by Melody Anne
“Gavin will be back soon, right?” Reggie said when I looked up, reading my mind, as usual.
“Next week.”
“You must be stoked.”
I was. Gavin had fallen for Fernbrooke while they’d filmed here, and bought a home on the lake. Although he still had to travel a lot, it made the long-distance thing just a little easier, knowing he always had a place to come back to in my hometown.
I brushed a stray thread off my pink tank top, resisting the urge to grab the Bookworm smock from the hook in the corner to cover the parts of my scarred skin that showed above the neckline. I’d promised Jin and myself that if I was going to show my fans me, they were going to see the real me. “Can’t wait. I’ve missed him like crazy. Thank goodness for Skype and texting.”
“You mean sexting, right? I hear you sometimes from your room.”
I buried my face behind the book. “You don’t.”
Reggie laughed. “No, I don’t. But I got you to admit to it.”
Fluorescent light filtered into the room and I turned to see an employee at the door. His boyish grin perfectly complemented his tousled brown hair. “Five minutes, Ms. Lynch,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “You can call me Aubrey.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Lynch.” He reddened and ducked his face before easing the door closed. I chuckled at the memory of playing that very same game with Duncan all of first semester. I still had to remind myself to use his first name. Especially now that he’d quit teaching to write full-time. The world and I held our breath awaiting his next novel, due out in three months.
“Hey,” Reggie said, “I meant to ask. Now that the new book is coming out, have you heard at all from Veronica?”
I shook my head. “Not since she ran out of our dorm. I did see a picture of her online with some rock star at the Grammys, so maybe she’s moved on. I hope, for her sake, this one sticks.”
“Kinda sad she preferred running off on her own to owning up to herself.”
I rolled the book over in my hands. “I just hope she finds what she’s looking for.”
Reggie took the book from me and flipped through the first couple of pages. She stopped when she got to the dedication page. “I still can’t believe you did this.”
“Of course I did. You deserve it.”
I got up and stood behind her chair, reading the page over her shoulder:
This book is for Gavin, Jin, Regina, and Clint, the people who taught me to be honest with myself above all else and who showed me that a flaw is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, it’s the one thing that makes all of us human.
Thank you for always keeping me in check and for never letting me get away with fear. Thank you for teaching me to be brave. I love you all. In the words of the world’s truest cowboy: We only get one chance at this life. Make sure the one you’re living is your own.
Reggie looked at me, eyes shining. “It gets me every freaking time I read it. Thank you.”
I wrapped my arms around her shoulders. “No, thank you. I wouldn’t have finished this book without you, or made it through this last year. I’m so lucky to have people like you in my life.”
I was still hugging her when the door opened again, and the same employee stepped into the room, wringing his hands. “It’s time, Ms. Lynch.”
“Great. I’ll be right there.”
I double-checked that the page I’d be reading from was still marked in the book, and took a deep breath.
“You can do it, Elise.” Reggie clamped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to rock it.”
She pushed me toward the open door and I closed my eyes, willing my body to still and the world to stop spinning. She was right. I had this.
I stepped out through the door and in front of the waiting crowd.
People stood, their hands waving and clapping, wide smiles of excitement easing away all my fears. Their stomps made the floor vibrate, shooting tingles up my legs all the way to my heart.
Reggie joined the people at the front, giving me the thumbs-up. My mom wiped at a tear on her cheek. Duncan smiled and shook his head at me. Jin signed, I love you.
Pride welled in my chest, and I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear, aware that the flash of cameras from the reporters on my right would capture my scar at its finest, but not caring in the slightest.
“Hi, everyone,” I said into the microphone at the podium near the front. “My name is Aubrey Lynch. I’ll be reading from the last of the Viking Moon books for you today. I really hope you like it.”
The applause continued and I stepped back to take it all in. All of these people were here for me, and, for once, I’d shown up for them. They didn’t stop clapping for a good five minutes. I couldn’t hide my smile from the crowd.
