Page 53 of Trip Me Up

21

SAM

Okay,fine. You want to know the truth? I regretted it the second the words were out of my mouth.

Out of our systems. Colleagues.Bullshit.

I scrawled my fake signature across another title page and handed the book to the reader. Fake smile. “Thanks for coming.”

While I waited for her to shuffle away and make room for the next person, I stole a glance at Niall. He smiled, too, but it wasn’t his aw-shucks, humble-farmboy-turned-star-author grin he usually gave the readers. It was his camera-ready smile, and this time, his jaw was so tight it looked like he was trying to crack a walnut between his molars.

I’d wanted it to be true. I should’ve known better. Niall wasn’t one of my casual flings looking to scratch an itch. It wasn’t only lust that squeezed his green irises to a slim corona. His stubbled jaw had been slack with some overwhelming emotion—awe?—when he’d stared into my eyes after our kiss.It had been a lie. I’d wanted more even as I’d said it. That impressive bulge in his jeans? I’d wanted to touch it, taste it, ride it all the way to the next stop on the tour. I suspected even if he slept in my bed every night, I’d never get his careful-yet-confident touches, his worshipful-yet-dirty stares out of my system.

So I’d thrown the power switch, hoping when we came back online we’d have forgotten all about it.

Yeah, that hadn’t worked out.

“Ms. Case.” The voice was horrifyingly familiar, especially with X-rated thoughts flickering through my mind. I snapped my gaze off Niall and onto my brother’s saucer-sized Austin, Texas, souvenir belt buckle, then up his ZZ Top T-shirt and onto his bearded face. The corners of his mouth turned down, stern. His brown eyes glinted like smoky quartz. It was hisWhat the fuck, Sam?expression.

“Jackson.” He wasn’t holding a book, so I grabbed one off the stack. I winced as I scribbledTo JacksonandSam Caseon the page. I might as well have writtenLiar,too.

“We need to talk.”

I felt, more than saw, Niall’s head snap up beside me.

“You’re holding up my line,” I said through gritted teeth.

Jackson crossed his arms. “I can stand here all night.”

“Sam, are you okay?” Niall asked, low. “Is he—”

“I’m fine,” I muttered. What the hell was he doing in New York?

“Dinner. Six o’clock.” Jackson named a restaurant I’d seen on the way to the bookstore. “Bring your friends.” An evil smile teased at one corner of his mouth.

“Get out of my line,” I growled.

He raised his eyebrows. A throat cleared behind him.

“Fine.” He was going to find out eventually. “But I’m coming alone.”

“Perfect.” His gaze skated over to Niall and then back to my face. “See you at six.” He turned and strode away.

Niall leaned toward me. “You sure you’re okay? Who was that guy?”

“My bookie.” I fake-smiled at the next person in line and held out my hand for her book.

Later, when the people were gone and we were packing up, Niall turned to me, red eyebrows furrowed into a V, and said, low, “Are you sure about meeting that guy tonight?”

But it wasn’t low enough. Or Qiana had superhero-level hearing. “Sam’s meeting a guy?” She sidled over and nudged me. “Is he cute?”

“Ew. He’s my brother.” I kept my face down, focused on the green Sharpie in my hand.

I didn’t have to be looking at Niall to sense his stiffness. “Your brother?”

“Which brother?” Gabi glided over and perched one hip on the table. “Jackson or Andrew?”

My head shot up at that. She knew my brothers’ names? “Jackson.”

---