Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
LUNA
Nerves take flight in my belly as I look at my reflection staring back at me from the hotel’s mirror. I twist my body from left to right, inspecting my outfit and practicing my welcoming, game day smile while doing so.
I don’t do well in crowds, I have what some refer to as a RBF face, but it’s not because I’m a mean person who enjoys scowling at others, it’s because I don’t always mesh well with others.
My mom says it’s because I’m sensitive, empathic even, and feed off others. So if they’re stressed out or having a bad day, I tend to pick up and exhibit their emotions.
This isn’t my first book signing as an independent published author, but it’s a significant one considering the genre I write.
Motorcycle club and shifter romance. Rawr.
I love creating an alpha man, both in and out of human skin, who loves getting down and dirty with his woman behind closed doors.
The more protective and dominant, the better in my opinion.
“You can do this,” I say, giving myself a pep talk. “Don’t let others’ feelings affect yours. You’re strong. You’re impenetrable. Keep that smile on your face, girl.”
Nodding my head, I swivel on my heels and pluck my laptop bag from the floor that I packed my personal belongings—wallet, keycard, as well as my cash and credit cards into last night before hitting the bed.
There are other talented writers attending MMM whose books I enjoy reading and would like to add their paperbacks to my bookshelf stash.
“Remember, Luna. You’re an author yourself so don’t go all fan girl on your unicorn authors.” That last reminder is said aloud as I close my hotel room door behind me. “It’s go time.”
From here, I have to keep my poker face on. I don’t want to be unapproachable, so I’ll be thinking of things that make me happy throughout the day.
The elevator ride down to the main floor is eventful, loaded with excited attendees. I don’t have my lanyard on saying who I am, and my profile picture on social media is my logo, so I’m not recognized by them as of yet. But my excitement for the day grows as I overhear them discussing my series.
When I was in school, I struggled to get good grades. As an adult, I was diagnosed with dyslexia—a learning and reading disorder that wasn’t tested in the school district we resided in and I attended when I was younger. I was always told that I was stupid and my dream of writing stories as they unfold in my mind was an impossibility as far as career goals go.
My mom always worried that I’d end up in a menial job and wouldn’t be able to support myself. But when I started proofreading for a few of my favorites and they talked me into giving my dream a try, I was surprised when I accomplished it. And after meeting a few new friends in the industry, and gathering my tribe, they helped me with editing, taught me how to format, hooked me up with cover designers as well as photographers, and they gave me their indepth attention when it came to smoothing out my plotlines and looking for holes so the stories flowed.
I will forever be grateful to them for taking me under their wings and teaching me how to fly. None of them judged me for misused words or spelling errors, and that gave me the confidence to continue along this path.
Their endless encouragement and teaching made a difference in how I approached my books. Some of them I’ve never met in person, then there are others who live nearby and we’ve had a few lunch dates plus group writing sessions.
I’m brought out of my thoughts as I near the ballroom where we’ll be signing, I reach into my laptop bag and pull out my nametag. Only, my limbs are severely shaking with nervousness and I end up dumping everything out of it.
“Shit,” I hiss as I crouch down on my knees and begin gathering my belongings. “Double shit.” I’m mortified that this is happening in front of an audience, I must seem pathetic in their eyes.
Muscular hands land before me, helping me wrangle up the things that rolled further away from where I’m kneeled.
“You okay?” his husky voice asks. It’s a soothing yet dominant tone that has my head snapping up.
When our eyes connect, the blood drains from my face. He’s possibly the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. He’s muscular in all the right places, his clothes are tight, showing off his powerful dimensions, and even though he’s wearing a ballcap on his head, I can tell his hair is dirty blond. His eyes are a piercing shade of green, they’re mesmerizing and drool worthy—he’s cover model material in the flesh. And I’m staring at him while making a fool of myself.
“Yes. Thank you,” I rush out, sounding out of breath before ducking my head.
Jesus, Luna. He’s a man not a Greek God , I internally scold myself.
When he reaches out, handing me my signing pens that weren’t within my reaching distance, and our fingers touch, I’m zapped with charged electricity. The hair on the nape of my neck stands on end as my throat dries out.
I’ve never had this sort of reaction to a man before and it has me feeling conflicted. I’m not good at flirting unless it’s being typed into a scene. My imagination is far better than I am during real life encounters.
“Damn, sorry,” he mutters. “I must’ve shuffled my feet on the carpet.”
“No biggie,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.
Once I’ve replaced my items into my bag, I stand up on shaky limbs and send him a shy smile.
“I have to get in there and finish setting up my table, have a good day.”
“Marcum,” he remarks. “It’s my name.”
“Luna,” I state, holding my hand out and shaking his. “I appreciate your help, Marcum.”
“Anytime, Luna,” he asserts, sending me a smile that has me becoming oxygen deprived.
I need to remove myself from his company before dark spots begin floating in my vision. He is simply gorgeous, and men of his caliber make me panicky. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve made a fool of myself enough for one day and it’s time for me to make a hasty retreat before I’m the one he’s picking up off the floor.
“See you around, Marcum.” I quickly turn around and scamper away.
I shake the blooper off and square my shoulders. I can’t let what happened in the hallway affect the rest of my day. I need to come off as self-assured and relaxed. Otherwise, I’ll end up making deals and wondering afterward how I came out earning less money than I spent on merchandise.
When I hit my assigned table, I rush around and open up my tool box that has my swag inside of it and start to place them neatly on the table. Making sure it’s eye-catching and not cluttered, I’m finally satisfied even though I know it won’t remain the same once the readers arrive.
My eyes widen into saucers when the mass amount of attendees begin jogging in. I knew it was going to be a packed house, but this exceeds my expectations and we haven’t even begun letting in the general admission ticket holders yet. Giddiness strums through me as a line forms in front of me.
“Hi,” I say to the first person I see.
“Hey,” she replies, sounding just as anxious as I am to be here. “I have a preorder with you. My name is Linda Cardova.”
“Great! Let me get that for you, Linda.”
Thankfully, I had the forethought to sign them and put the goodies inside my preorder bags before leaving home. Otherwise, with the line before me, I’d be nursing my hand after the event winds down. That may still be a possibility, but I’ll gladly deal with it later if even a quarter of the folks in the room buy something.