“Your life is here, in New York. And Brie’s career takes her all over the place. What’s going to happen when she gets a job that’s shooting in Los Angeles? Or Toronto? Or a role in a play at some regional theater in who knows where?”
Good question. One I’d like to know the answer to as well. But, sadly, I’m not a fortune teller. Jake’s guess is as good as mine.
I will myself to relax, starting with my shoulders and working my way down. “Lots of people are in long-distance relationships. They make it work.”
“Yeah, but is that what you want? Once this Netflix thing starts streaming, Brie’s whole world is going to change. I’m talking red carpet premieres, fancy charity galas, big-time award ceremonies. Remember how much you hated that kind of stuff with your dad?”
Yeah, I do. After my mom died, my dad dragged me to a ton of his PR events. Book signings. Readings. Lectures. All those people, crowding around him, demanding his attention. Especially the women, once word got out that he was single, under fifty, and more than reasonably attractive.
My dad, being the world’s biggest narcissist, ate it all up, of course. Half the time he forgot I was even there, unless he needed to use me as some sort of publicity prop. Look at me, Vincent Dow, father of the freaking year.
But for me, it was the seventh circle of hell. Having all those eyes focused on me made me squeamish. All I wanted to do was read or play hand-held video games in a quiet corner, away from the chaos and commotion. Eventually, as I got older, I put my foot down, and he agreed to let me stay with the Lawsons when he was on book tour as long as I let him parade me around like a show pony at one or two of his bigger events each year.
I keep telling myself that Brie’s not my dad. That things will be different with her. She may enjoy the spotlight, but she doesn’t crave it like he does. At least, I don’t think she does. And she’s not a user, either. She’d never treat me like arm candy, there to make her look good.
Jake raps his knuckles on the desk, making me flinch. “Earth to Connor. You still with me?”
“You’re not saying anything I don’t already know,” I admit. “But we’re talking about Brie, not my dad.”
“I realize that. But she’s going to have certain obligations, and she’ll want the man in her life at her side. How are you going to deal with all that public scrutiny? Hell, you don’t even like making appearances at your own club.”
I can’t argue with him. So I don’t. “That’s your only objection? That I can’t handle being Brie’s plus one?”
He finishes his iced tea and nods, punctuating it by setting his glass down on the desk with a decisive thunk. “That’s a simplistic way of putting it, but yeah.”
“And aside from that, you’re totally okay with me dating your sister?”
He stares at me for a moment, then nods again.
“Then let me worry about me. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
There’s a long pause, then he stands and rounds his desk, holding a hand out to me.
“Deal. Just promise me one thing.”
I rise so we’re on eye level but keep my hand at my side for now, waiting to hear the catch before I agree to his terms. “What’s that?”
He gives me a wry half-smile. “Don’t hate me when I say I told you so.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Connor
ILOOKAROUNDat the throng of elaborately dressed cosplayers streaming into the Javits Center, then down at my nondescript khakis and classic white polo shirt, and wonder if maybe Jake was right after all. Maybe I don’t belong in Brie’s world.
Or maybe I just don’t belong at Comic Con. I thought I was into geek culture. But these people make me look like a rank amateur.
I finger the VIP pass hanging from aWalking Deadlanyard around my neck. I’m still not sure why Brie wants me here so badly. I’m sure she’ll have plenty of fans lined up to meet her and the rest of the Mortal Misfits.
But the bottom line is that she asked me to be here, so I’m here. I didn’t have the heart—or the desire—to say no to her. It’s like Jake said. If I’m her man—and goddamn it that’s what I want to be—I should be at her side. No matter how damn uncomfortable being in the public eye makes me.
Plus, a little—okay, big—part of me wants to prove Jake wrong. To show him—and me—that I can stand up to the scrutiny. That although Brie and I are polar opposites in some respects, those differences won’t drive us apart.
With renewed resolve, I fall in line between a frighteningly accurate Night King fromGame of Thronesand what I think is supposed to a steampunk Princess Leia and make my way into the convention center. When I get to the attendant manning the gate, I flash my badge, and she hands me a program and a map.
“Welcome to Comic Con,” she says in a monotone, probably sick and tired of repeating the same thing over and over to the thousands of conventioneers streaming past her. “The line for the Jensen Ackles signing is to the left. Artists alley, panels, and screenings are to the right. The show floor is two levels up, escalators are straight ahead.”
Jensen Ackles?I don’t even know who the hell that is. I might as well turn in my nerd card right now.
