Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
JASMINE
THREE WEEKS UNTIL MOTORCYCLES, MOBSTERS AND MAYHEM…
P inching myself, and not for the first time, I confirm I am awake and not dreaming. It doesn’t seem long since I envied Sheri for going to that amazing event as a reader, and now I’ll be attending as a signing author. Can life get better than this? Oh, it could, I might have a man like Strider by my side, but for now, I’ll concentrate on the good things and try not to miss what I can’t have.
Three weeks. On one hand, the time’s dragged. On the other, it’s flown by far too fast. Looking down the list of the authors attending, I feel like an impostor. How could my books ever be as good as theirs? It’s like the royalty of motorcycle club romance writers, and I’m not sure how I’ll fit in.
My nerves are worse as it’s the first signing I’m going to. I should have started with something smaller. I haven’t a clue what’s going to be expected of me, and I don’t want to do anything wrong or make a fool of myself.
One good thing is that the online support from other authors has been magnanimous and so, so, helpful. It seems most can remember being a newbie themselves, and even some old hands are still courting advice about things I hadn’t even considered. What kind of swag do readers most enjoy?
Eyeing the banner I erected in my lounge, I feel a sense of pride. It had only been from studying images of the last event that I realised it was needed. I’d had so much fun working with my cover designer to come up with something that had both my name and a slogan that represented my writing and with a, hopefully, tantalising background image.
Seeing J Frobisher written in such big words made me proud, but also made me question whether I’m suffering delusions of grandeur. Although I’ve four books published, I’m a baby in the author world.
When I go through the preorders, part of me is glad I haven’t published many more. I can’t believe the number of people who want the whole series to date. It makes me wonder how authors with forty-plus books cope.
My hands had actually shaken when I pressed the button, committing myself to purchase a large order for my paperback books. When the boxes had arrived, I’d nervously opened them, horror stories in my head of damaged copies or the right covers with the wrong contents inside. To my delight, and putting it down to beginners’ luck, everything I’d ordered was present and correct.
Daily, it seemed, packages arrived with swag—pens, bookmarks, and the patches for my motorcycle club, with which I’m delighted. I’ve also got some bags carrying my logo that are big enough to hold each set of books.
I’ve thought of everything, haven’t I?
A musical interlude interrupts my thoughts. Taking out my phone, I answer it.
“Sheri.” I chuckle. “Your daily check-in?” I don’t know why she calls so often, but I’m not going to complain. It’s nice to have someone to bounce ideas off.
“Look, I’m living vicariously through you.” She laughs back. “I’m beyond excited about going to Dallas. I can’t wait. I want to be a part of everything. ”
“I’m not complaining. You’ve been so much help. Those pens you suggested will be great for signing the books.”
“And don’t forget the markers. You’ll be signing shit all day. Readers had plush penises and everything last year.”
She’s my expert, and I doubt she’ll be leading me wrong. She certainly hasn’t so far. “Oh,” I tell her. “Those penis lollipops arrived.”
Sniggering, she asks, “Have you tried one?”
I snort. “I’ve managed to resist.”
“You’ve got your banner, table runner, lights for the table and assorted swag?” She gets down to business, running through a checklist we’d composed.
“All ticked off,” I confirm.
“Do you need me to do anything else?”
“I think we’ve got it covered for now. But, Sheri, please do keep checking in. It grounds me and helps. How are you doing?”
“I’m as big as a house. I can’t see my feet now. I’m sure I wasn’t this big with Maria.”
I hear the sigh in her voice and work to keep the envy out of mine. Foolish dreams. “You know the sex yet?”
“No, we want it to be a surprise. But I’m leaning toward a boy as I’m carrying it differently from last time.”
Briefly I wonder what it would have been like to have carried on with my pregnancy, but I shake that thought out of my mind. It’s a rabbit hole I can’t afford to go down.
Reference to her expectant state politely discussed, and Motorcycles, Mobsters and Mayhem prep out of the way, we talk about everything and nothing for a few minutes, then end the call.
TWO WEEKS
ONE…
Going through what I hope will be my final preparations, I’m again interrupted by another phone call from the person who’s given me so much help. “Yeah, Sheri, what is it? Have you thought of something I’ve forgotten?” I wedge the phone between my shoulder and ear as I skim through the piles of newly arrived books, sorting them into order.
“I think we’ve covered everything,” she replies. “But I’m calling to ask a favour. Do you think you’d be able to fit another assistant at your table?”
It takes a second for me to get on board with the subject. “I’ve got a six-foot table, so it’s possible, I suppose. I’ll have to ask. Who have you got in mind?”
“Wweelll.” She draws out the word then hesitates. “It’s Helo. Chaz’s woman.” She huffs a laugh. “I didn’t think she was the reading type, but she apparently has read your books and loves them. She’s said she’d love to come along if there’s space.”
