my table and sets it right. “Must’ve been
one helluva chapter.”

I roll and unroll the gossip rag. Less than twenty-four
hours. Man, the rumor mill sure doesn’t waste any time. I get out of the car.

When Ronnie answers the door, she’s wearing some sort of
yoga get-up. Her nipples poke out under the thin fabric of her top. The heat
that’s been simmering barely under the surface since I last saw her stokes into
a low boil.

I tweak the tempting pebble.

She smacks at my hand with a grin. “Hey. What are you doing
here? You didn’t call.”

I close the door and lean against it, holding out the paper
to her. “Here; I figured I may as well be the one to break the news.”

Ronnie reaches, but pulls back before she takes it, eyeing
it like it might bite.

I hold it up, letting it unroll. A large photo of me
clocking the douche at the bookstore with her hanging onto his arm in the
background takes up almost the entire cover. A smaller thumbnail picture of me
holding her close, her head tucked against my shoulder, is off to the side. The
headline reads,
Jackson Tremaine, Knight in Shining Armor.

I shrug. “Probably not a huge problem. But it might be best
for us to avoid being seen together, or speculation will grow.”