Page 34 of Trip Me Up

13

NIALL

I don’t knowwho thought it was funny—Qiana, God, the universe—to put two people who’d been together all day—airport, airplane, car, book signing, car, an awkward dinner—in adjoining rooms at the Chicago hotel.

I sure didn’t.

While I fumbled for my card key, Sam entered her room with Bilbo under her arm, dragging her suitcase behind her without a second look at me.

Maybe she was angrier than she’d let on about the dedication. Or maybe she was tired like me.

I shoved the card into the slot. Red. I pulled it out and thrust it back in. Red. Again. Flash of green, but I fumbled the card, and by the time I pressed the handle, it’d locked again. Slide. Red. Slide. Red. Slide. Green, and this time, I slammed down the handle and opened the door. I slipped through and kicked it shut. Fucking technology. Why couldn’t I just have a goddamned key?

I dropped onto the bed, my eyelids drifting closed. It had to be a bad sign that I was already exhausted on day two of the tour. Give me a barn full of stalls to muck or a field to till, and I could go all day. Put me on an early-morning flight, drive me around in a car, and make me answer a question or two, and I felt like I’d been run through the combine.

My satchel lay beside me, its familiar old-leather smell a small comfort in the unfamiliar room. Gabi had loaded it with brand-new notebooks. It wasn’t that late, and my fingers had been tingling all day. I hadn’t had a moment to pick up a pen to capture the words Lobelia and Nieven had whispered, and now my hand was too heavy, my eyes too bleary to write.

An unexpected flash of glass caught my eye. The phone Gabi had insisted I bring on tour. Not a Swiftphone, but still a smartphone with the intimidating icons I’d refused to decipher.

I had promised I’d call Gabi that night to let her know how the tour was going so far. And tired or not, I kept my promises. I grabbed the phone and turned it on, pulling off the tape flag Gabi had placed on the power button. While I waited for it to power up, Sam murmured next door. Was she talking to her dog? It was a soothing cadence. My eyelids drooped.

Angry beeps startled me awake. Missed texts. Missed calls. Voice mail. The phone was just one more irritation.

Gabi’s number was easy to find because it was the most recent missed call.

“It’s about time you called me. Was your phone off?” Her voice was sharper than the soft Midwestern accents I’d heard today with their flat Os and two-syllable As.

“I have to turn it off when I’m at events.”

“You know there’s a vibrate feature, right?”

“The vibrations distract me, too.”

She made a sound like a frustrated bobcat. “So how’d it go?”

“Fine. My part was fine. Sam was nervous, but she did okay.”

“Fine. Okay. Where do your book-words come from? I have to read your manuscripts with a dictionary beside me, and you give me one-word descriptions of two days’ worth of book events.”

“The events were well-attended. The audience was supportive and enthusiastic. Happy now?”

“Better. What’s Sam like?”

“You’ll never believe it.”

“Believe what?”

I turned away from the wall my room shared with Sam’s. “Sam Case is actually Samantha Jones. I met her in—”

“Oh. My. God. Samantha Jones the socialite? The grad student? What the hell? Didn’t you see her twice when you were in San Francisco? And the fact that she’s a writer, too, with yoursame publishernever came up?” A keyboard clacked in the background.

“No, but—” At first, I’d felt the same way. But the anger had evaporated right about the time my fingers started to tingle. “She said she thought she could get out of the tour.”

“Wait. Circle back. You liked her. You said she inspired you. You dedicated the fucking book to her, and now she’s on tour with you?” If Gabi’s voice went any higher, only Bilbo would be able to hear it. “Maybe that’s why she wanted to get out of it. You’re a total creep.”

I flopped back onto the bed. “I know,” I moaned. “I apologized. At the signing.”

“For all of it?”

---