Chapter 6
SIX
There was no getting out of the Author Swish. That was what they were calling it. The Author Swish. What the hell was a swish, anyway? Nobody could answer that question. Nathan thought it was funny. He’d been caught up in the hoopla too. He was much more relaxed about it than I was.
“This is crap,” I complained as I checked over my outfit one more time.
We’d taken an Uber to the Cotton Exchange Tavern, a place I’d never been to before.
Nathan wanted to drink. Since I knew from experience that meant I might drink with him—crowds made me uncomfortable—Ubering seemed like the smart thing to do.
“Your outfit is fine.” Nathan wasn’t even looking at me. “It’s just a quick dinner before the event. We’re supposed to meet the other authors we’ll be stuck with for the next three months.”
I gave him a dirty look. “I wasn’t talking about my outfit. Although … what’s wrong with it?”
Nathan was exasperated when he finally looked at me. “I just said it was fine.”
“Yes, but you’re usually more exuberant than that.”
“Not about the way you dress.”
Is that true? I couldn’t remember. Rather than dwell on my khakis and polo shirt, I decided to change the subject.
“I don’t see why we have to eat dinner before the event.
It’s not as if I care about impressing these other authors.
” One author in particular could suck it big time.
I didn’t mention Bree for obvious reasons.
“You’re a ray of freaking sunshine tonight,” Nathan drawled. “Have I told you that yet?”
“I just … don’t want to hang out with the other authors.” I tugged on my shirt. It was powder blue.
“I’m pretty sure that you’re only talking about one author.”
Don’t say her name. I refused to look at Nathan. He’d been bringing up her name for a week straight, and I hated it.
“Let’s go,” I said to distract him. There was little Nathan loved more than a good dinner. He’d looked over the menu before leaving my house and already knew what he was going to order. “We can get an appetizer if we’re early.”
Nathan perked up but didn’t take the bait. “Have you seen her?”
I played it cool. “Who—Annette? I’ve only talked to her via email.”
Annette was the organizer of this little event. I pictured her as a wide-eyed intern type who thought all authors loved one another, when the opposite was true. I hated more authors than I liked.
“Not Annette.” Nathan wrinkled his nose. “Bree.”
Why did he have to say her name? “Doesn’t the name Bree remind you of a horse?”
“I’ve never really thought about it, but sure. I’ll look up what it means.”
“It means noble or strong,” I blurted.
Nathan arched an eyebrow. “You looked up her name?”
I’d walked right into it the trap. There was nobody to blame but myself. “I … look up names for my books all the time,” I said evasively.
That was true. Since I wrote high fantasy, I created new names by mashing old ones together all the time. I would look up the parts to make sure they fit.
“Oh, right.” Nathan bobbed his head in understanding. “Because so many of your characters are named Bree.”
I ignored him. “Let’s go inside.”
“I asked you a question.” For once, Nathan wasn’t backing down. Normally, he was like a kid—easily distracted. He was different tonight.
“I told you I went to her house to drop off the bill for the cart,” I replied.
“Yes. Did she pay the bill?”
“I don’t have the final bill to forward to her yet. Monday.”
“Right. Monday.” He looked thoughtful, which only served to make me more uneasy. “Will you take the bill to her house when you get it?”
“Well, I have to get it to her somehow.” Why did I feel so defensive? That wasn’t like me. I was normally the high-strung but quiet type. Now I sounded as if I was one shrill word away from turning into a tween girl.
“You could email it.”
“I don’t have her email address.”
“Text it.”
“I don’t have her phone number.”
“You could hire a courier to take it to her.”
“She lives a quarter of a mile away. That’s a waste of money.”
His triumphant smile squeezed my insides. “You and she have an interesting energy,” he said innocently.
Oh, I should have known he was going to take it to a weird place. “Yes, hatred is a weird energy,” I replied drolly.
“You definitely want to hate her,” he agreed. “I’m not sure you actually do, though.”
He was exhausting. I had no idea why he was my best friend. “You’re seeing something that’s not there.”
“What if I’m not?”
“Listen, she hates me just as much as I hate her. Whatever you think you’re seeing, you’re not.”
He studied me for one more beat then shrugged. “Let’s eat,” he said, starting for the door.
His capitulation felt too easy. Since I didn’t want to continue this conversation out in the open where anybody could see us, I opted to follow. “Yeah, let’s eat.”
“And drink,” he added.
“Let’s definitely drink.”