Because even though I couldn’t hear it, it was by far the loudest moment of my life.
Although writing often feels like a solitary activity, there are actually so many people who helped this book come into existence. I’m going to do my best to thank all of them, even though simple words on a page feel somewhat inadequate for all you have done.
First, my parents: Thank you for always encouraging me to pursue what I love, for pushing me when I needed it, and for putting up with my overactive imagination. At least I finally found an outlet for it. I am forever grateful for everything you’ve done for me and every sacrifice you’ve made. Thank you is not enough.
Thank you to my husband, Mark, for listening to me prattle on about story lines and helping me hash out plot holes, and for being a constant source of support. Your unwavering belief in me is staggering. Know that I have that same belief in you. I am so lucky to be married to my best friend. I love you.
And to our rabbit, Spike: Sorry for all those moments your dinner was late because I was on the computer. Thank you for all the nuzzles and licks that helped me through the harder days.
So much love and thanks to my extended family and friends for your support and love through the years. There are far too many of you to name here, but I feel blessed to know every single one of you.
I am incredibly grateful this book found a home with Pocket Star/Simon & Schuster. Thank you to my amazing editor, Elana Cohen, for believing in this story. Your tremendous insights brought it to the next level, and I’m so lucky to be working with you. Endless gratitude to Christine Masters, Laura Cherkas, Elizabeth Lotto, Paul O’Halloran, and the rest of the talented, hardworking team at Pocket Star/Simon & Schuster for making this book the best it could possibly be.
I don’t even know where to start when it comes to thanking my fantastic agent, Kathleen Rushall. Thank you for being a sounding board, a mentor, a cheerleader, and at times, even a therapist. I pinch myself practically every day that I get to work with you. You make dreams come true, and that’s an amazing thing. Thank you for helping me achieve mine. To #TeamKrush, and the rest of the folks at MLLA, I have mountains of gratitude. This is a wonderful family to be a part of. Thank you for making me feel so welcome.
A big thank-you to Jesse Bickford and the folks at Blackstone Audio for giving Elise a voice even I didn’t know she had. I know she is in good hands with your talented team.
This book was read and shaped by so many people on its way to publication, the first of which were my amazing critique partners.
Tiani Bradilovic: Not only did you read the first full book I ever wrote, you’ve insisted on reading each one since. Although you live across the world, you’re the reason I even considered pursuing this dream, and I don’t have the proper words to thank you for that. You were my first fan, and have been one of my biggest ones since. Thank you, my friend. You are going to be the most beautiful bride.
Molly Lee: Thank you for reading this book so many times I’ve lost count (sometimes only in sections or paragraphs at a time). I know you’ll deny it, but you are one of the main reasons this story even exists. I was so close to giving up on my dream, and you were the one to insist I keep pushing. I am beyond blessed to have you as a
critique partner and friend. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Rochelle Deans: Thank you for your eagle eyes, your incredible insight, and your constant invitations to Portland. I swear I’ll get there one day. I’m so appreciative of your multiple reads, your fact-checking, and our sometimes off-on-a-tangent chats. #Treyleigh forever!
Adriana Mather: You talented lady, you. Not only did you help me strengthen this story, you were a constant support system as we traversed this crazy world of publishing together. Thank you for holding my hand through the process. I’m Team Witch, all the way.
Oodles of thanks to my beta readers, who read this book in its formative stages: Kara Barbieri, Andrew Russo, Sheri Williams, and my wonderful (and super cool about reading a sex scene written by her daughter) mom. I’m so grateful for all of your positivity and encouragement. You are all awesomesauce. Thank you.
Thank you, Christina Larson, for giving Elise her sign name. I know how sacred sign names are, and I’m so honored you found Elise worthy of one. I hope she makes you proud.
