Page 141 of Lucky Shot
Her smile widens. “You’re booked solid, girl. Everyone wants to talk to you, and they are so excited about the book.”
I nod, feeling the first strums of genuine excitement. “All right. Tell me when, where, and what to say.”
She laughs again. “I’m one step ahead of you. Check your email.”
No doubt, I already have one waiting from her with a detailed agenda.
“You’re good,” I tell her.
“I know.” She purses her lips and lifts one shoulder. “Now, let’s go. We’ve got to haul ass to get back to the hotel for your dinner meeting.”
For the next twelve hours, I do nothing but eat, sleep, and talk about the book. Molly whisks me off to meeting after meeting, keeping me fueled with caffeine and sugar.
The excitement for the book is more than I ever could have dreamed. When I’m at my best I soak up their praise and allow myself to feel proud and happy. At my worst, it all makes me think of Nick and miss him so much it hurts. None of this would have happened without him, and I know he’d get such a kick out of it all.
On Thursday night, one of the event sponsors hosts a cocktail party. As I’m walking through the lobby, readers are starting to arrive. The convention kicks off tomorrow and goes through the weekend. The hotel staff are putting up the banners and signage for the event.
Tomorrow, thousands of people will be here. Book lovers from all over the world. The first time I came to one of these conventions, I was blown away. Ten-year-old me who loved books and writing and had very few friends who shared my hobby couldn’t have dreamed up this life.
The hotel is massive with so many different areas that it’s easy to get turned around. Luckily there’s plenty of signagepointing toward the conference area. Event posters, balloons, and publisher marketing banners cover the windows and walls. Seeing the cover of my book on the elevator doors is surreal in the best way. I snap a picture and text it to Olivia.
The noise of the party travels from the large banquet room to the bottom of the escalator. My nerves kick up a notch with every step closer.
As soon as I’m inside, I scan the room searching for Molly. I find her in what looks like a deep conversation with an editor from Lawrence Publishing.
I make my way to the bar and order a Corona because it reminds me of Nick. Once I have my drink in hand, I circle slowly around the room. I smile at industry people I recognize and say hello to other authors that I haven’t seen since the last event I attended.
I’m only starting to relax when I spot him. Matt stands in a circle of at least ten people. He has that air about him, charming arrogance that comes off as magnetic until you get to know him. He’s personable and well-spoken. And in a room filled with introverts, he carries conversations and enjoys being the center of attention.
Our gazes meet briefly. I have no intention of stopping to say hello, but another author calls out to me.
Leah Amaretti writes gothic romance. We shared an editor at my first publisher and is always lovely when I see her at events.
“Hi,” I say, stepping closer to her but still avoiding Matt.
“I heard you were coming, but I didn’t want to believe it.” She’s tall and fit and when she hugs me it reminds me of Travis’s bone-crushing squeezes. “I missed you last year. Where’ve you been?”
“Writing,” I say with a smile as she pulls back.
“I heard you wrote a sports romance?” Kenna, another author I’ve met a handful of times, asks with a smile that is filled with surprise.
Slowly the whole circle opens and readjusts to let me in.
“I did. Yeah.” I take a sip of my drink. My cheeks feel hot as I feel Matt’s gaze on me. Looking at him feels like giving him the satisfaction of feeling important but ignoring him also feels like I’m allowing him too much power over me.
“I love hockey,” Kenna says. “I had no idea you were sporty.”
“Me either,” Matt says. “New hobby?”
I flick my stare slowly to his. To everyone else I’m sure that his smile looks friendly, but I know better.
“Something like that.”
“I overheard Molly say you spent the summer interviewing a professional hockey player?” The statement comes out like a question as Leah’s eyes light up awaiting my answer.
“That’s right.”
“Which one?” she asks at the same time Matt snorts and says, “Those guys barely have enough brain cells left after a career of being knocked around all the time.”
