“Whoever that was, delete that photo right now!” Melanie commands.
I watch as a young blonde girl quickly goes to delete the picture, her cheeks turning red but not quite as red as Rachel’s are right now.
I give Melanie a disdainful look. “You would prefer we ended this tour in each other’s arms, right? Romance fanfiction writer not only rewrites Evan Michaels’ main character but rewrites him?”
She gives me a look of consideration. “It would sell better than ‘murder mystery author murdered by fanfiction writer on stage’.”
I huff. “Not going to happen.”
Then Rachel scoffs. “You think Iwantto be in your arms?”
Rachel has a crazed look in her eyes right now, like she could claw the flesh from my bones.
“I think it’s best if you two don’t see each other until you fly out for Los Angeles,” Melanie proposes. “Maybe both of you will grow up and act like adults by then.”
“Fine by me,” I grunt. “The less of her I see, the better.”
“Agreed,” Rachel mumbles, blowing a wisp of hair from her face.
Chapter 10
Rachel
Thepracticedebate,orforum, escalated quickly.
More quickly than I intended it to, but my nerves were soaking through my dress, and I couldn’t stand what Evan was saying about my writing. Just because my Barrett is different than his doesn’t make him false. Technically, they are both fictional, and it’s not my fault that so many people connect with my version more.
I’m busy sorting through the piles of my clothes, hoping wrinkles in my wardrobe will also wrinkle Evan’s face. If he is so disgusted with my writing, he can be disgusted with all of me.
Not that I really care, or at least I’m telling myself I don’t care. And besides, the only thing really worth caring about right now is that I have to make this book tour work for me.
My bank account is counting on this.
But more than that, my dreams are.
I splurged on three new dresses for the book tour with my first check. After all, what is enjoying a big break without a little celebration? I did get them on sale though.
By the time I stuff the final dress in my suitcase, I have to sit on the luggage to zip it up. Melanie told me I can pack anything and everything I want to. I can have as many bags as I need, but the truth is, I only have one carry-on and a larger one that I borrowedfrom Mal. I don’t exactly have a passport stamped with adventures. All my adventures exist on my computer.
Wonton is curled up on my bed, already moving in, knowing I’m moving out for a while. I’m positive the cat is ready for me to be gone so he can have Mal all to himself. I’m not exactly fond of the somewhat ugly yellow cat, either, but I suppose I might miss him, even if only slightly.
“Are you going to miss me?” I ask the cat, reaching down to pet him.
He answers by swatting at my hand.
“The feeling is mutual, just so you know. In the event that Mal and I divorce from our roommate matrimony, there will be no custody battle. You’re all hers.”
He meows at me, as if the knowledge in a custody agreement does make him feel better.
“All packed?” Mal asks as she appears in my doorway, leaning up against the frame that features peeling taupe paint.
She’s wearing her typical uniform—another athletic set that consists of a crop top paired with high-waisted yoga pants. This time they’re emerald, and her black hair is swooped into a low-hanging side ponytail. Wonton promptly hops off my bed to go to Mal.
“I hope so,” I mutter, using all my strength to lift the massive suitcase off my full-size bed, which is still unmade, crumpled sheets revealing a night of tossing and turning.
I don’t want to admit to my nerves. I’m a grown adult. I have thirty years tucked into my belt of life. I should be a lot more confident. I usually am a lot more confident. It’s just…
Evan Michaels.
