Page 1 of Bounty
Last-minute changes were never good, especially when the heart was set on something completely different. Partying like a rock star while Mom was away, for instance. Escaping her watchful eye at a friend’s house and getting lit all weekend long.
Alas, that wasn’t to be. My older sister, forever an irresponsible wretch, backed out on helping our mother with herbook signing. Specifically, Motorcycles, Mobsters, and Mayhem in Austin. It was Mom’s favorite event, one she looked forward to whenever it took place. Since confirming her attendance, she hadn’t stopped ranting and raving about her excitement.
Cassie went with Mom in her first year as an attending author. I joined Mom the next time. We had a deal. One year I’d go, and one year Cassie went. By right, this event should’ve been Cassie’s turn, but she backed out two days ago because of a big fight with jerk boy. Also known as her longtime loser boyfriend and thelurveof her life.
My sister could’ve done so much better than him. It was a sentiment echoed by our parents, because, shocker, jerk boy was a jerk. However, once I entered adulthood, I gave up trying to save her from the asshole.
Her life. Her choice. I was the last person she’d listen to, anyway.
Sighing, I dropped another dick lollipop in a cellophane bag and set it aside on the pile I’d amassed on my desk. I was stuffing Mom’s swag bags with the lollipops, little dick soaps, trading cards with characters from her most popular book, beaded keychains with a miniature cover of that book, a pen with her name, her business card, personalized magnets, stickers, and lip balm.
Whether I went with Mom to her signings, stuffing her swag bags always fell to me. Cassie never concerned herself with trivial details and Mom had a bajillion other things to do.
Once I finished stuffing the bags, I’d grab a bite to eat and bottled water, then slap stickers with Mom’s name in curlicue and tie each bag with a ribbon.
Half an hour later, I finished stuffing bag number two hundred. This shit took up my entire morning. Shoving my chair back, I stood and stretched, pleased with myself.
Stacks of books, boxes of mugs, tote bags, and T-shirts lined the floor of my normally neat room. Mom used a color scheme from each room in our house for her book covers. My cheery yellow and white décor didn’t suit a dramatic title likeThe Biker in Me, so she inverted those colors. Yellow became blue and white turned black. My lacy curtains and bedspread translated to dark smoke in her mind.
It worked—that book hit several bestseller lists.
I started toward my door, but an abandoned trading card sat at the edge of my dresser. When I grabbed the stack Mom left there, I must’ve overlooked this one.
Slice’s image taunted me. I bit my lip, shoved a hand in the pocket of my fluffy jacket, and immediately abandoned the idea of checking for a message from him. Or sending another one. Whatever it took for him to respond.
I laid the card back on my dresser and sat on the edge of my bed, needing a moment to gather myself and overcome my disappointment and despair over how my friendship with the biker had turned out.
Once the upcoming signing ended and I returned home, I’d decide if I wanted to demand answers about why he ghosted me or if I’d just forget him as he seemed to have forgotten me.
Mom pushed open my door and peeked in. “Are the swag bags finished?”
“I just have to cut the ribbon, tie the bags, and add your stickers, Mom.” I pushed excitement into my voice. If I didn’t think about Slice, I was fine. “I’ll be finished by dinner.”
“Get it done ASAP, love,” Mom huffed. “I don’t want to leave later than planned.”
We weren’t leaving until tomorrow, but I didn’t point that out.
“Slice will probably beat us there,” she announced. “We’re lugging all this stuff in a big old SUV, and he’ll be on that beautiful machine.”
“What?”
Slice was going? That changed everything.
Mom stepped fully into my room, still in her writer’s uniform of yoga pants and sweatshirt, her curls piled on top of her head in a messy bun. When she ran errands, she added socks, small earrings, and tennis shoes to her getup. She insisted it was a sufficient outfit, and dressing fancier was unnecessary. I disagreed. The minute I discovered I’d accompany her, determination to doll her up for the signing filled me.
As her assistant, she also gave me the responsibility of packing our bags. Her new, Effie-approved outfits already hung in the garment bag on my closet door.
We were supposed to spend tomorrow evening doing each other’s nails. That agenda had suddenly taken a left turn.
“Slice is coming?” The news buoyed me.
Slice was the model Mom had used several times on the covers of her various books. I met him at a photo shoot she’d arranged for a custom cover. Sparks flew immediately, at least on my end. Since then, we communicated through DMs and the occasional text. Any day I received a message from him was a good one.
I wasn’t sure if she realized we’d kept in touch.
She beamed at me. “I was hoping he and your sister would hit it off.”
So that was a no. She remained unaware of my close friendship with Slice, and my huge crush on him.
