Colton: Wordsmith Chronicles Book 2 (The Wordsmith Chronicles)

by Christopher Harlan

  “I have an idea,” I say coyly. “If you’re down.”

  “I’m always down for you, Colton.”

  She closes the remaining distance between our bodies, practically throwing her body towards mine. She ends up on top of me as I lay backwards to stop the momentum, and as our bodies collide her hair covers my face. I’m already hard by the time my back hits the edge of the couch. If the rub of her shoulder against mine as she walked in was the appetizer, then this is the main course.

  We touch and kiss each other like lovers who’ve been parted for too long, like our bodies are desperate for one another. And before I know it we’re in bed, undressing one another. It’s going to be a great night!

  28

  Colton

  Three meetings today, all of them good.

  Coffee with Brody.

  Lunch with the guys.

  Date with Harley.

  Not a bad day at all, if I do say so myself, but all of the meetings are different. Brody is passing through my neck of the woods on his way to a photo shoot in Jersey, and I wanted to talk to him about a shoot. Normally authors choose the cover images for their books way before the book is done, sometimes before it’s even fully written. I’ve had such a whirlwind six months that I didn’t bother to pick a proper image, and all of my online trolling of photography websites hasn’t yielded anything that lives up to my expectations. So, as fate would have it, coffee with one of the most popular cover models it is.

  I tell him to meet me at a Starbucks in the city, and we get there at almost the exact same time. As we walk in together I’m already seeing the looks he’s getting. His height alone turns women’s heads, but once they turn to get a good look at the giant in the room, it’s his face that keeps them looking longer than they probably should. It’s one thing to be around him at signings where everyone knows who he is, but being with him in a public is an interesting experience. It’s easy to see why he makes a full-time living as a model. His face is chiseled, with short blond hair sitting atop his head. He’s the kind of guy women would assume works as a model. Luckily for me he’s also one of the nicest guys out there.

  “What’s going on, brother?” I ask as we bro hug a little.

  “Nothing, man. Just passing through on my way to another photo shoot with G. I’m excited about this one, it’s going to be Western themed.”

  “Western? Like cowboys and shit?”

  “Exactly, minus the ‘and shit’ part. G texted me pics of some of the props last night. Full out cowboy hats and lassos and shit.”

  “And you’re excited about this?”

  “Very, are you kidding me?”

  “Okay, you’re gonna have to explain. I need to know why you love the idea of holding a lasso and wearing spurs.”

  “Coffee first, explanation as to my shoot preferences second.”

  “Good call.”

  We get in line, neither of us even bothering to look at the menu, our caffeine game is strong. There are types of patrons who go to Starbucks, and I spend so much damn time in these places that I actually categorized them in my own sick little mind. First, you have the newbies. Those are the people who, despite this being 2018, have never set foot in a Starbucks in their entire deprived lives. You can identify them by the exorbitant amount of time they spend staring at a menu that hasn’t changed all that much in twenty years, and by their tendency to use the terms ‘small, ‘medium’ or ‘large’ when they finally make up their minds as to what to order. These people are annoying because they can hold the line up something awful.

  The second group are the trendy drinkers—mostly teens and college kids, and mostly female. They’re the ones who prefer the latest sugary or iced drinks off the menu, and they only order the new stuff. They rarely drink coffee, and mostly come to Starbucks in the summer when the most new iced drinks become available. They’re annoying because they’re annoying, mostly existing in large packs of loud girls, but on the plus side they keep the line moving.

  Then, lastly, you have consumers like Brody and myself—guys who are hardcore coffee drinkers who have also been coming to Starbucks since we bought our first cup. We’re the ones the baristas know too well, and who refer to our drinks as ‘the regular.’ Unfortunately for us, this isn’t either of our local places, so we have to actually describe our insane orders to this kid who looks about nineteen years old behind the counter.

  “What can I get for you, today, sir?” The pimply, nervous looking kid asks. I go first.

  “Okay, kid, you know when one of your teachers tells you to put your listening ears on? Same deal right now—keep up. I’m going to have a venti Americano with two extra shots—so that’s six in total and yes, you heard that correctly—with room for milk, so therefore easy on the water. My friend here will have the. . .”

  “He will have the same, actually. Good call, Colt.”

  “Thanks, dude. You got all that kid?” After he nods I hand him my card. “And put them both on this, okay? Thanks.”

  The kid swipes my card and we step to the other side while our drinks get prepared. I waste no time jumping back into our conversation because he has me interested now. “So, spurs, huh?”

  “Mothafuckin’ spurs!” he yells, and the last two women who already weren’t looking over at us join the rest of their thirsty sisterhood. “We were up to the explanation part, weren’t we?”

  “Yes, we were.”

  “I’m not a writer, but I think it’s a little different for you guys writing stories than it is for the models.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I guess from the outside it seems like our jobs are similar. We both do things related to books, we know the same circle of people, we’re all trying to make a living doing what we’re doing, but past that the similarities fade. It’s more like we’re in the same universe, but vastly different planets, you know?”

