Page 57 of The Bodyguard Affair
“Not ridiculous. Adorable,” I say. “Actually, I wish I cried more. I don’t think I even remember the last time I cried.”
“Really?”
“Nope. Haven’t cried since I was a kid.” I was on the phone with my mom, telling her I’d been a good boy, that I’d behaved at school, basically begging her to come get Emma and me from my aunt’s. I’ll never forget what she told me: “Nolan, you’re ten years old,” she said, even though I was nine. “You’re a big boy. No more crying.”
“Do you…want to cry?” she asks, eyes narrowing to slits.
“I mean, there’s been a lot of times I probably should have cried, like at some of the shit I’ve seen overseas. But I don’t know, my body won’t let me.”
“I’m going to give you a list of my top five saddest movies of all time. You’re going to watch them and report back,” she decides. She texts me a list of movies withThe Land Before Timeat the top. “If you don’t cry at the part where the mom dies, you’re officially a robot,” she warns, standing with a stretch. When she lifts her arms, the hem of her shirt lifts a little, revealing a small patch of soft skin around her stomach. And don’t even get me started on the way her shorts hug the curve of her ass.
I smirk, questioning my ability to stand at this point. “Okay, challenge accepted.”
While we wait for her Uber, we go back and forth for a little while, telling each other about our terrible habits. I’m a horrible loser when it comes to games. She likes to fall asleep with the TV on. I tend to let my dirty clothes pile up for a couple days toolong before doing laundry. She takes showers long enough to drain the hot-water tank.
She turns around before getting into the Uber. “Nolan?”
“Yeah?” I manage, taking her in. Shit. She’s gorgeous.
“This was the best date I’ve ever been on. Even if it was fake.” She fiddles with the sleeve of her sweater, her clear, twinkling eyes reflecting the golden light of the streetlamp above when they find mine again.
I don’t stop smiling the whole way home.
Chapter 24
Andi
I didn’t think the sales forThe Prime Minister & Mecould get any better, but I’ve finally cracked #1 on Amazon in multiple categories. Never in a million years did I think that could happen to me. In a twisted way, it’s all thanks to the opposition. Bethany confirmed during a meeting with Gretchen that they’ve been aggressive in peddling the affair stories.
I know that what’s happened has nothing to do with raw talent. It’s pure dumb luck. It’s about striking gold, writing what people want to read at the right time, and being privileged enough to get the visibility.
After years of struggling to hit readership in the four figures, despite endless hours on social media, trying to connect with readers, making elaborate promo graphics, always being behind the eight ball on marketing trends, I’d always assumed it was me. Maybe people didn’t connect with my writing. Maybe Isimply didn’t have the talent. Because of the self-doubt, I used my day job as a scapegoat. An excuse not to write anymore. What was the point in breaking my back, finding time to write books hardly anyone read? But I’m starting to wonder if I was wrong.
My DMs and emails are out of control to the point where I can’t even keep up, let alone respond. Most are positive: people begging for a sequel, saying they binge-read it in one sitting. So I’m taking Nolan’s advice and embracing the only positive to come out of this shitstorm.
It’s encouraging, at the very least. Ever since I met Nolan, my creativity has sparked to a level that I can’t ignore or neglect any longer. But now that so many new readers are finding my books, it’s like a fire hose, ideas coming at me before I can make an excuse not to do anything with them. I’m even coming up with lines and dialogue in my head while at work, all of which I furiously record in my notes app for when I can spin them into magic late at night.
Of course, life finds ways to keep me humble. The AC in my apartment stopped working for unknown reasons and I had to sleep two nights nude, with a fan on full blast, until my landlord finally decided to send an HVAC guy to fix it.
“I’m going to Laine and Hunter’s wedding in Mexico, by the way,” I tell Amanda casually.
“Shut up! You are not!” she yells, to the horror of the woman in downward dog next to us. Hot yoga isn’t exactly my first choice of activity on a Saturday morning, especially when my apartment has been a sauna the past few days. But I’m willing to suck it up for my sister.
“Yup. It’s the third week of August.”
“Why are you flying to Mexico for them?” she asks, annoyed on my behalf.
“Because I’m happy for Laine and I want to support her,” I say truthfully. “And because Mexico might be fun.”
“Um, only if you have someone to hang out with. I volunteer as tribute!”
“Well, about that. I actually have a date.” My face involuntarily softens into a giddy smile when I say it.
She springs up, catching my smile before I can force it back to neutrality. “A date? I thought you were ‘too busy to date’?” She makes air quotes.
“I am. He’s just a friend from work,” I inform with a casual wave of my hand, even though it’s starting to feel anything but casual. The Redblacks game confirmed the worst. Something I’ve been scared to admit since Squamish, or even the first night we met: that I have a crush. Acrush.On a man who’d rather eat glass than stay in this city much longer.
Not that it matters, because he doesn’t see me that way. In fact, he specifically said he appreciates our “friendship” because we can talk about anything, which is true. I’ve opened up to him more than I’ve ever opened up to anyone. And maybe that’s a normal thing friends do. Maybe I’ve been so starved for friendship all these years since Laine and Hunter, I can no longer tell the difference between a reciprocal friendship based on a solid foundation of trust, and a romantic relationship. That must be it. Either way, I need to get my feelings in check, quick.
