Page 8 of The Good Girl

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Amity shakes her head, a grin on her face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say with a straight face.

“Let’s get a drink,” she suggests, and we weave through the crowd towards the bar.

On our way, we get stopped a few times by some of the guys. By the time we finally reach the bar, my throat’s so dry, I could really use something to drink. Amity asks for a bottle of water, and the prospect behind the bar grabs one for her beforehanding me what I assume is a Coke—until I take a mouthful and nearly choke.

I consider giving it back, but then think,When in Rome… I don’t really drink, but if I go out, I sometimes have a cocktail or a glass of wine—but that’s about it. Here, though, I figure I can let loose a little, knowing Amity won’t let anything happen to me. I down the whole thing before I chicken out and set the glass back on the bar. Two seconds later, another one appears like magic.

“So, where’s G?” I ask, taking a sip of my drink.

“He went to pick up Havoc.”

“Ahhh…” I nod, feeling a little warm as my muscles start to relax. Havoc’s going to be the next president of Raven Souls, and this is his welcome to the club party.

As we sit at the bar sipping our drinks, the noise in the room increases, and I turn to see what’s going on and spot a huge guy with a scowl surrounded by a bunch of people. I’m guessing this is Mr. Soon-to-be President. The man is insanely hot, so I look away before I do something stupid, like faint.

Taking another drink, I start telling Amity about the email, but I can see she’s miles away.

“And so they said they’d pay for my flights and accommodation in London if I agreed to be a guest speaker on their panel. All I have to do is go on live TV in my bra and thong.” I finish my drink and place the empty glass on the bar, and poof! Another full glass is there.

I smile at the prospect before looking at Amity, who’s still nodding along with what I said until my words finally register. “Wait, what?”

“I was wondering if you were listening to me.” I throw a coaster at her.

“I’m sorry, I’m just distracted. What were you saying?”

“I saaaid… the people organizing the book signing I told you about have agreed to pay for my flights and accommodation, aslong as I agree to be a guest speaker. They’ve had a few people drop out, and when they asked in their Facebook group who they’d like to fill in, they picked me. How cool is that?” I say excitedly before taking a sip of my drink.

“That’s awesome, Pippin. You’re going, right?”

I smile at her excitement for me. It feels good to share this with her, but my smile fades when I think about letting her down.

“I promised I’d be your assistant.” I look down, swirling the drink in my hand.

She gives me a look. “It’s London. You have to do this. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“I know, but I’m so damn nervous. I wouldn’t even have a passport if it wasn’t for you forcing me to get one. I didn’t think I’d ever actually use it.”

“You’ll be fine, but what about people knowing what you look like? You have a pen name for a reason, right?”

“It’s not my readers I’m worried about. I don’t mind them knowing what I look like or even having pictures taken with me.” I take another drink. “The pen name’s to keep Dad and his damn congregation off my back. I’m not worried about them being at the convention and discovering my secret, 'cause then they’d have to admit to being at SmutFest.” The thought makes me giggle.

Feeling lightheaded, I wonder if I should stop drinking. But then I see the glass in my hand is magically fully again and decide it would be wasteful to throw it away.

“Good point,” Amity says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “These organizers are legit, right? I don’t want you getting sold into a slavery ring or something. If I have to jump on a plane and save you, I’ll be pissed.”

“But you would save me, right?” I bat my lashes at her.

“I’ll always save you. You know that.” She bumps me with her arm, making me grin.

“You know I’m soooooooo lucky having a superhero as a bestie,” I tell her, and she laughs, stealing my drink from my hand. Wait, is she sniffing it? I love her and all, but she’s soooo weird.

“How many of these have you had to drink?” she asks me.

I try to count them up in my head, but my brain isn’t braining. “Only a few,” I tell her because that’s a good number. “The very nice prospect keeps filling up my glass when it’s empty. The service here really is impeccable. Five stars.”

As Amity turns to talk to the prospect, I rest my head on the bar for a moment, feeling dizzy.

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