Chapter 4
FOUR
My girls and I went from table to table, getting the books we’d buddy read together signed first. We joked with the authors and quoted our favorite lines back to them.
We talked to other readers while in line and gossiped over publishing tea.
Truly, it was the most fun I’d had in a good long while.
And possibly the most money I’d spent on myself ever.
After I purchased a rabbit shifter novella where the bunny had more abs than Miles Teller in Top Gun, a bit of guilt clawed up my spine.
I didn’t really need that book. I didn’t need any of the little trinkets or that crochet vagina.
This extra money could have been used to buy the boys something nice.
And what about this trip? I probably should have spent this weekend with my kids.
What if they needed me during this strange transition in their lives?
What if the twins forgot to pack their lacrosse uniforms again?
No. I stuffed the worry and guilt down. My boys were old enough to take care of themselves. Let Alanzo worry about uniforms for a change, even if his engagement party was later this evening.
Should I text him just in case?
I pulled out my phone but stopped myself. This had been one of Alanzo’s biggest complaints about me during our relationship. He said I pestered him too much. That I got on his case about bills and dishes and putting his dirty clothes in the hamper.
It enraged me to no end.
Why couldn’t he just do those things? Why did he force me to put down my role as wife and take up the mantle of manager?
But honestly, I was a damn good manager. I kept all four of the men in my life in line. I wondered if that was why it irritated Alanzo so much. Maybe he hated not being the one calling all the shots. He was certainly like that during sex—when we’d had sex.
Who cared now? He was his future wife’s problem.
My phone buzzed. A picture of the twins in their uniforms popped onto the screen.
Carlos
Don’t worry, Mom. Got these dorks dressed and to the game on time.
My heart swelled with pride. But it hurt, too. I hadn’t been in a different state from them ever in their lives. What if they wanted me to call them and wish them luck but didn’t want to bother me?
Yazmine and Katie pulled out the books for the next signing. Like a bewildered ghost, I floated behind them, my thumb hovering over my phone.
“Go call the boys,” Yazmine deadpanned.
“I’m sure they’re fine.” I waved my phone in dismissal but didn’t put it away.
“They are. But you’re not. Call them.” She held out her hand. “I’ll get your book signed and personalized for you.”
“Are you sure?”
Katie took my cart. “Go. But don’t forget we’re going to see your favorite narrator next. I saw him post about giving away free penis pens.”
“Too bad they aren’t life-sized,” I grumbled.
“From the looks of things, you wanted something larger than life.” Yazmine wiggled her brows.
The girls’ giggles trailed after me as I headed toward the door. I pulled up Carlos’s number when I heard someone call my name.
Victoria.
I stopped.
My jaw dropped, because the person calling me sounded exactly like Marcos Medina—my favorite audiobook narrator. The very person we were supposed to visit next, according to the girls’ itinerary.
I didn’t turn around, because why in the hell would Marcos Medina be calling my name?
Victoria.
There could have been a dozen other Victorias here. But just in case, I casually peeked over my shoulder. My posture slumped. It wasn’t Marcos. He was at his table signing copies of his most recent audiobook narration, Sentient Sex.
Victoria, Marcos’s voice sounded like it was right beside me—impossibly, because he currently was talking to a man sporting a Banned Books Are Sexy shirt. Victoria. Over here.
I whirled around and found myself standing in front of a table laden with the hottest and most exquisitely detailed artwork I’d ever seen.
There were ethereal fae with golden headpieces and broody vampires with blood trickling down their bare chests.
Sexy bare chests. Another print was of a gorgeous woman with a pointy witch hat and curves for days.
Her sultry eyes followed me when I turned my face side to side.
Toward the rear of the table sat the artist’s more salacious prints.
Sex scenes. Fingering. Fellatio. The works.
Each scene was hotter than the next. One was of two jacked men kissing while jerking each other off.
Another was of a woman getting rammed by a centaur.
The look on her face screamed of pleasure and pain.
I found myself biting my own lip. I wished I could remember what that sort of climax felt like, but how could I?
Alanzo’s dick was far from resembling anything centaurian.
Victoria.
My head snapped toward the end of the table.
Small figurines stood immobile like an army frozen in time.
I peered around the table to see if there was someone pranking me behind it, but there was no one there.
The saleswoman was standing on the opposite side, helping a shopper pay for her goodies.
The customer’s cheeks were pink, and she was grinning from ear to ear.
I could see why. The print she purchased was of a woman floating in the air.
The grim reaper himself had her in his grasp, and he was pleasuring her with the hilt of his scythe.
Holy hell.