To all the people I’ve met through writing groups and contests, the folks at QT, my wonderful Wenches, the Life Rafters, Brenda Drake and the Pitch Wars crew: Thank you for teaching me the ins and outs of writing and publishing. Your talent and friendship astounds me. I’m so grateful to everyone I’ve met on this journey.
To all the bloggers and reviewers out there, thank you for all you do, and for using your love of books to help spread the word about authors and their work.
Lastly, my biggest thanks goes to you, the reader. Thank you for spending your time with me and these characters. I am so appreciative of every one of you, and you are all beautiful—inside and out.
Please know any liberties I’ve taken were done to advance the story, and any mistakes I made are my own.
Love to you all.
Follow Veronica, from Flirting with Fame, in this romance about learning when it is and isn’t right to play pretend.
DEALING IN DECEPTION
By Samantha Joyce
Coming November 2016!
Veronica
The woman across the room wanted me dead. Even through the dim lighting of the bar, the venom cascaded from her body in waves. Her blue eyes sliced like shards of ice across my fake blond hair, my too-tight, too-low-cut red dress, my matching crimson heels. I met her gaze without blinking. To her credit, she didn’t look away.
“Okay,” I whispered into the ear of the man beside me. I trailed a finger across his forearm as I leaned in. “We’ve got her attention. Now, casually place your hand on the small of my back.” I grunted as his fingers made contact. “Back, I said. Aim a little higher there.”
“Sorry.” The tiny bit of color his face still held drained away completely. Sweat dotted his forehead, reflecting the neon beer sign above the bar. “I’m just a little nervous. What if she figures it out?”
I took a sip of my whiskey and made sure Little Miss Murder-in-Her-Eyes over in the corner was still watching.
She was.
“Don’t worry. I’ve done this a hundred times.” I handed him my empty glass. “She won’t know what hit her. Now, be a good boy and go get me another drink.”
As he stumbled away and tried unsuccessfully to get the bartender’s attention, I started a countdown in my head.
Five . . . four . . .
I tapped my toe to the beat of the insipid Top 40 hit blaring from the speakers.
Three . . . two . . .
I focused on my manicured nails, polished the same red shade of my dress.
One . . .
“What are you doing with Scott?”
I looked up from my nails to find Little Miss Murder-in-Her-Eyes standing in front of me, arms crossed and lips pursed. Flowery perfume applied overzealously—possibly after a long day at the office—floated into my nose, and I blinked at the water building in my eyes.
The woman probably would’ve been pretty if she’d tried harder. Lackluster brown hair pulled into a soft bun on the top of her head like that of a washed-up ballerina. She wore a pale blouse, buttoned to the neck, and dark gray pants. Not a smidge of makeup painted her flawless skin.
Seriously? A work get-together and the woman couldn’t even put on lipstick?
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from reminding her mascara is a girl’s best friend. Insisting on a makeover for a stranger wasn’t the goal of the night.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Why is me being with Scottie any of your business?”
“I’m his girlfriend.” She eyed my fingers as I traced my collarbone, drawing her attention to the way my chest filled the dress in a way hers never would. “Well, his ex-girlfriend. But we’ve only been broken up a month. I didn’t think he’d bring a date tonight.”
“To be honest, I didn’t think we’d be here tonight, either. We haven’t left my bed in two days.”
She almost dropped her white wine. The glass started to tumble from her fingers, but she caught herself and blinked. She wiped her palm on her last-season pants.
“Scottie is just a tiger in the sack,” I continued. I swallowed so as not to gag on the idea of sharing even the corner of a pillow with the pudgy, far-too-hairy man at the bar. I nudged the woman in the shoulder. “But, of course, being his ex-girlfriend, you’d know all about it.” I tossed a wink in her direction.
She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a pitiful squeak. Poor girl. Scottie was likely more a drooling puppy in bed with her than he was a sleek jungle cat. But she narrowed her eyes at him all the same. She believed me.
This was too easy.
