Chapter Nine Alexa, What is a Celebrity Crush? #2
“Seriously, Draw? Look at everything here. The adventures. The fight for good.” I didn’t say it, but the thirst-trap men. Draw would do well enough on a book cover of his own.
“The fight for good? You mean Queen Elthra’s holy campaign to keep the queendom together?
My dear, everything is steeped in layers of ego, divulging values, and families across the continent that think they’re better than everyone else.
Besides, surely you have your own adventures with your cars and your compactors? ”
“Computers,” I corrected him. “And, no, not really.” I tried not to sound so sad. “I think eventually, the computers are going to take my job and then I’ll have to do some other made-up work. My life is pretty quiet. I don’t...I don’t have a lot of friends.”
“Who has friends? In Landsome, we only have varying degrees of enemies.”
I smiled. “I thought you were my friend.”
Draw looked amused. “Am I?”
“Well, sure. You’re the person who’s made sure I was fed and had clean water to drink. And now, after tonight, you know my darkest secrets. So, it seems you’re my friend, but...” A playful tone entered my voice. “I’m not sure I’m your friend.”
He didn’t laugh like I thought he would, but he smiled, the first one to really touch his eyes. “Why not?”
“I haven’t been able to help you the way you’ve helped me. I just confessed my entire life, but I don’t know any of your secrets.”
He leaned forward, intrigued. “Am I not in the books? I like to think of myself as a big enough player at court.”
This was actually becoming quite fun. “Oh, you’re definitely in the books—the man who uncovers every plot, the solicitor Ironclaw can call upon to produce just the right legal document to trap a lord in his own web or a treaty to end the battle.”
“So, I’m featured quite often?”
I internalized a squeal of panic. I should have seen that coming. The truth was, he wasn’t. Sherry Whitehorse used his character to push the plot along when needed, but otherwise he was well overshadowed by the heartthrob Ironclaw.
“Things are a bit different in person than what the books describe.”
“How so?”
“I mean, there’s lots of similarities,” I stalled.
“Your hair is the same—it’s described as longish and very dark.
You’re Ironclaw’s cousin. You control the queen’s affairs and write all the contracts.
” I brightened. “You discovered the cover-up at Held Camp because that page in the ledgers was missing. Remember how you looked at the marbling on the edge of the book and noticed the broken pattern?”
Draw smiled again, more eagerly this time. “That little thing made it in the books? I uncover missing ledger pages nearly every day. Everyone’s trying to escape their full share of taxes.”
“I think it was mentioned because Ironclaw was there.”
His smile evaporated. “I see. And Ironclaw is the main character?”
“I suppose if there had to be, like...a main character, yeah.”
Draw rolled his eyes. “Taller than the average man, can lift half a cow, and that makes you worthy of being a hero? If you’ve noticed, dear Dottie, my cousin is lacking a bit on the analytical side.”
“Sure, but he has you to figure out the mysteries. You make the story good.”
Draw didn’t want to hear my praise though and pushed again. “But what warrants Ironclaw being the focal character?”
“I suppose because women like reading about him.”
“I see, and are most of the readers women?” He didn’t wait for me to answer, putting the pieces together. “And you’re the biggest fan...oh, dear ships at sea. I knew it. You’re in love with Ironclaw.” Draw drew his hands to his chest as if clutching pearls.
“Noooo,” was all I said. It was all too true, but somehow it bothered me. I didn’t want Draw to think of me that way.
“You’ve read enough about me to know I know when I’m being lied to.” He covered his face with his hands. “Ironclaw,” he said disdainfully. “Fit for the meat market if not the study.”
“Well, readers have other favorites too. Sir Aaron Key, for instance, he gets quite a few point of view chapters. Even the Master of Horse has one or two. With you, well, it’s likely you don’t have any because you’re gay.
Women readers like your character—you—but they can’t visualize themselves with you. ”
“What did you say?”
“Erm, visualize. Like think about themselves with—”
“I know what you meant with all your subtly. No, I mean, you said I was gay?”
A spark of fear flew through me. Perhaps I’d been offensive or flippant, and that was totally on me. “Oh! You should know that’s a wonderful quality, celebrated even, where I’m from.”
Draw shook his head in disappointment. “Condensed to a trope on a page. Lady Dottie, I’m not gay.” Something flashed in his eyes. “I enjoy the mind first...which means all people, or at least those able to match wits with me. Why would the writer narrow her representation of me?”
“Despite what I said, representation isn’t...great where I’m from, and there’s a bisexual character in book one, the Lady of Elms Grove. Maybe the author didn’t want to repeat the demographic?”
“My legacy,” he groaned and slumped down in his chair.
––––––––
DO YOU THINK THE AUTHOR is watching us right now?” It was the first time Draw had spoken in a while. The room had cooled very slightly and I’d moved a tiny throw pillow in front of me so I could half lean on it, chin in my palm as I rethought where I’d gone wrong and how I could make it up to Draw.
“Sorrel said the author died. A different writer finished the series, a man.”
