"Of course I did." Does she even know me at all?
"And you don't see how this is stalking?"
"It's not stalking. We're at war."
"You're going to go to jail."
"No, I'm not."
"You are. He already threatened to have you arrested."
"He also asked me out, so…" I shrug, not really worried about it. I mean, if he wanted to have me arrested, he wouldn't have asked me to dinner, right? Right.
And let's be honest, it's not like the police or courts even take stalking seriously in this country. Until someone is actually hurt, it's a slap on the wrist, and the stalker is released right back out there to continue their reign of terror. Unlike actual stalkers, I'm harmless. I don't want to wear his skin as a suit. I just want him to talk to his readers.
Lilah stares at me for a long moment and then shakes her head. "I cannot wait to say I told you so."
"You won't get to say it," I mutter, and then decide to change the subject. "He said something today…"
"Did it start with 'I'm calling the police'?"
"No." I shoot her a dirty look, which just makes her smile. "You have no faith. He said that he didn't meet readers because he isn't interested in being meat at the market."
"Makes sense," Lilah murmurs, quickly folding the Kraft paper around the book and then finishing it off with a single piece of tape.
"What? How does that possibly make sense unless you have an inflated ego and think you're way cooler than you are? Just because he's hot doesnotmake him God's gift to readerkind."
"Uh…have you been to a bookish event in the last couple of years?" Lilah cocks a brow at me, setting the wrapped book aside. "There are reports out of too many events about readers behaving badly. Models and authors are being touched without consent, sometimes inappropriately. People are stealing from authors and other readers. And just generally not acting like they have sense. He wouldn't be the first author who has opted out of events because of bad behavior."
"Oh." I process this, my stomach churning a little at the thought of him being traumatized or assaulted at an event. That shouldn't ever happen. "You think something like that happened to him?"
"It's possible. Or it could just be that he's a rare man in what's traditionally viewed as a woman's space. Most readers are amazing and behave themselves, but I'm guessing the ones who don't can make it uncomfortable very quickly for male romance authors…just like it gets uncomfortable very quickly for women in spaces men view as theirs," she says.
She isn't wrong. I've wanted to throat punch far too many men for catcalling me just because I dared to walk by worksites. It's gross, and it's damn near a universally shared experience for women.
"Not to mention," she continues, "people can be dicks in general. They say things they shouldn't, ask inappropriate questions, and pry for information they have no business knowing. When you write spicy romance, I'm guessing the questions can get invasive sometimes. Imagine being the lone man or woman in a crowd, being asked what sexual experiences in your past helped you write one scene or another."
"Oh, gross."
"If it's happened to Cassia, you don't think it's happened to him?" Lilah quirks a brow at me. "People do and say all kinds of shit they shouldn't, especially when they're hiding behind a keyboard or think they're a faceless number in a crowd."
I nod thoughtfully. "Maybe I should talk to him, let him know this won't be like that."
"You can try," she says doubtfully, "but if he doesn't want to come because of past experience, you probably aren't going to change his mind. Maybe you should just accept the date instead."
"Oh, hell no. Not happening."
"Liar." She grins before cutting off another piece of paper.
I stick my tongue out at her, but she's too busy folding to notice. Which is probably a good thing since it's the most immature response ever. But I've got nothing else.
Dammit.
I watch her fold for a moment. "Hey. Is Loralei acting weird to you?"
"What?"
"Loralei," I repeat. "Is she acting weird to you?"
