“I don’t like fish either,” Bree said out of nowhere. She was the last person I expected to be on my side, so I openly gawped at her as she perused the menu. “I like some seafood—mostly shrimp and scallops—but fish is gross to me.”
“Bree is a red-meat girl,” Hayley volunteered. “I keep telling her all that red meat will catch up with her one day. She doesn’t listen, though.”
“What good is living life if you can’t eat the good stuff?” Bree asked.
Since that was my philosophy—there was nothing I loved more than a rare steak topped with mushrooms and onions—I didn’t say anything.
“What do you think this is going to be like?” Nathan asked, changing the subject. “Like … are they just going to open the doors and let random people storm in and mob us?”
Bree’s perfectly manicured eyebrows—black like her hair—knit. “What sort of author events have you been to that involve fans mobbing authors?”
She had a point. Even when readers were excited to see authors, they were never unruly. I’d always assumed that was because readers were inherently chill for the most part. They enjoyed going on adventures in their heads rather than in real life. Not that they were boring. I’d met more than a few who had exotic hobbies. It was just that, as a general rule, readers were calm. They weren’t going to rip off their shirts and bras and throw them at their favorite author as if it was a heavy metal concert.
Nathan chuckled. “I’ll have you know I’ve been mobbed more than once,” he said to Hayley. “You can’t see it because you’re genetically predisposed to find my parts odious?—”
Hayley’s eyebrows hiked. “I find your parts odious?”
“You’re scared of penises. It’s okay to admit it.”
Hayley rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Weirdly, it felt as if Nathan and Hayley were building a genuine friendship. They were already comfortable with one another, uttering off-color jokes that might have offended somebody else. How had that even happened?
I glanced across the table and found Bree frowning at the exchange in the same way I was. When Nathan and Hayley kept talking only to each other, she turned to me and shifted on her chair, clearly uncomfortable.
“I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about a mob,” she said. “Annette said we were looking at about a hundred readers each event. If the venue happens to be bigger, then we might get up to two hundred, but most of the venues are small to create an intimate environment between us and the readers.”
I nodded. “That’s what I’m anticipating.” Or perhaps that was what I’d been hoping for. I played with the wrapper from my straw. “Do you think we have to drink with them? Like… are we expected to sit at tables with them and pretend to care about what their kids are doing?”
To my utter surprise, Bree threw her head back and laughed so hard I was worried she might choke. “Oh my god.” She wiped leaky tears from the corners of her eyes and shook her head.
I didn’t appreciate her making fun of me. “It was just a question.”
“I was wondering the same thing as you, so don’t get your panties in a bunch,” she shot back, not missing a beat. “Not everything I say is a dig at you, no matter what you believe.”
I opened my mouth, suddenly sheepish, then snapped it shut. Ididdo that. I took everything people said to heart, whether it was a general comment or pointed at me. That had been one of the knocks against me my entire life.
“Sorry.” Weirdly, I meant it. “I just … crowds make me nervous. I don’t know why.”
“It’s because authors, in general, are introverts,” Bree replied, offering up a soft smile. “I get it. I’m an introvert too.”
“You are?” Was she actually offering me a lifeline here? That couldn’t be right. She was the devil. The devil didn’t try to find common ground with her mortal enemy.
She nodded. “Crowds make me sweaty and itchy.”
“Not like a Vagisil situation, right?” Nathan asked.
Bree extended her middle finger in his direction. “That charm thing you assume is going to make every woman you cross paths with drop her panties doesn’t work on me. When I look at you, I see the clown fromTerrifier.”
It was a reference Nathan clearly understood because he sat straighter in his chair. “Art?”
Bree bobbed her head.
“Why not Pennywise?” Nathan asked. “He’s normally everybody’s horror-movie-clown go-to.”
Now Bree did smile, and for once I understood why. She approved of Nathan’s question. “Because Pennywise is the superior clown,” she replied. “He’s got nuance and a good backstory. There’s a reason he does what he does, even if you don’t agree with it. Art is a chump who goes through life shocking people just to get attention.”
Nathan’s lips curved up. “Are you saying that’s me?”
“Yup.”
