Page 8 of Make Me Laugh

Frankie gives her best smile and accents it with a head tilt and her hands coming up to cup the sides of her cheek.

She thinks she’s soooo funny.

I glare at her again.

“Joey baby, what do you do for work?” The people around me ooh and ahh at his new nickname.

Me? My traitorous pussy clenches.

I cross my legs and don’t miss the way he stares at them. I run a hand down my tattooed thigh, cupping my knee. “Business.”

He makes a face that has the crowd snickering. “Business?” He lowers his brows and shoots a glance at Frankie. “Is she a drug dealer?”

If I had known what Frankie was going to reveal next, I would have tackled her to the floor and dragged her out by her hair.

“She has five million followers on social media!”

My hand shoots to her thigh, black-manicured fingernails digging into her skin.

Frankie slaps it away, barely fazed.

The small audience stares like they might recognize me if they look hard enough, but unless they study every tattoo on my body and are active members of the bookish community, they’ll never guess.

HexedHeroine, better known as Hex, has been masked since I started posting three years ago. It was a way for me to cope with a messy breakup while remaining anonymous for the sake of my big girl corporate Vice President of Social Media job.

“Five million followers?” West gapes. “So, you’re an influencer?”

“Hardly.” I give a one-word response.

And sure, I know that technically I am an influencer within the book space, but I’ve never monetized anything on a large scale. If I like a book and talk about it and the author or their publisher reaches out for more posting, I cut a tiny deal—usually signed copies of their books or some other goodies over money.

I have… had a job I loved that brought in all the money I needed and then some. Why take from the smaller authors trying to make a living?

The only paid brand deal I’ve done is with a sex toy company. I got free goodies and $20,000, which ended up being used to pay for my move to Salem.

“What’s your at?” West asks, pulling his phone out of his back pocket.

“Absolutely not.” I shake my head vigorously, my dark hair flipping over my shoulder as I stare the words I can’t speak into Frankie: keep your fucking mouth shut.

Frankie sips her seltzer, but I note the mischievous gleam in her eyes and know she’s going to do it anyway. “It’s all fun and games, JoJo. Relax.”

I remind myself how much I love my best friend as she beckons him with the curl of her index finger—a come hither motion to summon him our way.

Without pause, he jumps off stage, bringing the mic with him. It feels like slow motion as he worms his way through the tables, taking the shortest route to us.

I silently pray the cord isn’t long enough.

Instead of going towards Frankie, he approaches me, stopping so close he might as well be straddling my fucking lap. I crane my neck to peer up at him.

Oh no, West Parker is prettier up close…

Taller than I thought too, definitely over six feet. I was hoping the small stage just made him look broad shouldered with delicious arms scattered in fine line tattoos.

Unfortunately for me, it isn’t the stage. It’s the man.

“Hi, Joey baby,” he hums into the mic for the whole room to hear. West smiles, slowly dragging his gaze down my long legs, one crossed over the other.

To top it off, his dimply smile is even better this close too.