Page 32 of The Write Stuff

I knew he regretted the words the second they were out of his mouth because he looked as if he was trying to make himself smaller. That did nothing to dissipate my temper, however.

“Let it go,” I growled. “Stop bringing up Mick.”

“How can I? Mick is the reason we all ended up in this situation. Well, your mother and Mick.”

“Oh, as if your mother didn’t have a hand in it,” I fired back.

“Excuse me?” Huxley’s eyebrows moved toward his hairline. “How is this my mother’s fault?”

“You know.”

“I don’t know.”

“You know,” I growled. He was getting on my nerves. Or, well, actually there was no “getting” to it. He was definitely on my nerves and even gnawing them like a rat.

“I said I don’t know,” he snapped back. “If you have something to say, then say it.”

Before I could respond, Casey appeared. Her eyes moved between us — there was a wariness there — but she kept her voice chipper. “Are you guys ready? The readers certainly are. We don’t want to upset them.”

I pulled away from Huxley. We’d somehow ended up closer to one another, although I didn’t know how it had happened. It was like we were magnets or something, which made me even more uncomfortable than I had been. “I’m ready,” I replied, forcing a bright smile that was completely unnecessary as long as we were hidden from the readers.

“I’m ready too,” Huxley said. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Great. That’s the spirit,” Casey drawled. She looked down at her phone, then back up at him. “Okay, we have two hours. Let’s be calm and professional, huh? Whatever is going on with you, once the event is over, you’re free to duke it out.”

“Nothing is going on between us,” I replied. “We don’t even know one another. Everything is fine.”

“It’s great,” Huxley agreed. “In fact, my life has never been better.”

“Great.” Casey bobbed her head. “Let’s do this.”

9

NINE

The reader event went smoothly, although I caught Wylie huffing back annoyance several times when I answered questions. My mother always said I had a charm streak a mile wide. I didn’t get it when I was a kid. I did as an adult.

I was good with people, except it was all an act. I didn’t wish ill will on any of our fans — not even a little — but I didn’t feel a connection with them. My mother’s inclination to bring people into our lives and then kick them out when she was bored had taught me not to form attachments.

Wylie was another story. She was charming without even trying. People were just drawn to her, and she was completely unaware of it. She had the sort of infectious enthusiasm that made people believe she was genuine, because she was.

So, when the readers asked Wylie what her favorite couple to ship was, and she said Beverly Crusher and Jean Luc Picard, people were a little disappointed. Those weren’t current names. There was no Will and Eleven in there, or even Jamie and Claire. When she explained why she shipped them, however, and went on and on about love lasting a lifetime and the yearning associated with it, even I found myself invested in Crusher and Picard.

How had that happened?

Then, when she already had them in the palm of her hand, she dusted off her Klingon again. It sounded as if she were trying to have a bowel movement. The entire crowd jumped to their feet and applauded when she was finished, though.

It was somehow both annoying and amazing.

As I watched her, I found the anger I’d been feeling with her earlier dissipate. I took the time to look between her and the crowd so I could see just how excited they were to watch Wylie be Wylie. There were people there to see me, of course. I even had a few flirtatious women who tried to slip me their numbers. I was much more interested in watching Wylie charm the pants off anybody who interacted with her. It was as if she was beaming sunshine directly on them.

I had every intention of apologizing — again — as soon as the event had finished. I’d taken it to the wrong place — again — and I knew that an apology might not go over well. I was determined to try, however.

I thought Wylie had gone to the bathroom, so I waited for her to exit into the hallway. Even if she shot me down, I was going to tell her I was sorry. She didn’t come out, though. When I tracked down Casey, she told me Wylie had already left. She offered to take my number and forward it to Wylie in case she agreed to call me, but I didn’t bother. That would be a waste of time.

Wylie was mad. I didn’t blame her. I kept being obnoxious with her. The most disturbing part — well, other than the obvious — was that I didn’t know why I kept losing it. Normally, I could hide my emotions. Life on the road with my mother had taught me that. Tantrums weren’t allowed in front of fans, and there were always fans around, even if you didn’t see them. I’d learned to moderate my emotions over the years.

With everybody but Wylie, apparently.