Stirred (10 page)

I just wished the butterflies in my stomach agreed.

“Shit, that was close,” I swore as I shut the lid on my laptop.

Trinitee lifted her mug and smiled into her coffee. “That chick ain’t dumb,” she commented, practicing what she called her every-girl speak, a dumbed-down persona designed to hide her razor-sharp wit, a tactic she was honing to appear less of a threat to any who might challenge her. “You gotta be more careful, dude.”

“Me? You’re the one feeding me lines,” I objected, used to her ever-changing character.

She shook her head, her grin growing broader. “Only the tweets, you asshole. Those DMs were all you. And the idiot-you, at that.”

“How else am I supposed to get her to trust me? This is your game plan, not mine, remember?”

With hooded eyes, Trin set her cup down and relaxed back into her chair. “Then
you
finish reading her damn book and figure out how to accomplish that on your own. Just don’t cry to me when she fails to take the bait.”

I snickered. “I know how to bed a girl, Trin. Fuck.”

“‘Cept this ain’t no damn girl, Sean-boy. She’s a woman, like, what? Forty years old or something? That’s nearly two decades more experience than you. She’ll recognize a player like
that
,” she said with a snap of her fingers. “You need to go slow. Don’t rush this.”

I nodded, sighing with the knowledge she was right, as usual. “You think I scared her off?”

Trinitee glanced around at the other Starbucks patrons then leaned in, her elbows on the small table between us. “No, not yet. But I think she’s guarded, as she should be.” Trin dipped down and rifled through her backpack, pulling out a folder with loose notes inside.

“I did a little research,” she continued, “and found out Ms. MacLaird just hit the big-time with that book of hers. An Amazon,
USA Today
, and
New York Times
bestseller, all within the last nine months. So, on top of being gorgeous, she’s a newly minted celebrity and likely has a stable of stalker-types hot on her ass. You can’t just act like some gold-digger trying to get into her lacy little panties. That bitch be smart, Sean-boy. She has dual BAs in psychology and early childhood development, plus an MFA in creative writing, all from the U-Dub. She can see you comin’ before you even leave the motherfuckin’ building.”

“Jesus Christ, Trin, I’m not exactly Rob Kardashian. I have a BA in poli-sci and a minor in international studies, both summa cum laude,” I ticked off. “Plus a full-ride to the U-Dub School of Law while on track for The Order of the Coif in nine short months. So don’t act like she’s all above me.” I shook my head. “
No one’s
above me.”

“‘Cept for me,” she cautioned with a raised brow and the tiniest of grins.

I chuckled, annoyed to be caught in her trap yet again. “Yeah, except for you, Trin. Always you.” I shook my head and peered out the storefront window at all the students and local residents bustling along the sidewalk outside. “Okay then, what do you suggest I do?” I asked.

Trinitee’s grin split her face wide. She held up one finger and proceeded to root through her folder until she found what she was looking for, a flyer of some sort. “This,” she explained simply as she slid it under my nose.

“What is it?”

“An event at Secret Garden Books in Ballard, three days from now. Your favorite new author will be reading a passage from her debut and signing copies for her fans between five and eight p.m. And here,” she added as she grabbed a book from her bag, Eden MacLaird’s
Joust
.

“You bought a hardcopy?” I scoffed in disbelief.

She smacked me in the head. “Think, you moron!” she scolded, drawing attention from those sitting near us.

“What!”

“What’s she supposed to sign, Sean, your goddamn Kindle? You can’t get close if you don’t have a book for her to actually autograph, you nimrod.”

“So you bought me her book,” I said, more a statement than a question. “Don’t you think you’re taking this one a bit too seriously? I’m inclined to treat this like a game, same as all the others, nothing more.”

“Yeah, well, now it’s more of a project, the Let’s-Get-Sean-Laid-by-a-Celebrity-Cougar Project, and I’m the director of events, so consider this an order.”

I gave Trinitee a long, hard look, trying to gauge how serious she was, and she seemed pretty damn serious. “And what exactly am I supposed to do at this event, boss?” I asked as she stuffed her things back into her bag.

Trinitee gave me a reassuring tap to my arm and said, “You’re the stud, Sean-boy. You’ll think of something.” With that, she winked and threw her backpack over one shoulder, waved, and sauntered out of the building.

I shook my head in doubt and flipped the book over in my hands, staring at the author pic on the back cover. “Looks like you and me gotta date, Ms. MacLaird,” I mimicked in Trin’s latest vernacular. I stroked my finger along the image. “Not sure what my pimp’s up to, but…I think I’m gonna enjoy this ride.” That said, I pulled out Eden’s business cards and slipped them midway between the pages.

Secret Garden Books was a small, independent bookstore sandwiched in a row of retail shops along NW Market Street in Seattle’s Ballard neighborhood, a historic blue-collar waterfront district predominantly known for its seafaring Nordic heritage. But, much like the rest of North Seattle, it had since evolved into a hip, urban enclave of quaint storefronts, trendy restaurants, and pedestrian-friendly walkways. While the shop carried mostly children’s books, they did maintain a section of commercial adult fiction and encouraged local authors to hold signing events and sales.

