Page 95 of Trip Me Up

I scowled at them both. “I’ll be responsible. But there won’t be an issue.”

The Wall ignored me. “I’ll find you later for the carpet-cleaning bill, Big Red.”

Niall chuckled. “You got it, man.”

He tucked his palm around my elbow and led me toward the center of the room. “You’re beautiful.” He stooped to kiss my cheek.

I pushed away. “What the hell was that?”

“What?” His red brows drew together.

“I don’t need vouching for or…or rescuing. I’m not some fairy princess.”

His grip tightened on my elbow. “You should know by now my fairy princesses are the ones who do the rescuing. All I meant was that, even though you’re the most radiant person in the room and you draw every eye, I’m easier to spot.” He tapped the top of his head. For once, the red locks were tamed and orderly.

“Oh.”

“Hey, little guy. I missed you, too.”

Uh-oh. I’d been too focused on being treated like the most useless Jones to notice Bilbo Baggins’ wiggling. I glanced back at The Wall, who narrowed his gaze at me. “Play it cool, Flynn. I don’t think he’s welcome here.”

“Sorry. I got excited. I missed you—both of you—so much.” His ears reddened at the tips.

I wanted to lie, but I couldn’t. “I missed you, too. I listened to your audiobooks again, but it wasn’t the same as hearing you read them.”

He bent to whisper in my ear, “I’ll read to you again tonight, after this is over. I’ve got a room upstairs.”

I hoped he didn’t see my wince. I had to walk out of there as soon as they announced his category, or I’d never have the courage to leave him. Already, his woodsy scent surrounded me, melting my bones and testing my resolve. I couldn’t fall under his spell. Tonight was good-bye. As soon as I’d fulfilled my promise.

“I have to leave right after.”

His smile drooped. “You can’t stay and celebrate? Or commiserate?”

The words took every bit of resolve I could rally. “I can’t.”

“Well, I can’t promise I won’t try to change your mind.” His lips traced the shell of my ear, paused at the lobe, and then rested for a moment on the pulse point behind my jaw. I quivered.

“Niall!” A dark-skinned woman in a colorful print dress and elaborate headscarf waved. I nudged him.

He straightened before he pasted on that camera-ready smile. “Let me introduce you to some people.”

He led me to a table toward the front of the room. A card sticking out of the centerpiece identified it as Table Three. The woman who’d waved stood next to an older white woman. They both smiled at us.

“Ladies, I’d like you to meet Samantha Jones, who writes as Sam Case. Sam, this is Kate Salazar and Tamarah Starr. They’re finalists in the science fiction category.”

“A pleasure.” The lie came out as smooth as the silk of my gown. Nothing was a pleasure anymore. I’d looked forward to one last night with Niall, but knowing it was the end brought me nothing but pain.

The older woman, Kate, said, “I lovedMagician in the Machine.So unique, so fresh.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. The lies would be over soon.

“What I want to know,” Tamarah said, her floral headscarf nodding toward me, “is whether The Magician actually died at the end. Or are you planning a sequel?”

Someone had asked that at almost every stop on the tour. Qiana had coached me to be vague and leave open the possibility of a second book. But I was in the last turn of the game now. “The Magician is really dead. And I won’t be writing a sequel.”

“Ah.” Tamarah nodded. “Brave choice.”

“What are you writing next, Sam?” Kate asked.

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