P.S. Thanks for not breaking my arm on the plane so I could type this book.
S-w-o-o-n.
Even Hen clucked her tongue and made barfy noises as she read it over my shoulder before heading out. She’s meeting me at the signing. Or at least, she’s supposed to be, assuming I can put this book down and get my ass out the door on time, anyway.
Speaking of the succubus, she’s blowing up my phone with texts telling me to put the book down and to “get the fuck ready.” It’s almost like she knows me or something. I text her back my go-to phrase in situations like this.
Savannah: Just one more chapter.
I toss in a winky emoji just for fun, knowing she’s not going to believe me for a second.
Just as I’m dressed, booted, and ready to head out the door Justin’s weekly newsletter email arrives in my inbox.
Today’s the day! If you’re local to Cedar Rapids, feel free to come by The Book Bin in downtown Cedar Rapids to pick up your paperback copy of Crushin’ at the Cafe, get it signed, and snap a picture.
I’m forever grateful to you all for your support. Without you, none of these characters living in my head would have a voice of their own.
A little known tidbit about this particular release of mine, dear reader, is that I’ve been living in something of a romance novel myself.
My skin prickles, and my muscles tighten. I’m paused right behind the front door to the apartment, knowing I should move, but my feet are not complying.
I fucked up along the way to us being together. Actually, I fucked up a couple times, mostly by not being transparent and honest. But thankfully, my beautiful girlfriend forgave me, and this book is kinda-sorta based on her. That’s not why I’m writing, however. I’m sending this newsletter not only to encourage you all to buy my new release, but to confess that I’m a guy.
I know some of you might have preconceived notions about reading romance written by a dude, but I wanted to come clean and let you know my most authentic self. Even if it’s somewhat terrifying. I’ve learned that no matter how scary it is to be yourself, there’s no better person to be. So…this is me. I’m sorry I wasn’t more up front about it from the beginning, but fear makes us do some seriously dumb shit sometimes and that’s the only excuse I have.
I’ve never felt such an overwhelming rush of emotion—which is saying something considering I often feel like a walking ball of feelings. I can’t imagine how scared he was to send that email, and I can’t wait to give him a huge hug and tell him how proud of him I am for owning his truth.
It takes me about fifteen minutes to get to work. The place is busy and the line for Justin already snakes outside the door and onto the street. I spy a few of his hockey buddies, whether they’re here from his book club, or just to support their teammate, I’m not sure. I’m just glad to see people showing up to support him.
I should have brought pocket hand warmers. It’s absolutely fucking freezing in line, but I’m not going to use the girlfriend card, nor the “I work here” card, to cut the line. I’m going to wait to see him just like everyone else. Even if it costs me my fingers and toes.
By the time I get to the front of the line, the tail of people behind me is still weaving its way outside. I guess Tabitha and Frieda both put the call out for the student body to support one of our own, and it worked. Grabbing a book from the pile at the edge of the table I slide it toward him.
He hasn’t looked up yet, he’s probably exhausted from all the peopling. Even though he’s a raging extrovert, his little empathetic heart can get overwhelmed sometimes, too. And I’d bet a week’s salary that he’s had at least a dozen marriage proposals, because damn, my guy looks downright edible sitting behind the signing table.
My bestie stands off to the left behind him, deep in conversation with one of the twins—I think it’s Artemis, I have a hard time telling them apart now they’re both sporting similar haircuts—and one of the other players. That at least explains why she hasn’t texted me back. I don’t think she’s noticed me yet, but it kind of looks like she’s scolding at least one, possibly both of the men so I’m just gonna leave her to it.
“Can you make it out to Savannah, please?”
Justin’s head snaps up at my voice, and he’s out of his seat before I can blink. Before I know what’s happening, I’m encased in his arms and breathing in his scent. This is literally the best feeling in the world, and I’m happy all the way to the tips of my toes.
I’m not thrilled that there’s a table between us, and it seems neither is he, because he’s moving us around it and pulling me tighter to him. The world stops spinning when he kisses me. My whole body heats from the grumblings and muttered complaints of at least half of the women in the line behind me, but I don’t care.
“I’m so proud of you, Justin.”
He barely pulls back from me enough to let me speak, which makes me giggle.
“You know people can see us, right?” My voice is now muffled against his shoulder, he’s hugging me tighter.
“Don’t care.” He gives me one last squeeze before allowing some space between us. His cheeks are pink, his eyes are bright, and he’s grinning at me. “Thanks for coming.”
“Like I’d miss this. Hen has your gift, though. I’ll give it to you later. Do you need anything? Water? Snacks? A getaway car driver?”
He snorts and takes his seat again, uncapping the Sharpie next to my soon-to-be new book. “You didn’t need to buy me a gift.” He scrawls my name. “And I’m good, thanks. The guys are making sure my bottle never runs empty. And Frieda keeps bringing me snacks.”
“She’s good like that.” I accept the signed copy and hug it against my chest. The throwback to how we reconnected atBitches Brew,how angry and bitter I was at him when I first saw him at the counter is not lost on me in this moment.
I wanted to hate him back then, hell, I even tried to, but I just couldn’t. I guess there was a part of me that recognized he wasn’t a bad person, even when I secretly wanted him to get gonorrhea from that girl he cheated on Molly with.
