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Hearing a ping, I grab my cell and a guilty grimace crosses my face when I see it’s from Greg.
Please. Not now.
Greg: It’s day two Jaxon. They have scheduled your Book signing for noon. I saw you having fun in the spa,but it’s time to get your head back into the game.
Greg: And hopefully some titties too!
I lift my eyes upward, exasperated, and type out a response.
Me: On top of it. Getting ready for the signing now. All good.
I forgot until Abigail reminded me that we’re here for work, to promote ourselves at a small and exclusive North Queensland Writer’s Festival, not just a vacation to get some pussy. Or dick, if I ever get Abigail to that stage.
The book signing apparently differs from the Meet and Greet I did yesterday. Day two gives us a capped time at having people get their books signed, and the opportunity to purchase them. Even better for those who don’t know about me but want to come along to check me out.
Greg: Good. Ruth, the event manager, promised to have everything set up for you,and I’ve organized them to lie out your books in case people want to buy them too. Ruth will also pop in to check how it’s going, so if there are any issues, flag her down. Room 7, Level 1.
Me: Can we just talk? It’s much easier than texting back and forth.
Greg: No can do, buddy. I’ve got a blondie with big tits entering my hotel room. Priorities, right?
Greg: P.S. if your fingers hurt from texting too much, then I wonder how things go when you use them on women. :P
Me: Get fucked.
Greg: Plan on it!
“Dickhead,” I mutter as I chuck the cell back onto the mattress. “I use them very well.”
I walk over to the suitcase and cross my arms as I contemplate what outfit to wear.
Quicker than I expected, I’m in my navy pants suit, gelled hair and ready to sign my name away.
Once I enter the function room assigned to me, passing the large image of my book outside the door, I head over to the table that says my name on it.
I grin as I get closer, noticing that Greg really organized a decent set up. There is a pile of mybooks, as well as crude cups and t-shirts that say #j.sunters because Greg wants more publicity. I find it corny, but he sees sales, so guess it works.
Wait, are those fucking bookmarks with my face on it?
Okay, maybe he might be taking it too far. Before I have a chance to text him to get rid of anymore bookmarks, the doors open, and people filter inside. Soon, the room is filled to full capacity, or at least that’s what Ruth says into my earpiece.
I stand and rub my hands together as I say to the crowd, “Welcome, everyone. Now, let’s fucking get onto some signing!” I say, flashing my smile that they know so well by now.
In smooth formation, a line forms and the process of signing books begins. It’s not my first and I don’t expect it to be my last. The thrill never dissipates. It’s fucking awesome.
Especially the women that come up because we both are confident enough to know where we stand. If they want to give me some extra attention later, who am I to argue?
Except, I have dinner plans that for the first time in a long time, I actually want to go to. Which means I want this line to lessen. Of course, with sales on the way.
“Can I take a photo with you?” A caked-up woman asks as she stands at my table.
Despite trying not to wince at her awful make up, I smile and nod.
“Sure,” I stand, and we do a selfie, before she whispers into my ear in a tone all too seductive.
“Could you also sign my boob? I know you do it and always wanted it.” She grins, making the creases of her makeup prominent.
Was I attracted to this?
