Page 5 of Tricking an Introvert

Cole

Cole was acting like a mother hen and he knew it. He was trying to leave Michael alone, let him mind his table and schmooze his enthusiastic readers like the grown-ass thirty-three-year-old dude he was, but it was hard. It would always be.

Michael didn’t do well in crowds or with strangers.

He’d known Michael for too long. He could read between the smiles and the jokes. A shadow was always lurking, threatening to overcome him.

Back in the day, Michael used to stand up for Cole. Michael used to be pretty popular, until he came out of the closet junior year. Then, he got targeted by bullies, the most noteworthy of which was his own brother. His parents hadn’t said much about it then, and they’d barely spoken to him since. One day, Michael stopped school and when Cole saw him again, he had scars on his wrists. From that point onward, Cole started watching his back, reminding him he had pals who weren’t assholes.

Michael was invited to a hundred cons per year and always refused, coming up with some bullshit excuse. This time, he’d caved simply because the organizer wouldn’t take no for an answer; she'd coaxed, bribed, and pouted until Michael replied he’d do a half day. The woman was seriously compelling.

As the date drew nearer, Cole could see Michael stressing out about the upcoming event, so he'd offered to tag along. “I can drive down with the books so you don’t need to fly with them, if you’d like.”

Michael’s jaw had stiffened. “I can do it, really.”

“Sure,” Cole had replied. “Or you could pay me to.”

Michael was doing pretty well with his readers, considering that it was his first public event in the ten years since he’d started publishing. He’d done a few video interviews, but no signings until now. They’d had to set up ticketed spots and limit the number of books he’d sign to two titles because people were coming from all over the country to see him.

The queue had cursed him out when he’d pulled Michael away from his table to speak to Tessa earlier. It was just too good an opportunity. The woman was seriously good, and Michael had issues working with artists he didn’t know, still expecting that rejection he’d grown accustomed to. One of his agents dropped him because he “didn’t think the firm could represent him well” after Michael submitted a book with a homosexual protagonist. Joke was on him: that book was the one that had propelled Cole up the charts. Still, a face-to-face meeting ahead of talking business was going to help his anxiety.

Tessa was just the kind of person Michael would get along with; Cole was sure of it. She was a great listener, thoroughly fascinated, immersing herself in another person’s story, and she had a joke for everything—although Cole had to extract said jokes. She preferred to keep them to herself.

She was…sweet? And hot. Hot didn’t hurt. Although Michael wouldn’t be affected one way or another.

He walked around the large hall where the con was held. Spotting Whitney, the organizer, waving at him from behind the coffee station, he headed to her.

“Great con, Whitney.”

She kissed both of his cheeks like they were close acquaintances, and laughed. “Oh, it’s a well-oiled machine by now. Thanks for dragging your man. I was half-sure he’d cancel last minute.” She grimaced. “Over half of the attendees are here for him this year, so that would have sucked.”

Cole neither confirmed nor denied the possibility that Michael might have cancelled if he hadn’t offered to accompany him. Michael wasn’t the flaky type; he would have tried to come, but if his anxiety had taken over, if he’d started to have panic attacks, Cole would have cancelled everything himself.

“Glad to be here. It’s the perfect first step for him. Not too huge or intimidating.”

Whitney grinned. “It’s so sweet how you take care of him like this.”

Cole shrugged, half-laughing, half-rolling his eyes. Whitney wasn’t the first to imply—or downright say—that Cole and Michael were together. They weren’t, and not just because Cole was straight. They were like brothers. Michael had never so much as thought about him that way, Cole was certain of it.

“He’s my client.” And his best friend.

Whitney finished pouring a fifth coffee and placed it on a tray. “If you say so. All right, the station’s free if you need your caffeine fix.”

Cole stopped her before she could walk away.

“Hey, do you know what the illustrator in the west aisle drinks?”

Whitney turned back and placed the tray on the table before crossing her arms and glaring up to Cole, her entire stance aggressive.

Cole wouldn’t have thought that it was possible for a five-foot-five, curly-haired, mixed-race woman, usually bubbly and friendly, to look quite so much like a protective bulldog.

“Tessa?” Whitney asked.

Cole nodded, somewhat careful. “Yes, Tessa. I thought about taking her coffee.”

“Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“She seems busy, and she doesn’t have an assistant. Am I not supposed to bring anyone a drink?”

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