Favorite food?Burgers.
Nothing more to that.Just hey, I liked a good burger as much as the next guy.
By the time the session ended, I was ready to move on. And hey, the audience seemed happy enough.
But Becka? She saw more than she should, and I had no doubt that soon, she'd be asking more questions of her own.
I wasn't wrong.
Chapter 32
Becka
Talk about frustrating.I'd just spent over two hours listening to Jack talk – first during his introductory remarks, and then during the Q&A session that followed.
During his actual speech, which had lasted barely thirty minutes, I'd been watching and waiting, thinking that I might finally get some clues into what made him tick.
I hadn't.
Mostly he'd talked about his characters and the process of getting his books made into movies. The audience had been utterly enthralled. But me? I'd been waiting for the good stuff, meaning clues as to who hereallywas.
No clues came – or at least no clues that told me anything I didn't already know.
Seriously, didn't this guy ever talk about himself?
Apparently not.
But if he thought he was fooling anyone with all of those non-answers, he was crazier than I was. And just for the record, I was feeling pretty darn crazy.
Other than a tense hello, we hadn't said more than two words to each other before his public appearance. And, in spite of my lingering curiosity, I hadn't mentioned the stolen paperback or the fact that he hadn't returned it.
As for Jack, he hadn't mentioned the fact that I'd been – in my sister's words – rather nosy last night.
By mutual agreement, we were apparently pretending that last night had never happened.
There was just one tiny problem.I wasn't feeling all that agreeable.Even worse, I'd come to realize that my sister was right. Ihadbeen rather intrusive, which meant that I owed him an apology whether I felt like it or not.
As Jack left the stage to thunderous applause, I stood near the main door, thanking people as they filed out, chatting and laughing like they'd actually enjoyed themselves.
As they did, I tried to put myself in their positions. A week ago, I would've been thrilled, too.
But now, I was mostly unsatisfied. This was Jack's last appearance in Atlanta. Tomorrow morning, we'd be flying out to our new destination – some mid-sized town in Eastern Tennessee.
When the auditorium finally emptied, I turned and strode toward the private area behind the stage. By the time I reached it, Jack was already heading out, leaving through a rear exit.
I called out to his receding back, "Wait."
He stopped and turned around, giving me a look that wasn't exactly welcoming.
I hustled forward and asked, "Is there anything else I should be doing?"
"Yeah," he said. "Enjoying yourself."
"What?"
"Do whatever," he said. "You're off the clock." Again, he turned to go, without so much as a goodbye.
Probably I should've just let him leave. But like a moth to the flame, I fluttered forward, drawn by a sudden urge to put all of this unpleasantness behind us.