Helo is already a legend in the Wretched Soulz, albeit she’s not an old lady in this charter. She was a Night Stalker, medically discharged, and now pilots a helicopter owned by the Arizona club. How she managed to tame Chaz, their president, I’ll never understand, but apparently, she did. He’s a beast of a man.
My mind suddenly starts racing. As a new author, I doubt my table will be too busy during the event, and at down times, it would be nice to talk to the woman with such an intriguing background. Maybe I could star a Night Stalker in one of my books. I could certainly pick her brain. “I’ll ask the organiser if she can come.”
“Thank you. It seems to matter to her a lot.” I hear the surprise in Sheri’s tone but dismiss it. I find it understandable that anyone would want an invite to such a prestigious event.
After the call, I shoot a message to Sapphire. She’s busy as all get out, so I’m grateful when, just a day later, I get a response and permission for Helo.
It’s starting to feel all too real. As the day approaches, when I’ll need to drive to the resort, I get more and more nervous. Sheri’s daily calls kept me grounded, and I thank fate that our paths ever crossed. I don’t know what I’d do without her doses of common sense. When I was looking for something suitable to wear, we FaceTimed, and I appreciated her invaluable advice.
Suddenly, the day comes when I need to pack up my car. Using my indispensable trolley—another of Sheri’s suggestions—I easily manage to get all the boxes of books and swag into my car. I then pack my clothes, an outfit for the meet and greet, one for the signing, and one for the evening event. Wearing new jeans and a flattering off-the-shoulder top, I finally collect all my toiletries and makeup and manage to get my small case into my now crammed trunk.
Like me, Sheri is going to arrive a day early so she can check the preorders with me. I don’t trust myself.
My stomach flutters with nerves and excitement as I drive to the resort. I’m excited to see Sheri again, intrigued to meet Helo, and above all, half terrified, half buzzing to meet the authors whose books I’ve devoured. I know I’m going to feel like a fraud among them. As for the readers? Hell, I’m going to be so nervous. People have actually preordered my books, and now I have to face them. Will I be tongue-tied? Will I make a fool of myself? Have I the right swag or sufficient to please them? Will they be disappointed when they meet me in person? What will they expect me to say? I’m actually glad Sheri’s StoryTeller will be hanging around. He may be enough man candy to distract them.
My phone buzzes, and I put it on speaker.
“Hey, girl, it’s me.” Sheri’s voice comes through loudly. “Where are you?”
Checking the GPS, I answer, “Almost there now. Five minutes to go.”
“We’ll be about half an hour behind you.”
“Amazing,” I tell her, genuinely happy that I won’t be alone. “I’ll wait in reception for you.”
“Great. See you soon.”
With no more to be said, we end the call. I drive up, park, then sensibly leaving my stock of books and other paraphernalia in the car until I can get Sheri’s muscular man to help me, I wheel my small suitcase to the hotel entrance.
A wave of nervous excitement goes through me as I walk inside.
Like me, a number of others have obviously arrived early, and I recognise a few from their profile pics. Oh, wow. There’s Amy Davies. She’s come all the way from Wales in the UK. I have to fan myself. And is that…? Hell, it’s only Winter Travers. Her books have been inspiring me for ages.
“J Frobisher?” An excited voice sounds beside me and hesitantly adds, “I’m Jessa Aarons. I love your books.”
My mouth falls open as I openly fangirl. I accept the hug on automatic pilot while telling her, “You’re one of my all-time faves.”
A few authors I recognise as giants in the MC fiction world I can’t bring myself to approach and introduce myself, feeling too much in awe. But I’m pulled into conversations that soon have me able to suppress my nerves. If all these wonderful people don’t see anything wrong with a baby author like me being here, why should I doubt myself?
Once at the front of the line, I get the key to my room, then turn around to see a very tall man pushing through the throng, clearing the way for a very pregnant woman.
“Jasmine!” she screams as she gets close.
I throw myself at her, remembering at the last moment to only give her a gentle hug. “It’s so good to see you, Sheri.”
StoryTeller coughs to clear his throat and then raises his eyebrows when he gets my attention.
Laughing, I put my arms around him, too, for a brief moment before pulling back. “It’s good to see you too, ST. Especially as my trunk is full of boxes that I need muscle to help me with.”
Sheri snorts and lightly puts her fist to her old man’s arm. “She’s got your measure, Jake.” She chuckles.
Shaking his head, StoryTeller smirks, then flexes those muscles that are going to be useful. “Come on, then. Put me to work.”
Indicating we need to fight our way back to the entrance, I follow StoryTeller as he again makes a clear path for Sheri so no one inadvertently bumps into her. I muse as I follow that most of the bikers I’ve met do not deserve the bad press that they get. They really are good guys at heart.