Page 28 of Not As Advertised

Wait… Were those tentacles? How were they… Why would someone want… I was in over my head.

A snort-giggle came from my left. I looked up to see Abbie clutching a book to her chest as she nearly choked on her laughter. She obviously knew I was in the Adult Rated section and could see the shock on my face.

“What the hell am I looking at?” I mouthed to her. I widened my eyes purposefully, which only made her laugh harder.

Making sure my trusty sidekick, the stuffed cat, was still secure under my arm, I held up the cover of the book to show her. It had a completely nondescript cover with two characters on the front.

Oh, wait. Maybe there was a hint of a sea creature in the bottom corner once I looked more closely.

“Tentacle porn?” I mouthed again. I couldn’t believe I was shaping my lips to form these words, even without sounds.

I hoped I wasn’t flushed. Something about silently referring to X-rated illustrations to my assistant had me feeling like an inexperienced teenager, not a man in his mid-thirties. But Abbie seemed to bring out all kinds of feelings long buried inside me.

Another snort-choke was my answer. I decided she would just have to deal with a shopping companion for the rest of this section of the vendors. My poor, addled brain obviously wasn’t safe without supervision.

I just wouldn’t pick up anything else. I’d offer to hold her shopping bags instead. That sounded like a safe choice.

Once again, I’d found myself the reason for her laughter, and I could see myself getting addicted. Abbie had a way of shrinking the world to the two of us.

Even with ten feet between us, hundreds of people around, and a cacophony of noise so loud I couldn’t hear my own thoughts, she had a way of drawing me in and making me forget anything else but her.

By day three, my head spun with fatigue.

Before our dinner meeting, I spent my free time under the covers of my hotel room bed. Meeting Claire, Heath, and the nonprofit volunteers in the last two days was great, but peopling for long periods just wiped me out. This had been the third day of meetings, plus going to the convention this afternoon.

I liked people, mostly. Well, some people, at least, but only in small, controlled doses. Preferably in ones or twos.

Almost everything we’d done so far in LA had involved larger groups. Food bank employees and BrownBagvolunteers’ faces filled my camera’s memory card. Hopefully, I had taken some good shots to represent the program. With all that we had been doing, I hadn’t even sat down to go through the photos yet.

Tonight was going to be a medium-sized nightmare with about eight people at the table. If I was going to be expected to smile and nod convincingly at this dinner tonight (please, God, let everyone ignore me and focus on Mr. VP of Marketing), then a recharge of my batteries had been an absolute must.

I gave myself exactly sixty minutes to get cozy and rest. A quick power nap was first, followed by spending the rest of the time reading in bed. It was glorious, and I didn’t want to leave when my alarm signaled it was time to get ready.

As I headed for the bathroom, I gave the sleek black dress hanging in the wardrobe some serious side-eye. The dress was one of Indie’s bright ideas. Indie had sworn up and down that it looked amazing on me but was still professional. Or professionally adjacent, anyway.

I mostly shunned dress clothes. Too many torturous episodes of shopping with my mother throughout my childhood and teenage years had put me off fancy clothes. My mother’s lavish parties left me shuddering with memories of the itchiest fabrics known to humankind and unflattering designs that emphasized all the parts of my body I felt the worst about. That was why I owned basically the same dress shirt and skirt combination in several neutral colors for work and called it a day on fashion.

Now, take me shopping for pop culture T-shirts, and that was my idea of a good time. Unfortunately,Hello KittyorPokémonwasn’t dinner-appropriate attire unless the restaurant I was visiting had a kids’ menu.

Knowing the kind of things needed on business trips, Indie had taken me shopping the week prior. I recalled only giving myself the briefest glance in the dressing room mirror when Indie had all but shoved me into this new dress. She declared I needed at least one cocktail dress in my wardrobe. Spending too much of her life at some country club function or lavishly decorated ballroom, I trusted her to steer me in the right direction. I remained unconvinced but with no other options at this point.

Nothing short of a T-shirt and leggings was going to fix the current churn in my stomach at this point. My own sense of what I looked like varied from neutral to insecure, depending on mymood. I felt drained, making me vulnerable to negative thoughts I fought hard to overcome.

Meeting new people and being “seen” or judged on my appearance made my anxiety skyrocket after a reasonably pleasant afternoon. There was a big difference between the safe space of meeting Aiden’s sister, who could make even the most introverted person feel welcome, and a table full of wealthy investors expecting me to act in a certain way.

My phone rang as I glanced back at the dress, now more dubiously than ever. My fashion consultant devil was video calling me. Indie’s call made me laugh out loud as she popped up on the screen.

“Hey! I’m Ash Ketchum from Pallet Town, and this is my partner Pika-Mew!”

Indie had taken myPokémonbaseball cap and flipped her dark hair forward to give herself the exaggerated anime male character bangs. She was holding Mew up in the frame too. Indie had somehow forced Mew into a Pikachu pet costume I’d never seen before. He looked incredibly adorable and utterly miserable.

Behind Indie, I could see my bookshelves stuffed with half romance books and half manga series. Emery was sitting next to my prized collections, sketching. Seeing my adorable rescue kitty on the screen, my worry over Mew restarted. Even though I was 100 percent sure he was in good hands with Indie and Emery looking after him, I still felt worried. That’s how my anxiety worked. Rational thoughts be damned.

“Hey, Em.” At the sound of her name, Emery looked up, obviously deep into her work, and gave me an absent away-with-the-muses-type wave.

A pang of longing for home hit me. I’d rather be home with my cat and books than in a strange hotel room getting dressed up.

“Oh, hi, buddy. What is she doing to you, huh?” I cooed. Mew looked more disgruntled than usual, his little face squished inside a hood with heavy-looking ears.

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