I parked across the street a block away and was surprised to see a line extending out the front entry, past the shop next door. I stopped in front of the large window and peered inside. Customers crowded around a long, narrow table set to the right just inside the door. I teetered side-to-side, trying to catch a glimpse, but all I could see was the back of Eden’s dark red hair. I checked the time on my phone—7:45.
Damn.
I thought by now there’d be few people left, and I’d get the chance for a little one-on-one.

With an impatient huff, I walked to the end of the line, hopeful the store wouldn’t close by the time I made my way inside. Turns out, I was worried for nothing. The line moved quickly as the store owner hurried patrons along. I allowed two people to sneak in front of me, anxious to be last. The plan worked, and the clock on my phone read 7:59 as I stepped in front of Eden MacLaird.

Jesus Christ, she was even more beautiful than I remembered, with her pale pink skin all smooth and flawless, her lips full and red and undoubtedly just as soft as the night she’d kissed me, and those long, thick lashes that brushed just above her high, sculpted cheekbones. I swallowed hard as I recalled every detail of the gorgeous eyes beneath her pale purple lids. They were a rich green, like perfectly cut emeralds, only these emeralds had shimmering canary diamonds radiating outward as if on fire, a sun burning bright within the depths. Absolutely stunning, and I couldn’t wait to see them again. So I plopped my book down hard on the table in front of her.

She didn’t look up at first. She simply grabbed the book and opened it to the title page and lowered her fancy Mont Blanc fountain pen to the blank spot just above her name.

“Anything special?” she asked before briefly peeking up at me, though her attention returned to the book, ready to scribble out an inscription. But all of a sudden, she seemed to hold her breath as her shoulders grew rigid and squared, and her hand slipped from the page.

She brought her gaze back up to me haltingly, and I stood there, staring, mesmerized by the intensity of those one-of-a-kind eyes. At first, her brow gathered in the center, but the knot slowly eased, and a tenuous smile pulled up along both sides of her mouth. That grin made the bored light in her eyes ignite into a bright flame just as the hint of a blush stained high on her cheeks. Placing the ivory pen in the crease of my book, she relaxed back into her hard plastic chair and folded her hands in her lap. Her head shook from side-to-side, almost imperceptibly, but I was acutely attuned to her and couldn’t help but notice the confusion in her expression.

I pointed to the book between us. “How about, ‘
To my newest fan. Enjoy!
’?”

Eden didn’t move. I wasn’t even sure she’d heard me. She just sat there and stared with that half-smile plastered on her beautiful face.

I raised my brow. “You okay?” I asked.

Her mouth moved like she was about to say something, but the words couldn’t seem to pass between her glossy red lips, so I just smiled back, hoping it would break the tension.

After another silent moment, Eden blinked and said, “What are
you
doing here?”

I simply pointed to my book. “Umm…getting my copy signed, obviously.”

She shook her head again and closed her eyes for a second before she focused back on me again. “But…how? I mean…what…where…” Even more head shaking.

“I’ve freaked you out, haven’t I?”

She sighed a heavy breath. “Yes. Yes, you have. How did you find me or even know I was here, who I was? I never gave you my name.”

I pulled the flier Trin had given me from my jacket pocket and held it under Eden’s nose. “No, but…these are all over town. I got this from the bookstore at the U-Dub. I recognized your picture, and…voilà, here I am!” I finished with a provocative grin.

She returned a similar gesture. “Yes, here you are indeed.”

“So?” I shrugged.

Her brow rose in question. “Soooo…what?”

I chuckled and pointed to the table. “You gonna sign my book or what?”

Eden chuffed in embarrassment. “Oh…yeah…of course. I, um…I’m sorry. You must think I’m an idiot.” She looked down at the page and paused then glanced back up at me again. “I’m sorry, what did you want me to write?”

I chuckled again, “Just…whatever you want. I’m easy.”

Her eyes tensed for a split second before returning to the book in front of her. “Okay. How about ‘
Happy reading. Enjoy. Now please stop stalking me. Eden MacLaird.
’?” she said aloud as she wrote in a flourished script, ending with a lavish swirling line beneath her inscription. She made a show of dotting her i’s and crossing the t’s before slapping the cover closed and sliding the book back across the table. With a false smile, she added, “Thanks for coming in. You have a nice evening.”

That said, she turned away and began to gather her things, stuffing them into her briefcase, the expensive Mont Blanc fountain pen shoved into her designer crocodile handbag. She stood and pushed the bag’s strap over her shoulder as she leaned down to grab her attaché. When she stood up, her bag caught and tipped the end of table, causing her stack of hardcover books to tumble off the edge into a messy heap on the floor.

“Oh crap!” Eden swore and dropped her bags before kneeling to clean up the mess.

“Here,” I said and leaned down to gather the books. “Lemme help.”

“No, that’s not necessary. You’ve done enough.” She sighed in irritation and hauled a short stack back onto the table.