Page 7 of And Then Came You

It’s incredible. My penis increases in size with every convention. Soon, it’ll be three feet long and require its own zip code. I may be well-endowed, but I’m still within legal limits.

But it’s the last part of this woman’s statement that hits like a fist, not that I haven’t heard it before. Because I know how to preen for the camera, I must be an ignoramus—one without feelings to boot.

“I don’t care how stupid Samuel Bernard may be. That’s not the head I’m interested in.”

Whoever claimed that only men are pigs has never been around many women.

I storm past them, a knowing glower on my face, but I don’t say a word. What’s the use? My manager was quick to point out, early in my career, that my hot temper would only distance fans.

Fans equal dollar signs.

Basically, we’re all whores to whoever is writing the checks.

After a quick shower, I sneak out a side door of the hotel and head for my favorite haunt—the neighborhood bookstore. Over the years, I’ve found one in every city that I frequent, a place to huddle into books and escape the stares of the outside world.

I feel them looking. The women openly ogle me, the men sneer with jealousy, and the older folks catch sight of my tattoos and piercings, turning away in disgust.

They all look, but no one ever sees me. They never take the time to look beyond the wrapping. I suppose they don’t think I’m worth the time or effort required.

I can take it on the chin and claim it’s their loss, but the truth is that it’s mine, too. Glamour and celebrity are a cloak to cover the loneliness.

But Lexi is different. She’s the first woman I can remember who was neither openly flirtatious nor tittering around me as if I were something more than human. Oh, she was a bundle of nerves, but that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the jackass sharing her crib.

Lexi met my gaze head-on, and her wit was on point.

Too bad she’s not my type. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

I stroll into the bookstore and head for my favorite stacks. Books discussing existentialism, poetry, and philosophy. Little do most women know what truly turns me on—ideas to roll around my brain, opening me up to alternative ways of thinking. But that would involve actually conversing with me about something besides my washboard abs. I get it; I have a six-pack, and I work my ass off to maintain this body.

But at the end of the day, it’s just a body.

As I round the aisle into the philosophy corner, I grind to a halt. My favorite chair is already taken—by the same petite brunette I rescued earlier today.

“You’re in my seat.”

Lexi breaks her gaze from the book, squinting at me through her glasses. “Your seat?”

“Yes. I sit there every time I’m in New York.”

She nods her head, her lips pursed. “You’re telling me you frequent bookstores on your time off?”

Oh good, another one who thinks I’m a moron.

“I do have a brain,” I snap.

Her eyes widen as she bites her lower lip. “That was a terribly bitchy thing for me to say. I meant it as sarcasm, but it came out… it came out dreadful. I’m sorry, Sam. Here, take the seat.” She moves to an adjoining chair, a rueful expression on her face.

“Don’t worry. I’m used to it.”

“Never put up with assholes. A wise man taught me that today. Thank you so much. I owe you.”

I want to continue scowling at her, but damn it, Lexi seems so earnest. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You did. You forced my hand. Carl was always a jerk, but so was I, for allowing his behavior to continue.” She cocks her head, trying to read the title of the book in my hands. “What are you reading?”

“Nature by Ralph Waldo Emerson.”

“Ah, one of my favorites.”

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