Page 9 of Just For Me
“Katherine,” Sofie said. “Katherine O’Shea.”
Chapter 7: Kat
Ihuddled on my couch beneath the fleecy blanket, blowing over the cup of canned soup I’d just microwaved. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but the instructions on the pills the doctor prescribed said to take them with food. I dropped in a handful of oyster crackers and pushed them down so they’d get nice and soggy. Everything hurt more today, including my jaw, so anything that involved serious chewing was out of the question.
It was already late in the afternoon, and I’d accomplished nothing more than a much needed shower and a couple of shuffles between the couch, the bathroom, and most recently, the kitchen. I stared at the TV without really seeing it. Normally I enjoyed History Channel documentaries, but I just couldn’t get into them today. My problem, of course, was that I didn’t want to watch TV; I wanted to lose myself in the new Nick Penn. His book would do far more to make me forget about my aches and pains than anything that came in a bottle.
That was therealtragedy of last night’s events: the loss of the book I’d been waiting months for.
For a few moments, I actually considered putting on some sunglasses and a head scarf and going down to the bookstore to get another copy. I was feeling pretty lousy and not looking much better, but it would be worth it just to get my hands on that book before it sold out. Once in my possession, I could come back to my place and spend the rest of the weekend blissfully reading (and re-reading) to my lonely heart’s content.
Had it been any other day, I would have made myself get dressed and do it, but not today. Not because I felt awful, or because I feared scaring small children with my appearance (which was a distinct possibility), but because Nick Penn was actually going tobethere, in the flesh, signing books and smiling at his adoring fans.
An irrational pang of jealousy shot through me at the thought of all those women lining up to see him, talk to him, maybe even shake his hand. My logical brain knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help myself. In my twisted, warped mind, Nick Penn wrote those books just forme, and I wanted to keep the fantasy going. It was my favorite coping mechanism. I figured that in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a bad thing. I wasn’t doing anything illegal, and I wasn’t hurting anyone. I was still a fully-functioning, capably independent (if somewhat isolated) adult, and most importantly, I knew the difference between harsh reality and comforting fantasy.
I sipped my soup and closed my eyes, waiting for the pain meds to kick in so I could doze off again. No matter how hard I triednotto think about it, my mind kept wandering to the bookstore and the signing that was taking place there. Had a lot of people shown up? Was he comfortable with public appearances, or did he simply tolerate them as part of the life of a successful author? Was Nick Penn, the actualperson, anything like the swoon-worthy, oh so sexy heroes in his books?
I finally gave up trying to fight it and pulled out my laptop, my curiosity getting the better of me. This was the digital age, the age of selfies, right? Practically anything noteworthy found its way onto one cloud or another. Maybe there were some pictures of the signing posted on social media and I could appease my inner (but completely harmless) stalker tendencies.
My mouse hovered over the site name, hesitating. Dare I open it? Did I really want to do this? Was I ready to see what the real Nick Penn looked like?
Once I clicked, there was no going back. Thus far, I had kept myself from visiting his website, or his Facebook pages, or anything else that might pull Nick Penn out of my personal fantasy world and make him a real live person.
I exhaled and moved the cursor away, opting to check my email instead. Yes, I realized I was probably being a coward, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Real men, in my experience, were disappointing; and I had yet to meet one that came even remotely close to one of Nick Penn’s heroes. I mean, I had a pretty good thing going: my vivid imagination made his words come to life while incorporating the image of the quiet, sexy laptop guy from the bookstore. Did Ireallywant to shatter that illusion?
My answer: No, I didn’t. My imaginary world might just be a romantic delusion, but it worked for me.
Junk mail. Click. Delete. Junk mail. Click. Delete. Junk mail. Click. Delete. I felt the pleasant fogginess getting thicker, a sure sign that the pain meds were coming to lull me back into a pleasant doze. I clicked and deleted my way methodically through my inbox, vaguely thinking I should unsubscribe to all these senders I really had no interest in and never bought anything from. But then, I thought sadly, I wouldn’t have any email at all.
It was only after I clicked Delete on one that the subject line registered through the haze. An email from Mr. C’s bookstore, dated a few days ago. I quickly opened my Trash folder and double-clicked an invitation to attend the signing, as well as a special offer to reserve Nick Penn’s latest book.
My heart leapt in cautious hope. Was it too late to get a copy? Without thinking, I clicked the link, which took me right to the bookstore’s website.
And then my heart stopped entirely.
I inhaled sharply as a picture of the signing painted the screen, certain those pain pills were causing me to hallucinate. For there, standing between a proudly beaming Mr. and Mrs. C was the quiet, über-handsome laptop guy, smiling somewhat shyly and looking absolutelydelicious. His glossy, dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it. A sexy hint of five o’clock shadow dusted his strong, square jaw. And a set of intense, hypnotic dark eyes stared back at me, almost as if he could see me.
My eyes flicked away from his just long enough to read the caption:Cerasino’s Books Proudly Welcomes Best-Selling Author Nick Penn.
Well, hell.
Chapter 8: Nick
Ifelt as if I’d just been punched in the gut. “Kat’s been attacked?”
Sofie’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know her?”
“Sort of,” I admitted. “Kat is...Bella.”
Gina blinked. “Wait. Bella? As is,Nonno’s Bella? The one who was supposed to be here today?”
I nodded.
“Oh, shit.”
Oh shitdidn’t begin to cover it. Of all the possible reasons I’d come up with to explain why Kat hadn’t shown, getting mugged hadn’t been one of them. “Sofe, what happened? Tell me. I need to know everything.”
A dark pink flush painted her cheeks as she avoided my gaze. For as chatty as she’d been a couple minutes ago, she was now unwilling to spill. “You know I can’t do that, Nicky,” she said quietly.