Scott returned from the bar with my drink, almost falling over his own feet more than once, and bumping into at least three people. He muttered apologies to each of them. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I took the drink from him and downed it in one gulp. The whiskey burned the back of my throat, warming my chest and buzzing through my head. I handed Scott the empty glass and took the one he’d gotten for himself.
“Thanks, Scottie,” I said. “You’re too sweet. I love the way you take care of me. And I promise I’ll take care of you later.” I raked a hand across his chest and he inhaled sharply.
“Scott, who is this woman?” The ex-girlfriend hadn’t left my side. “And why are you letting her call you ‘Scottie’? You hate that.”
“He’s never complained when I’ve screamed his name, have you, Scottie?” I held out my hand. “I’m Rachel Newton.”
The name wasn’t mine, but it slipped across my lips with ease. She didn’t take my hand or meet my eyes. Instead, she cocked her head and squinted at Scott.
“Allison,” he said, “this is Rachel. I’ve been, uh, seeing her for the last couple weeks.”
“We broke up less than a month ago and you’re already seeing someone else?!” she squeaked, her fingers tightening around her glass.
“Well, ah . . .” Scott cleared his throat. “I mean, you said it was over. And Rachel just showed up one day and we kinda clicked and—”
“You shouldn’t have come to an office party with another woman, Scott.” Allison’s voice cracked. “Do you know how that makes me feel?”
That was my cue.
I patted Scott on the shoulder from behind and he flinched like he’d forgotten I was there. “Well, I can see you guys have some chatting to do. I’m heading to the ladies’.”
Gulping down the last of Scott’s whiskey, I placed the empty glass on a waitress’s tray filled with fresh drinks and food. She swore at me, but I ignored her. Cleaning up was her job, not mine.
Peanut shells cracked under my heels as I tottered toward the restroom and I wrinkled my nose. A place that let you dump food on the floor wasn’t exactly my usual choice of venue. But Scott had insisted this was our best chance to see Allison, so I’d sucked it up. Rachel Newton would just be happy to be on Scottie’s arm. She’d smile, flirt, and not care about crap on the floor. So I would do that. At least until I completed my objective.
&
nbsp; Only two women occupied the bathroom—a pair of Scott’s coworkers he’d introduced me to when we’d first arrived. I didn’t remember their names. They chattered about work by the sinks as I reapplied my lipstick and pursed my lips.
As far as I’d gathered, Scott and Allison both worked for an accounting firm. They’d just landed some big account, so this party was the company’s way of thanking their employees. I furrowed my brows at my reflection. Some thank-you. A dirty, stuffy bar in one of the bad parts of town. At least the drinks were free.
I backed away from the sinks, shaking off the spinning sensation brought on by the whiskey, and returned to the bar.
Someone had spilled a drink outside the bathroom door, and I swerved around the waiter tossing paper towels at the puddle. The burning smell of alcohol and the drinks already coursing through my system made the trek back to Scottie seem longer than before. By the time I broke through the crowd, tilting and pushing myself off the broad shoulders of some dullard in a suit, I spotted them.
Scott and Allison stood in the middle of the floor, arms wrapped around each other and lips smashed together.
Ugh.
He probably tasted like the garlic wings he’d been grazing on since we’d arrived. Flecks of orange barbecue sauce still stained his fingers as they trailed across her cheek. Just what every woman wanted: the scent of deep-fried poultry staining her skin.
I took a deep breath and grabbed a drink off the tray of the same waitress as before. She shouted at me, but, once again, I ignored her protests.
Stomping up to Scott, I pushed his shoulder. “What are you doing, Scottie?”
The couple parted like I’d thrown a lit match between them. Scott’s face took on the color of my dress, and Allison smirked.
“I . . . uh . . .”
“I thought she broke up with you?!”
“She did. But, you know, I still love her.” He rubbed his neck. “And she said she still loves me and, well, I’m sorry, Rachel. I think we’re going to give it another shot.”