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He rolled his shoulders back, feigning dignity he’d lost.
O’Hara manhandled him into a seat in the front row and pinned him there with a palm to his knee.
He frowned at the hand, and then at O’Hara, who was chatting happily with the woman on his other side.
“What?” O’Hara asked when he turned back.
Jonathan’s thigh tensed under those warm fingers. He blinked. Then murmured, “How are you not crying from a splitting headache?”
Giant George, seated behind them, leaned forward. “Good question.”
O’Hara glanced at George and then to Jonathan, smiling. “I’m just feeling excited this morning.”
George nodded, like he got it. “You’ll have a swarm of fans waiting.”
O’Hara shrugged. “Something like that.”
Their attention darted to the front as microphones were tapped for attention.
O’Hara straightened in his seat. “What’s this twist for the next Social Challenge then?”
Jonathan shook his head in bemusement. “Impatient.”
The hand on his knee squeezed and Jonathan bolted upright. O’Hara’s gaze was trained on the judges, laughter crinkling his profile. The hand fell away.
They thanked everyone for coming and for the wonderful conference, and only got to the point after O’Hara had jiggled in his seat for ten minutes.
“As some of you have heard, yes, the theme for this year’s Social Challenge is love. Love and unity. This can be interpreted romantically as well as platonically, and can encompass the love between family members too. Your posts for each of the twelve challenges must reflect some kind of love, no matter how abstract.
“Challenges will be announced every Saturday and Sunday, with the semi-final in Greece in week six and the finals in week seven. Yes, you heard, the weekend trip will be in week six for the semi-finals—our head judge is expecting a baby and doesn’t want to travel past pregnancy week thirty-six. I’m sure you all understand.
“For those lucky remaining contestants, travel to Greece, accommodation and meals are all paid for. We ask that everyone submitting into this year’s Social Challenge be willing and available to attend that meetup.”
Greece?
That was a dream.
He palmed his jeans. Maybe . . . maybe he should try again?
O’Hara looked at his hands and cocked his head, and Jonathan folded his arms swiftly.
“Now for the twist.” The air in the room tightened. “This year, all entries must have two people or platforms working on the challenges as a team.”
The audience stirred.
O’Hara twisted around, foot bouncing. Clearly, he couldn’t wait to begin.
“Wait, there’s more.”
A hundred eyebrows lifted.
“We’re also upping our cash prize to two million dollars.”
A collective gasp, and then the room erupted into squeals of excitement. That was . . . a lot of money.
O’Hara had stilled. His eyes glazed over, like he was lost in some kind of daydream, and then his foot resumed its bounce as more details were announced.
“Please, please, please make sure to read all the instructions for each challenge. There will be variations in post length limitations and submission deadlines. Failure to meet those will mean immediate elimination. So, double check, triple check, to have all the requirements met. Any questions?”
After a few more back and forths, the announcement reached its end. The moment the audience started to move, O’Hara leapt to his feet, and promptly tripped over himself.
Jonathan caught his arm with a steadying squeeze.
O’Hara tossed him a laughing thanks, confidence undiminished, and trotted off. Probably to snatch up his best partnering prospect.
By the time Jonathan returned to the foyer—suitcase packed, checkout complete, luggage left behind the counter so he could say his goodbyes—the signing room was bustling. Fifty tables dotted the room in various stages of setup, six-foot banners flashing brands behind them, promo swag everywhere.
He fished out his phone and got the requisite picture with the Sapphire twins for Jacquie, then moved reluctantly to O’Hara’s table. It was still a disordered, half-unpacked mess, understandable considering the crowd ohh-ing and ahh-ing and monopolising his attention. Partially unrolled vinyl caught Jonathan’s eye, familiar dark hair peeking from behind a fold.
A throat cleared, and Jonathan jerked his head up to sparkling green eyes and a cheeky smile. He certainly seemed more relaxed now. Who had he asked to partner him?
“Curious?”
O’Hara was smirking toward the vinyl Jonathan was . . . fondling.
He removed his fingers, and O’Hara unravelled an almost life-size image of himself, cocky dimpled grin, arms folded; he swept his hand across the image and it rolled up again. He made a show of handing it to Jonathan. “For you. So you don’t ever have to miss me again.”
Cheeky.
Jonathan cuffed the other end of the roll and pulled it from him. “Thanks.”
With a nod, he turned and walked away.
“What? Wait! I was joking. Pass it back.”
Jonathan paused, looking over his shoulder. “You gave it to me, I’ll keep it.”
O’Hara stopped amongst the tables, staring at him dumbfounded; a light thrill zapped through Jonathan’s veins. “Don’t worry. I have a good idea what to do with it.”
