Page 66 of Trip Me Up

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NIALL

Sam might have saidshe brought Bilbo with her because he was her best friend, but Sam wasn’t Bilbo’s only friend.

Bilbo was a dog-whore.

From the moment I stepped out into the lobby with him, Bilbo drew admirers like buzzards to carrion. Two old ladies in silk suits stooped on creaking knees to pat his head. Bilbo grinned the whole time.

The bellman called out, “Wait, Bilbo Baggins,” and hustled over with a dog biscuit. Bilbo crunched it all over the hotel carpet and let the man scratch him behind the ears.

Outside, Bilbo trotted down the street like a don in a gangster movie, accepting accolades and treats as his due. Laptop-toting women, yoga mat–carrying women, and women with double strollers followed him and asked to pet him or take selfies with him. Bilbo would be featured in more Instagram posts that day than I was at that fantasy convention.

Not that I was jealous. Of a dog.

Did Sam attract this kind of attention when she walked him? Would the men who hung back and admired Bilbo at a distance have approached Sam if she’d been walking him? Would they have tried to get her number?

The damn dog was dangerous.

When a trio of tourists with more camera gear than Annie Leibovitz stopped us just inside the park, it gave me an idea.

I pulled out my phone to take my first-ever camera-phone picture. I’d send it to Gabi in a text message—another first.

I fumbled the phone, thumbing the screen to wake it up. Shit, it was out of batteries. Or broken.

Or…off.

I pressed the power button, and finally the screen came to life. And went through a minute’s worth of electronic music and video. The thing was more trouble than it was worth. Meanwhile, I accepted one of the tourists’ complicated cameras to take a group shot of them with their new best friend, who even smiled for the shot, his tongue lolling.

Ham.

My pocket buzzed. After handing the camera back to the tourist, I pulled out my phone. Gabi’s name flashed on the screen.

“Hey, I was just thinking of you,” I said.

“Me? The latest Tower Prize nominee is thinking of his lowly agent, typist, and erstwhile best friend?”

“Erstwhile?”

“It’s one of the many words I learned transcribing your manuscripts. It means former—”

“I know what it means. Why are you my erstwhile friend?” I found a bench in the park under a streetlamp as the sky faded from sunset pink to twilight gray. Bilbo stretched out at my feet.

“Why did I have to find out about the Tower Prize from the freaking internet? My friend Niall would’ve called me to share the good news, maybe even come over with a bottle of bubbly. So when I got no call, I thought, fuck, he got the shaft again. Let’s see if that phony princess, Samantha, got a nod. And, lo and behold, there’s both of your names on the list of nominees.”

“Sorry. If I win, I’ll be sure to thank you in my acceptance speech. I was distracted.”

“Whenyou win. Distracted by the nomination or something—someone—else?”

“Sam was a little overwhelmed by the announcement. I had to make sure she was all right.”

“And?”

“She’s better now.” Gabi was my best friend, but I wasn’t about to tell her I’d relaxed Sam by eating her out. “She’s been on edge. Especially after that dinner with her brother. I’m not sure what’s going on with her.” She might’ve laid herself bare for me, but her mind was still locked up tight as the crown jewels.

“She’s an enigma, all right. She’s not nearly as swanky and snooty as I expected. She seemed pretty cut-up over that kid’s drawing.”

“Sam likes kids. She’s good with them.”

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