Page 93 of Smut

Then we pressed publish.

And we sat back.

Waited.

Until the book was live.

Falling for the Secret Male Stripper, with its pithy blurb and headless model on the cover (holding a Photoshopped ruler, because of course he’s also a teacher) popped up on Amazon, ready to purchase.

We did it.

All systems are a go.

Amanda is curled next to me on the couch, her feet pressed up against my side, nursing a glass of red wine. Her glasses are off and her hair is down and her face is flushed for so many reasons, but I know one of them is because I just went down on her moments ago. I can still taste her on my tongue, something I don’t mind lingering.

We both have our laptops out, and we’re both on Amazon’s KDP page monitoring our sales. The Facebook ads just started running, so we’re waiting to see if that translates into results because at the moment, we have zero.

I glance at her. “You sure the ad is running?”

“Yup,” she says, flicking over to the tab. “But I don’t think it’s been viewed yet. What about the bloggers you contacted?”

“They said they’d leave their reviews on Amazon today.”

“And they’re five-star reviews?”

“The ones I saw on Goodreads were,” I tell her. “But then there were a few one-star reviews from users who hadn’t even read the book.”

She scoffs. “Why would people do that?”

“Who knows. Maybe they saw the word “stripper” in the title and got offended.”

“Or maybe they read the blurb.”

“Or looked at the cover.”

“Maybe it’s my mom.”

“Maybe a stripper broke their heart and it’s a trigger book for them.”

“Any sales yet?”

“Nope.”

After a while, the waiting game gets pretty boring. And tense. And I know what we’re both thinking: we’ve made a huge mistake. The whole thing has gone tits up. Really, who were we kidding?

“Let’s go for a drink,” I tell her, desperate to get us out of this funk. We hop in Mr. Mean, cruising around Oak Bay before we head to Spinnakers. When we get to our usual table, Amanda brings out her phone and I can tell she’s going straight to the KDP site or the Top 100.

I hold out my hand. “Give it to me.”

Her head snaps up, a guilty, pleading look on her face. “Oh please, I have to know.”

“Nope.” I wiggle my fingers. “Give it or you’re getting a spanking later.”

A wicked grin spreads across her face and she holds the phone close to her chest. “Promise?”

“Fine. If you don’t give it, no spanking.”

She grumbles, rolling her eyes, but it works. She hands it over. I take her phone and slip it in my pocket.

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