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Scanning nameplates, I find Catherine Kyle two tables down. The petite ginger laughing with the volunteers and setting up her display isn’t what I expected. Despite the buttload of books on her table, and that she’s clearly been worshiping the sun goddess longer than I’ve been alive, she seems completely chill.
“Blessed Immaculate Mary.” Vi wrenches Jess’s fingers off her arm. “Where did you think you’d be signing? Your boy toy needssomekind of crowd control.”
Jess’s face turns crimson. “He’s not my boy—”
“He could be.” I smirk.
Jess’s death glare makes an appearance.
“I have to go. I have a client with an emergency. Settle down, and take a seat.” Vi rushes away.
Jess looks like she might be the one about to have an emergency. Time for distraction 101. Turning her away from how fast the room is filling, I nod toward the ginger she fangirled over. “How come you never look atmelike that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re drowning in awe of my greatness.”
“You get paid to turn hairy on TV.” She nods toward Catherine. “Do you know who that is?”
“Catherine Kyle?” I dangle the question mark.
“The queen of paranormal romance.”
“Doesn’t help.”
Jess puts her hands on her hips. “The Jason Statham of action movies?”
“You’re into Statham?” She doesn’t strike me as an action-flick girl.
“My dad and I used to...” Her eyes dim, and she moves behind the table to mess with her bookmarks, reorganizing already perfect piles.
I take that as my cue to temporarily shelve all dad discussion. Too wired to sit through fan events, I shove my chair under the table and steal a copy ofHaunted.
Her bookmark rearranging halts. “You don’t read romance.”
“I’m branching out.” I brush my thumb across the top of her hand. “Sign it to Gabe. G-A-B-E.” I hand her a marker.
Which she drops on the table.
“It’s okay. We’ll do it later.” I shove the book under my chair.
One of the volunteers shouts a five-minute warning. The lines for the white tables opens and people press against the barrier of our line.
Palms flat on the red tablecloth, Jess glances up. Her bottom lip trembles, and she hugs herself straight-jacket tight. “There’s... a lot of people.”
If she was a barometer for this room, you’d expect a running mob of anarchy. Yeah, there’s a crap ton of people, but this crowd is calm compared to the chaos of aPackevent.
No one’s screaming. No one’s crying. No one’s wasted.
I remember her going into lockdown at the panel. “You haven’t done this before either?”
“My book doesn’t officially release until Saturday.” She stares at the crowd, her feet shifting toward the exit, a refreshing one-eighty from my costar who feeds off the insane energy of fan events.
I tip her chin toward me. “You aren’t gonna bolt, are you?”
“No.” Instead of swatting me away like I expect, she winds weak fingers around my arm, her face fading ghost white. “But I might pass out.”
chapter 13