I returned my focus to finding whoever kept calling my name. A few volunteers were unpacking boxes nearby. They were too busy chattering over the merch inside to even notice me. There wasn’t anyone around that would match the tone of this person’s voice.
With a sigh, I stepped back. I must have been hearing things. Or, more likely, I was still half-drunk from all the wine we consumed last night.
I’m right here, Victoria. Look down, my queen.
I jolted. My gaze landed on the figurines once more.
Some of them were the 3D versions of the characters in the art prints.
Some were altogether different. There were mermen and female knights with rounded breastplates.
There were pirates, and deities, and all sorts of ripped monsters.
Whoever made these little statues was incredibly talented.
Each one was so unique and utterly lifelike. I was in awe.
One of the figurines stood at the very front.
He was striking. A Mexica warrior in his battle regalia.
I’d studied Mesoamerican history for a bit when I wanted to learn more about my own roots.
The jaguar mask he sported told me that he was high-ranking amongst his people.
My eyes trailed down his torso, to the tight V that disappeared beneath his beautifully made maxtlatl.
The artist even painted a jaguar design on the loincloth he wore.
“Do you like him?”
I jumped. I hadn’t realized the saleswoman was finished ringing up her customer.
She smiled at me with an open warmth. A diamond glinted from her incisor and her winged liner accentuated her siren-green eyes.
Her skin was a warm brown and covered in what seemed to be the most random tattoos. I instantly liked her.
“He’s magnificent,” I said. “Did the artist hand sculpt these?”
“I did. With the help of a bit of magic.” She winked.
“I believe it. These are so lifelike. You’re incredibly talented.” I bent down and took a closer look at the warrior. His thighs were a work of wonder. Thick and cut with muscle. Built for speed. For jumping. For thrusting. I could only imagine what he could do to me if he were real.
“Does that one speak your name?” she asked.
Speak my name? That was a specific word choice.
My pulse sped up as I let my thoughts roam to a world where he and I were alone and naked under a starry sky.
We could make that happen, that sexy voice whispered into my ear.
I jolted.
“Is something wrong?” the woman asked.
The stimulating voice came again: The only thing wrong is us not being together. Take me, Victoria. Take me and I will serve your every need.
Well, that was it then. I had officially lost my mind. Because that fucking toy was talking to me. His lips didn’t move, but I knew it was him. And the worst part? His voice alone made my nipples hard.
“How . . .” I cleared my throat. “How much is he?”
“They aren’t for sale, unfortunately,” she said.
“Oh.” Disappointment dripped inside me. I wasn’t even sure why. He was just a figurine. Nothing more.
She gestured toward the dozen or so statues. “These effigies are one of a kind. I am their guardian of sorts. I cannot let them be taken by just anyone. It is up to them who they go to.”
“Effigies? Doesn’t that mean these figurines were sculpted to look like someone in real life?”
Maybe I could look up whoever this warrior was.
If she based him off a model, I could . .
. what, exactly? Masturbate to his pic? With what?
My damn dildo had been taken by TSA. Technically, I flung it in the trash, but close enough.
I guess I could try to get myself off, but that didn’t seem nearly as fun as having my airport shlong.
The artist’s eyes sparkled with knowing. “All of these beauties carry the spirit of someone who once walked among the land of the living—either in this realm or in another. These souls didn’t find their true purpose in their time and have come back to fulfill it.”
“I see.” I didn’t. But she gave off eccentric artist vibes, so maybe I wasn’t cool enough to understand. Maybe she was a witch, here to grant wishes. Or maybe it was all from some fantasy book that I’d yet to read. Either way, the effigy was not for sale.
I wiggled my phone. “I need to make a call, but I’ll bring my friends around, and I’m sure we’ll purchase some art prints.”
She held out her hand to stop me. “Are you sure you didn’t hear any of these pieces speaking to you?”
There she went again, talking about one of them speaking to me. Did she hear someone call my name too? I frowned. She didn’t even know my name. How would she know if someone was calling it?
I shook my head. Thoroughly confused.
Take me, Victoria. Let me be your warrior. Let me rescue you.
I sucked in a breath. The voice sent chills crawling up my spine. It was too real. Too close. It made my skin too hot.
“I need some fresh air.” I reached over the effigies and took her business card.
BookCon Carry-On was the name of her company.
My cheeks flamed. I didn’t even want to think about carry-ons right now.
On the back of the card, just above a QR code, it stated: Now You Can Bring Your Book Boyfriend with You Anywhere You Go.
“What a fun concept,” I said. “See you later.”
Before she could say another word, I dashed across the room. My palm pressed on the door, and I shoved it open. As I exited the bustling ballroom, I swore I heard that baritone voice call out my name once more.