Page 29 of Trip Me Up
11
SAM
Yesterday,in Columbus, had been about Niall. Today was for both of us. Well, Niall and Sam Case, whoever she was.
From the car, the Chicago bookstore looked perfectly friendly. In the window to the right of the door, a stuffed bear sat in a rocking chair, a picture book propped between his paws, and stacks of other children’s books flanking it. Because it was February, the window to the left of the door displayed romance novels, some with bright covers, others showing women with silk skirts pooling around them, their gowns’ necklines drooping around their shoulders.
I tugged up the lapels of my jacket. The button at the top was missing. I hadn’t needed it at home. But I was going to need more than a better coat to survive a tour with Niall Flynn. Like, a full suit of armor and a sword. And maybe a chastity belt.
Last night, after his book launch in Columbus, he’d looked like he’d wanted to talk. But, like a coward, I’d ducked out with Qiana, saying I was tired. And I was. But really, I’d been shocked by the blaze in his eyes and the spark of our touch. I’d fucked up by not telling him about the book and the tour when I’d met him on campus. At first, he’d seemed angry. But then, his gaze had burned with an intensity that didn’t seem to be anger.
And my missing libido? Boom, found it. But so had every woman in that room who wasn’t Niall’s mother. A woman behind me had tried to ask a question but had lost it, giggling too hard to speak. And the crowd of women around the table after his signing? I couldn’t have approached him if I’d wanted to.
I wished I’d told him about the tour back on campus. Or that I’d tried to reach him since. But right up to the moment Bilbo Baggins and I had stepped onto the plane in San Francisco, I’d hoped I could get out of the tour and all the lies.
Like the one about passing off the book as one I’d written. Especially after I’d used Niall’s book as an input to CASE. Heidi had said she’d take care of it and that I shouldn’t talk to Niall about the A.I. And now Heidi had control over whether or not I walked across the stage in June to get my doctoral hood and scroll, I had to do what she said.
A paper cartwheeled in front of the bookstore. I tucked Bilbo Baggins under one arm and braced myself for the dash from the car to the bookstore.
A sound like far-away fireworks, popping and crackling, began. I ducked. “What’s that?”
“Just a little sleet. If you go fast, you’ll hardly feel it.” Kathy, our escort, nodded at the windshield, where tiny flecks of white hit the glass and bounced away.
But outside the protection of the car, the sleet was like tiny daggers on my exposed skin. I put a hand over Bilbo Baggins’ eyes and ran for the door.
Long-legged Niall was there first, not even breathing fast. Fighting the gust of wind that wanted to blow it shut, he ripped open the door and held it for me as I darted through with Bilbo Baggins. I tugged open the inside door and gaped.
The bookstore had looked small from the outside, but inside, the center had been cleared of tables and bookshelves to make room for rows and rows of chairs. At the far end of the room, a raised platform supported two armchairs and a couple of potted ferns. Just in front of it was a long table with two chairs and two sets of stacked books, one with green covers and the other with red.
Almost every chair in the place was full. My eyes skimmed over the dozens of heads straight to the pair of stand microphones on the platform, one in front of each chair.
I was going to have to speak into one of those.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to forget the snickers of my elementary school reading group. The eye-rolls of my high-school classmates whenever we had to read—ugh—Shakespeare. The way the words swam on the page and I scrambled to pin them down and recite them.
“I don’t feel so good.” I clutched Bilbo Baggins so tightly he squirmed.
“It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” Niall’s slow, low voice was almost soothing. “Qiana sent you the list of questions, right?”
“Questions?”
“They were at the back of my itinerary. Didn’t you get them?”
I’d hoped I’d never have to board the plane, much less answer questions.
He opened his satchel and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He flipped a few pages and held it out to me. “Read through these. They’re nothing out of the ordinary. And if there are any you don’t want to answer, just mark through them.” He held out a pen.
Could I mark through them all? Read the passage I’d memorized and then skip to the signing part? I’d practiced signing my pen name, Sam Case. BigS,bigC,with squiggly letters after the capitals. Fast. Efficient.
Carefully not touching his fingers, I took the list and scanned it. A few words jumped out at me.Inspiration—that was what Niall’s mother had asked me last night.Writing process.Next book.How was I going to answer any of them? It was ludicrous, considering a mistake had prompted CASE to outputMagician in the Machineand that my plans involved hiding out in a research lab for the rest of my life.
A thin white man, his gray hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck, tidier than my windblown one, scurried up to meet us. “Welcome, welcome. Mr. Flynn, I’d know you anywhere. And Ms. Case.” He pumped our hands. “I’m Peter Pettingill, the store manager. We’ll do a couple of photos first, and then—”
“No photos,” I said, my voice flat and automatic. “It’s in the agreement.”
“No photos?” He shook his head. “We always do photos.” He gestured behind the cash register, where dozens of pictures were tacked to the wall.
My stomach twisted. It seemed harmless to pose for a picture next to Niall. It probably wouldn’t leave the bookstore. Peter Pettingill didn’t look like he knew how to use Photoshop to put my head onto someone else’s naked body.