  I nod. I know what he’s saying in the abstract, but the truth is I’ve never really thought about anyone else’s experience in this industry outside of other writers. I don’t think most authors have. Maybe we’re just egocentric, or maybe we’re just too damn busy to spend time wondering about such things, but now that we’re talking about it I am curious. “So educate me. I’ve never put much thought into it. What are some differences?”

  “Well, take this photo shoot I’m going to in a few hours. Yeah, it sounds funny to hear me talk about wearing a cowboy hat like it’s Christmas or something, but I can’t tell you how monotonous some of these shoots can get.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Well think about it. You can write basically whatever you want, as long as it’s romance, right?”

  “Sort of,” I say. “There are some taboos when it comes to romance, but I get your point. Yes, I have a lot of freedom as far as the story I want to tell.”

  “Right. Well there’s just less of that. If you think of what I do as my own form of art—combined with the art of my photographer—then it’s much more limited. I like the shirtless, flexing shoots just fine. They pay the bills and land me on some cool book covers, but sometimes I just get plain sick of them. I like when a photographer like G is a little more creative with his shoots and I can do something different. I can show a different side of myself and it keeps my batteries charged. Know what I mean?”

  Now I do. I didn’t before, but it’s clear as day now. I was making fun of the kid but what he does with most of his time would be like if I only had to write a certain type of story again and again, with only a little variation between them. I probably wouldn’t write for much longer. “I get it, man, I do. And hey, you enjoy the fuck out of your cow shit and ropes, or whatever the hell you’re doing.”

  “It’s Jersey, so we’re going to recreate the whole scene—I doubt there will be any actual cow shit.”

  “In Jersey you never know. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Ha! You’re right about that one. What did George Carlin call it? The toll booth capital of the United States? Good
thing I love Greg or I’d never follow him there.”

  “He’s worth the follow.”

  “So what did you wanna meet about? You said something about a book?”

  I tell him the story of The Gentle Art and the writing of it—well, I give him the coffee-with-a-friend version, anyhow. Bullet points mostly, but I get into a little depth with the plot and he seems into it.

  “That sounds awesome, man. When does it come out?”

  “That’s the thing, see. I got the file back from my editor, it’s being formatted and beta-read now, but I have no cover.”

  “What? How do you not have a cover?”

  “It’s a long story,” I say. “But the short version is I didn’t think I’d be done yet, and I hate 99% of the shit that’s out there when it comes to photographs for my books.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” he says. “You care about your product. You want it to look as close to perfect as possible. I get that.”

  “Which brings us to you and, in a weird way, New Jersey.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want to do a custom shoot for The Gentle Art. I know they’re expensive, and I know there are a lot of MMA themed romance books, but I want this one to be the best.”

  “Colton Chase,” he jokes, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “Are you asking me to be your book cover model?”

  “I am,” I joke back, sounding like I just proposed. “I really am. Will you do me the honor and make me the happiest author who ever lived?”

  “Eh, I’m not sure I have time.”

  “What!”

  “Kidding, kidding, Jeez, you’re so sensitive. Of course, dude, I’d love to. Let me text G and ask if he has MMA props or a way to shoot at a local training facility.”

  “Thank, man, I really appreciate it. If we get this done quickly I think it might be the best cover I’ve ever had.”

  “Correction,” he says while hitting the send button to Greg. “This will be the best cover you’ve ever had.”

  <><><>

  Caffeine is supposedly an appetite suppressant, but I’d never know it. After six shots of espresso in a pretty short period of time I’m still ready to eat a horse. I want Chinese food, and this time I’m not going along with the crowd, I basically tell Knight and Grayson to meet me at my favorite place in Queens. By the time they walk in I’m already settled. I’ve downed a glass of water, had an appetizer, because I’m an impatient bastard when I’m hungry, and I’m chatting it up with the manager, who I’ve known for years. When they walk in I wave them over.

  “Fuck, you ordered without us, you savage!”

  “Sorry, Gray, I’m hungry. Emergency. Couldn’t be helped. What would you have done if you’d walked in here and I was passed out from malnourishment?”

  “Laughed,” he says. “I would have laughed hysterically. Probably so loud everyone would have been watching me more than the passed out romance author on the ground with his face in the carpet.”

  “Funny.”

  “I have my moments,” Gray says. “Now can we order for the whole table, please?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  We get some appetizers and then get right down to all business Wordsmith related. Knight takes the lead, as usual. “So I’m thinking of another signing, but next year. It gives us time to get some more books out there, maybe even another anthology, who knows, but we can make it an even cooler experience for readers. Maybe even have some guests to the Wordsmith Universe.”

  Mike’s not a brand guy. Gray’s the one with the head for business and social media in the group, and as soon as Mike uses that phrase Gray and I look at each other, and Mike just keeps on talking, oblivious as he can sometimes be.

  “Woah, woah, hold up, Mike,” Gray interrupts.

  “What?”

  “What you just said. Say it again.”

  “What, about trying to get discounted rooms for the readers?”