“Died?” He seemed to be about to say more but shook his head. “This other writer then, you could meet him. Tell him...about me. Make him write me better. I want to be one of those point of view characters you were talking about.”
“I don’t even know the man’s name. If I email the literary agent, they’re going to think I’m nuts—”
“Lady Dottie.” Draw suddenly looked invigorated. “You said you’re here to fix the story.”
Draw slid from his chair to a footstool by my side. Even seated so low, our faces were nearly of a height. I felt hyperaware of my humid hair and my sweat-damp nightgown now cooling.
His voice dropped, huskier than I’d heard it. “It stands to reason you’re a conduit of change. The events you call forth can’t be ignored.”
Draw’s eyes had taken a sudden intensity. He flicked his gaze down to my lips, then back up.
I was glad I had the pillow in front of me because I was sure my nipples had responded to the chill.
“Lady Dottie,” he said again. “Can I kiss you?”
I only then realized I’d unconsciously leaned into him when I sat upright.
Draw was a pleasant side character who sidestepped both enemies of the queen and plot holes as if he were doing the tango.
Admirable, effective, but there was no pleasure in reworking a character’s sexual preferences so they would like me in my own fantasies, so I’d never thought of the book Lord Draw in that way.
And here he was, growing more real by the moment, a friend, I thought. A handsome one, but one I couldn’t objectify on demand. Ironclaw was different—somehow still fictional.
I held still, thinking, looking into Draw’s olive eyes, the candles casting his high cheekbones in gentle relief...
“I don’t think that’s going to solve anything,” I said at last.
“If no is your answer, I understand.”
“I’m not saying no. You’re very attractive, but I’ve thought of you one way—”
“The wrong way. Please? I love women’s bodies, and as long as Ironclaw isn’t around, I often get them.”
I snorted a laugh. “I’m sorry, I just... I’ve never seen you beg.”
“Fine. I’ve been with three men and one woman, a woman I greatly enjoyed my time with.
You’re a beautiful woman. I’ve seen men looking at you since you got here.
Yesterday, I wasn’t sure of you myself. A dalliance with a thoughtless nymph is not my style.
But that’s not what you are, is it? Yes, I’d like to be written down correctly, but you’re growing increasingly appealing to me. ”
I bit my lip, and he took my hesitation as a challenge, slowly tugging the pillow away. He rested one arm on the chair, bringing him even closer.
His eyes swept down my body, and I knew, this time, he saw the twin pearls on my chest. He brushed a thumb against my exposed forearm.
When his eyes darted back to mine, it sent a shock to my stomach.
I had no doubt that if Sherry Whitehorse was writing this scene, she’d say my pupils dilated and my breath sped up.
What was I there for, if not to—what did Sorrel say?—loosen up?
I had to admit, the attention Draw was lavishing me with was intoxicating.
I leaned into him as he gently placed one hand on my neck and wound his fingers up into my damp hair. My lips parted, but he didn’t move into them like I expected.
Instead, he left the stool and went to his knees in front of me, tipping forward into the chair, his body straining the fabric of my nightdress across my knees.
“You should know,” he whispered, “I can invent all kinds of reasons, but I don’t do anything I don’t want to.”
He brushed his lips against mine, nearly a question, and then I shuddered into him, kissing him back.
His hands became more urgent at the back of my neck before moving down to my shoulders, pulling me toward him.
He was an urgent kisser, as if he needed to take me in, taste me.
I found myself responding, leaning into him so much that we stumbled to the floor, kneeling in front of each other.
He wound an arm around my waist and easily pulled me in. One hand went to my hips to hold me against him, while the other cradled my head, all the while kissing me. I felt a hunger explode inside me and kissed him deeply.
I felt so much in that moment, desire yes, but also a tenderness for Draw I hadn’t expected.
Then, without knowing why, I pulled back. He straightened halfway, as well, breathless. He made to run his hand up my side but stopped, realizing I had paused.
“I can’t—um, I’m not ready to do more than that,” I said.
“Of course.”
We detangled ourselves and stood. I felt his eyes on my face, rapidly trying to read what I was thinking.
It was starting to feel awkward so I smiled and patted his arm. “Thank you.” Ugh, don’t thank him. “I liked it a lot.”
Then I fled the room.
He called my name once—not “Lady Dottie,” but just “Dottie.”
“Good night!” I called back.
I didn’t look. My head was swimming and I only hoped he wasn’t too hurt. The fact was, I did like it. I liked it a lot. I felt like I could have consumed him whole, the short experience far more invigorating than the sloppy make out sessions I’d had.
But the thought that stopped me from doing so was the fear that if I woke in the morning next to Lord Draw, my Fairy Bookmother would choose that moment to send me home.
And I wasn’t ready to go. It was more than the fact that I’d never have a chance with Ironclaw—and honestly I had no idea what to think on that front anymore—or that I had a mission to fix book five.
It was that in the span of about twenty minutes, Draw had become truly real to me.
And eventually I’d be forced to leave him behind.