THERE WERE TWENTY AUTHORS participating, but I only recognized a handful of them.
Nathan and Bree were obvious. There was a blonde seated across the table next to Bree whom I recognized as well.
I missed her name when introductions were being made, but I’d seen her at events before.
I maintained my cool throughout the brief meet and greet, smiling at each face in turn.
I even managed to fake a smile for Bree.
Then she was seated across from me in what felt like a cruel joke.
“I’m getting the fried catfish,” Bree’s friend announced.
I was annoyed I couldn’t remember her name. Hannah? Heather? It started with an H. I was almost certain of it.
“I like catfish too.” Nathan had a smile at the ready for the blonde. “It’s a favorite.”
The blonde eyed him. “You write horror, right?”
“I do,” Nathan said. “Do you like horror?” He asked it in a lascivious way.
Nathan had his flirt face going, and it made me cringe.
Sometimes his flirting wasn’t targeted. He just flirted with anybody in the general vicinity because it alleviated his boredom.
Other times, however, he took it to the next level.
He was notorious for having one-night stands with other authors.
He was always up front that he wasn’t looking for anything serious.
That didn’t stop some of his temporary bed partners from holding grudges.
The last thing I needed was him firing up Bree’s friend, because that meant Bree would get fired up, which wasn’t a good thing.
Two seats down, a petite science fiction writer with full tattoo sleeves and a short crop of violent-purple hair sat up straighter. “I like horror.”
Nathan gave her a friendly smile before turning back to the blonde. “What do you write again? I apologize, but the introductions were really rushed. I missed your name.”
Thank you. I was so grateful he’d gone there I almost cried out in relief. Bree’s narrow-eyed stare from across the table told me she was suspicious of my reaction. Had I jumped in my seat? I wouldn’t put it past me. I slapped a cool, flat smile onto my face to pretend there was nothing amiss.
“Hayley Clifton,” the blonde replied. “I write clean romance.”
The light in Nathan’s eyes went out. “Oh, bummer.”
For some reason, his response had Hayley grinning. “I’m also a lesbian, and your reputation precedes you.”
Nathan turned sheepish, although there was a twinkle in his eyes. “I’m actually grateful that you’re a lesbian. You’re hot. I feel I need to be ‘on’ when there’s a hot woman around.” He used air quotes. “If there’s no way I can possibly get you into bed, that allows us to be friends.”
I expected Hayley to balk, but she didn’t.
“You’re pretty honest, huh?” she said.
“I believe the word is blunt,” I said before realizing I was going to say anything.
“I happen to like blunt people,” Bree fired back.
I lifted my eyes to glare at her. She glared right back.
“Whoo-ee,” Nathan said in exaggerated cowboy fashion, fanning his hand in front of his face. “Is it just me or are there undertones happening here?”
I wanted to kick him under the table. Maybe with a knife attached to my boot.
I couldn’t risk accidentally kicking somebody else, though.
My luck was such that I would crash my shoe into Bree’s shin and hobble her for the rest of her life.
While I didn’t really care about injuring her, the last thing I needed was the author community talking about it.
They’d never met a story they didn’t want to rehash three million times over the same seasonal conference circuit.
“There are definitely undertones,” Hayley agreed.
The look Bree shot her friend told me she didn’t like the teasing any more than I did. That was … well, a relief. Maybe Bree and I had common ground after all.
“I don’t like catfish,” I announced like an idiot.
Bree’s full lips twitched in amusement as she slid her gaze to me. “Well, that was quite the transition,” she drawled.
I ignored her teasing tone. “I don’t like fish at all, if I’m being honest. Well, actually, I can stand fried cod. I don’t hate that.”
“Cod is the mildest of all the fish,” Nathan said. “I can see why that would be your thing.”
There was an insult buried in there under the teasing. The problem with Nathan was that he never meant it as an insult. He just said whatever came to mind.
“I don’t like fish either,” Bree said out of nowhere. She was the last person I expected to be on my side, so I openly gawped at her as she perused the menu. “I like some seafood—mostly shrimp and scallops—but fish is gross to me.”
“Bree is a red-meat girl,” Hayley volunteered. “I keep telling her all that red meat will catch up with her one day. She doesn’t listen, though.”
“What good is living life if you can’t eat the good stuff?” Bree asked.
Since that was my philosophy—there was nothing I loved more than a rare steak topped with mushrooms and onions—I didn’t say anything.