“The language of Geek.” I noticed a couple of girls in skintight Catwoman costumes, with hair an identical shade of pink to Tara Delphine’s famous fuchsia locks. One of them had a Tara-branded tote bag slung over her shoulder. They stopped in the middle of the aisle to squeeze their heads together for a selfie, then headed toward the back of the room.
“Oscar, follow those girls!” My four-legged eyes trotted off after them, weaving through the crowd like an expert. Many people stepped out of the way as they saw me, and more than a few exclaimed over how cute he was. I saw a stall selling superhero bandanas, and made a note to stop there on our way out to pick up one for Oscar, because he was totally my hero.
Oscar reached the end of the row and stopped, his head bobbing left, then right. “Sometimes even a smart dog like Oscar can get confused, disoriented, distracted, or tired,” Edie said. “He’s your eyes, but he’s also a living animal, and he has good days and bad days. He probably can’t tell if—”
“There they are!” Heathcliff pointed to the girls, who’d joined the end of a long line, snaking through the next aisle before ending at a booth set up like a French salon. I couldn’t make out the figure from this far away, but judging by the scant-amount of fabric worn by her fans, I guessed it was Tara.
We shuffled in behind the girls. “Good to see even geeks enjoy indulging in the great British pastime of queuing.” Edie shuffled her feet. “Do you think you’d be okay here for a bit? I’d like to find a bathroom.”
“Sure. Oscar and I have this under control.”
As soon as Edie was out of earshot, Heathcliff leaned down to whisper to me. “I feel like a pervert.”
I glanced down the line. He was right – every single person in the queue was a young girl in a skimpy outfit. He towered over them all. Several curious faces turned, and girls jabbed each other to get a glimpse of the brawny mass of muscle and fury that was Heathcliff Earnshaw.
“Not a pervert. You’re in serious danger of stealing Tara’s spotlight. Morrie would be over there right now, flirting with the staff to try and get us to the front of the queue.”
“I’ll save my flirting skills for Tara.” Heathcliff waggled his bushy eyebrows and did his best attempt at a lovesick expression. It was the exact scowl he used when Morrie pissed him off. I burst out laughing.
The line moved quickly, and before I knew it we were standing in front of Tara. Before I could say anything, she grabbed me, holding my arms out to get a look at my outfit. “Hey, love your costume. Oh, what a cute doggie!”
She bent down to pet him. Oscar turned his head to me, his eyes wide as if to ask if this was okay.
It was not.I wrenched the leash away, annoyed. “You can’t pet him, I’m sorry. He’s a guide dog and he’s working.”
“That’s silly. He wants me to pet him, look.” Tara had her arms around Oscar’s neck. “Look at those big, brown eyes—”
“Hi, sorry, Tara.” A woman with black hair and a FanCon Staff t-shirt rushed over. She flashed me a sympathetic look. “Your fan here is blind, and this is her guide dog. You can’t touch a dog like that when he’s working. But why don’t you sign her merch and pose for a selfie?”
“With the puppy?” Tara shrieked. “Omg, yes. This would be amazing on my Instastories. Come stand here, doggie!”
I didn’t want Oscar anywhere near her. I stepped aside and shoved Heathcliff forward. “We didn’t actually come for me. Heathcliff here is your biggest fan. He was wondering if you’d sign his bicep. He’s going to get it tattooed.”
“Oooooh.” Tina ran her fingers over Heathcliff’s arm, her face lighting up with glee as she took in all of his rugged, wild, Heathcliffness. “Step right this way. I looooove meeting my male fans. Are you a member of my exclusive fan club? Because I’m offering private meet-and-greets in my hotel room after the con—”
Heathcliff shot me a ‘get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here’ look.
“Keep her drawing on you as long as possible,” I whispered. “Get her talking about Kate.”
“How the fuck do I do that?”
“Use your Heathcliff wiles.”
“I don’t have any of those.”
“Sure you do. You’re the greatest romantic hero of all time for a reason. Now get over there and romance her ass into a confession.”
Heathcliff made a face like he’d rather suck an arsenic lollipop, but he allowed Tara to drag him over to a Baroque-style dressing table she’d set up with glittery pens and stickers, along with stacks of photographs of herself to sign.
“Now, Heathcliff…” his name rolled off Tara’s tongue. She licked her lips as she curled her fingers into his collar. “In order to get at those bulging biceps of yours, I need you to remove your shirt.”
“I’ll do it.” Heathcliff tore his shirt over his head. Buttons flew in all directions. A collective gasp echoed from the girls in line behind me.
I must admit, my chest fluttered, too. To see Heathcliff standing there in all his wild glory made a deep ache rumble in my core. His chest was a thing of beauty – poets should write sonnets about him. A white scar from some long-ago brawl stretched across his pecs, giving him that sinister edge that made him so completely irresistible.
Tara made no secret of her lust, flicking her tongue over her lips as she fucked him with her eyes. She held up two glitter pens. “Do you want pink or blue sparkles?”
Heathcliff collapsed into a white chair that was far too small for him. Tara bent over him, her hands trailing all over his body as she giggled. As she leaned in to start drawing, she licked his skin. Actuallylickedit.
