I take a deep breath and blurt, “I’m a felon.” I have to say it out loud, just in case she didn’t really know. I need her to really understand.
She gives me a side-eye. “Yeah. You’re felon. Because the judge who sentenced you was a total dick and your lawyer was shit. If you ask me, hacking into the phones of rapists and sharing the videos of them raping a girl who was passed out so that she has proof to go to the police … that makes you a hero. Not a felon.”
“Maybe. But I’m still a felon. I won’t ever be able to run for office or—”
Samantha busts out laughing. “Why would you want to run for office? You have terrible social skills and a mean death glare. You’re not really suitable for political life.”
I shrug. “I don’t. I just want you to know what you’re getting in to.”
“Okay, so I’ll never be the First Lady. That was never going to happen anyway.” She tilts her head to look at the table of our friends and she gives them a little finger wave and a smile. “So you’re not embarrassed by me?”
“No, Samantha, there’s nothing about you that would embarrass me. You’re perfect. I’m the fuck up.” I cup her cheeks and kiss her, not bothering to hide any of my emotions in my kiss. I want her to know what I’m feeling. Our co-workers hoot and holler from their table since we’re standing in the middle of the bar. But I don’t care because she forgave me and she’s giving me a second chance and I’m going to make sure she never regrets it.
Epilogue
Jason
I’m leaning against the chilled wall of the hotel ballroom. It’s a massive space filled with tables and tables of authors signing books and taking pictures with their fans. My wife looks fucking gorgeous sitting at her table. Her smile is wide and so happy that it’s like a recharge to my heart every time I look at her. Like she’s my battery. Or my charger. Whatever, she’s the writer not me.
In any case, she looks so fucking hot and if I thought I could get away with it, I would sneak under her table and eat her while she signs her autograph on all of those books.
“OMG you’re him, aren’t you?” It’s a girl somewhere between teens and early twenties and she’s with another girl about that age.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Hot Nerd, that’s you, right?”
I swallow a chuckle and cut my eyes to Sam who’s grinning widely at me. Everywhere on social media she refers to me as Hot Nerd AKA her husband. So that’s what all her readers call me. It’s been a pain in my ass at work, but I’ll endure anything for that woman’s smile.
“I’m Samantha’s husband,” I say to the girls.
They titter and wiggle around like I’m some kind of star. Maybe they’re pumping some weird endorphine-inducing air into the AC system.
“Can we take a picture with you?” the first girl asks.
“Yeah, I guess.”
They each take a side and grab an arm and then they hold their phones out—simultaneously to take a selfie of the three of us.
“Hot Nerd!” one of them squeaks. “Thanks so much.”
“Sure.”
It’s at this point that Sam walks over to me and I gather her into my arms pulling her tight to my body. “Break time,” she says.
“How long do we have?”
“Not long enough for what you’re thinking. You’ve got your crazy sex eyes going and my break isn’t that long. I just wanted to stretch my legs.” She nods her head to the girls that have walked off. “Fans of yours?”
“Evidently. I’m supposed to be the support behind the star.”
“I’m hardly a star, babe, look at all of the other writers here. I’m one among many.”
“You are a star, Samantha, you’re my star. You shine so bright that you’re a beacon to me. No matter what I can always find you because your love lights the way.”
“Aww, baby,” she coos. “That’s so sweet. I love you so much.”
“I love you more.”
Thank you for reading!
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Other Kat Baxter books
Men in Uniform anthology: The Navy SEAL’s Baby
Knocking Up His Best Friend
Gingerbread Kisses
Real Men Love Curves
Real Men Love Curls
Real Men Love Charms
Mistletoe Surprise
Fakesgiving
Joy and Payne
Curves and Cars
Curves and Coding
Curves and Cowboys
Jack of Hearts (coming 1/29/21)
Kiss Me (coming 2/11/21)
Prefer to read your books in bundles to save book slots in KU? I’ve got those too.
Curvy Ever After
Sand Dollar Christmas
Excerpt from Curves and Cowboys
Poppy
I lead a double life. I have a secret identity and everything.
Actually, I have a pen name, which is almost the same thing.
By day, I am Ingrid Chase, author of erotically charged science-fiction romance novels. By night, I am Poppy Thorndyke, British socialite and heiress to the entertainment and transportation empire of Richard Thorndyke.
Wait … that’s not right.
I do most of my writing at night. Which means by day I’m an heiress and by night I’m a writer.
Either way, the point is, it’s exhausting being two people.
Especially since I fail so miserably at being Poppy Thorndyke. I am not thin enough or glamorous enough to suit my father. I’m not socially ambitious enough for my mother—who told me that if she’d had to fuck my father for four years and put up with his philandering, the least she should get out of it is a royal son-in-law. Since I have yet procured a title for her future grandchildren, alas I am a huge disappointment to both my parents.
In fact, I am arguably a huge disappointment to everyone (at least everyone I know) with one exception. My best friend, Samantha.
Is it a wee bit humiliating that she is my best friend and I had never met her in person until today?
Why, yes it is.
But we’re writers. By nature, we’re both solitary and until now, our weekly zoom calls to critique each other’s work were enough to sustain us.
“I can’t believe you’re really here.” My American friend smiles at me from across the sticky pub table.