  “No, man, screw the discounted rooms. Not really, but before all that I meant. What did you say? You called it the Wordsmith Universe?”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess I did. Why?”

  “I love that name,” I tell him, grinning ear to ear. “It’s brilliant.”

  “Oh,” Mike says. “It wasn’t really a name, exactly, just something I said.”

  Gray jumps in to help bring Mike up to speed on the brilliance of his own idea. “No, it’s not just something you said. I mean, it is, but I think it’s also a great branding and marketing idea. We could have other authors be sort of Wordsmith affiliates—this way we could expand outside of just our core group. We could get new authors, or use exiting authors for anthologies, takeovers, and generally brand it like it was a company. Think about how much reach we could have!”

  “Hold on Gray, before you blow your load all over the nice waiter next to you. There are some counter points. And no, I’m not being the negative guy, I’m being critical.” I hate to bring Grayson down from Cloud 9 when he’s feeling good about something, but he needs to hear all sides of this idea, not just the bright, shiny ones.

  “Go ahead.”

  The waiter puts our food on the table, family style, with all of the appetizers in the center of the table and a bunch of serving spoons all around. We start to make up our plates as I think through this Wordsmith Universe thing. “I love the idea, all of it. I think it’s brilliant, even if this dummy over here didn’t realize he struck gold.” Mike doesn’t reply verbally, he just sticks his middle finger up with the hand he’s not using to pinch some delicious looking pork fried dumplings onto his plate. “Right back at you, Mike. But back to you, Gray. The whole thing will work and you’re right, it’ll branch our fan base out really wide, but it all rests on one thing we don’t totally have yet.”

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  “Success,” I say harshly. “I don’t want to shit on anything we’ve accomplished so far in our careers, but unless we’re absolutely killing it how are we going to get everyone and their mother to want to be part of our group? I love the idea, but I don’t think we’re there yet.”

  “I agree,” Mike says. “But why don’t we talk about how we’re going to get there. Why don’t we discuss our books as more than just our individual books, but discuss them as part of what we’re talking about. I’ll start. I have meetings this week with three different publishing houses that are interested in picking up ForEver. I’m also shopping my new series to them, so I’ll let you know how that goes. I’m almost done with the first book, and whether it’s picked up or not I plan on releasing it in the late fall, around Thanksgiving or so. Next.”

  Mike motions to me and I jump in. “Okay, I finished The Gentle Art.”

  “Finally!” Gray interrupts.

  “Yes, Gray, finally. Now shut it until it’s your turn.” I get another middle finger. I’m used to them by now. “Alright, back to what I was saying before I was so very rudely interrupted. I FINALLY finished The Gentle Art, and I met up with Brody just before I got here about doing a custom shoot with G for the cover. Next thing is diving into book 3, but I’m hoping this one takes off. I’m gonna put it up on Amazon in a week. That’s all I’ve got for now. Grayson?”

  “I’m done with mine, too.” He throws that out so casually that we almost don’t pick up on it. Gray’s been having issues while Mike and I have been thriving. He’s still the rock of the group, and he’s like my brother, but he’s been having some financial difficulties with getting his books written as well as some of his mood issues coming back recently to haunt him. But I guess somewhere in there he’s been writing too.

  “No shit?” I ask. “You finished your new book?”

  “Yeah, and I think I have you to thank for that in a weird way, Colt.”

  “Me? How come?”

  “Jiu Jitsu. Training with you kicked me in the ass, along with all of your pep talks and support. I’ve also been back there a lot. Training seems to keep my mood up, and as long as my mood is right I can write faster than both of
you. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Mike says. “Colt and I know it’s true. I remember when you published your first while we were still figuring out how to write ours. You’re a beast, and I’m glad to see you back to your old self.”

  “Ditto about you being a beast. And Calem told me you’d been back for a bunch of privates. Told me you’re a real natural—one of the most promising students he’s ever seen, actually. Those were his exact words and, trust me, he doesn’t give out compliments like that easily. I’m so proud of you, dude, congrats.”

  “Thanks, both of you. I love you guys.”

  “Speaking of your friend, Calem. I know we agreed to let the drama go at the signing, but did you hear anything about what happened with KL and Roland?”

  “Yeah. I called Calem right after we got back to see what was up. The local PD scared the shit out of them, and so did the NYPD when they got back. Right now they’re being charged with grand larceny because the value of that piece of shit of a laptop—which apparently isn’t that much of a piece of shit—is $1,236 dollars, exactly.”

  “So are they, like, going to jail?” Gray asks.

  “Probably not, no. They’re gonna do what I did—make a plea, or agree to pay a fine, or something like that. The point wasn’t to get them thrown in jail, just to send a message that they don’t get any free shots. We’ll see what happens but it’s been all quiet on the western front since that confrontation at the pub.”

  “Yeah, that’s what worries me,” Gray says. “With those guys I’m not sure silence means submission. It probably means that they’re up to something.”

  “Don’t be so paranoid,” I say. “We’re here to celebrate us, right? Isn’t that what you guys told me to focus on? Well, help me out.”