At least Wyatt is here. Surely women would want to see him.
The doors open, and the readers pile in.
When a line forms before me, I don’t even know what to say.
So I smile.
“I love your books!” a lovely lady with kind, warm eyes says. “I’ve read them all more than once.”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling a little choked up.
“Would you mind signing all of them for me?”
“I’d love to,” I reply honestly.
I sign anything and everything I’m given, from books to posters to photo books.
I chat with my readers; I take photos with them and thank them for buying my books.
At the end of the day, I’m exhausted, but my heart is so full I fall asleep with a smile on my face for the first time since Tracker kicked me out of his life.
* * *
The next week, Wyatt invites me for lunch. I say yes, not sure if it’s for business or pleasure, but eager to get out of the house either way. It’s time for me to try moving on with my life. I did have a missed call from Tracker the night of my book signing, but I didn’t bother to call him back. He has a right to be mad at me, of course, but I don’t understand why he won’t let me explain myself. While I was with him, I didn’t feel like I was only an author, I felt like I was more. I felt like I was a woman, like I was experiencing the things I write about in my books. I was no longer hiding behind my screen.
Instead of writing about life, I was living it.
For the first time ever. And I was the happiest I’d ever been.
He pulled me out of my head, and while I still loved writing and would write every day if I could, I was also experiencing more things on a day-to-day basis. If I wasn’t with Tracker, I would have written a whole heap more than I did.
I meet Wyatt at the restaurant, dressed in jeans, white heels, and a white shirt.
“Hello,” he says, smiling to reveal straight white teeth. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I say as he pulls my chair out for me.
A compliment. So this is a date?
Why did I have to be so awkward?
“So,” I say, smiling a little shakily. “I’ve never eaten here before.”
Note to self: work on my small-talk skills.
“Me either,” he says, lifting the menu in his hands. “What do you feel like?”
I browse the menu and choose the least messy meal.
“So, are you going to do any more signings?” he asks. “It was great promotion for me. I’ve had a few other authors want to use my photos for their covers too.”
“That’s great,” I say honestly. “I hope your modeling career becomes everything you dreamed it would.”
When I see Anna, Rake, Arrow, and Tracker walk into the restaurant, I want to both die and kill Anna simultaneously. She knew I was having lunch here today with Wyatt. Why did I tell her? Tracker stops in his tracks when he sees me, his lips curving into a smile until he sees I’m not alone. He stares at Wyatt, his fists clenched and a scowl now etched where the smile used to be.
Anna walks over like she isn’t seconds away from being stabbed with a fork. “Lana! Hello, Wyatt.”
“Hey, Anna,” Wyatt says, flashing her a friendly smile. “What a small world.”
Small indeed. Too small.
“Anna, what are you doing here?” I ask her through clenched teeth. I mutter my hellos to the men, now standing right behind her. Arrow looks amused, Rake confused, and Tracker like he’s about to murder Wyatt.
“We got hungry, so I suggested we go out for lunch,” she says, smiling happily. “I had no idea you and Wyatt were having your date here!”
Could she be any more obvious?
“Really, well, we’re about to order so . . .” I trail off, hoping they all get the hint.
They don’t.
Tracker pulls out the chair next to me, and takes a seat. “You dating now?”
“I’m trying to,” I say with a wince.
“We need to talk.”
“Time for talking is over,” I say, throwing his own words back in his face.
His lips tighten. “I’m not going to sit here and let you have a fuckin’ date with another man. If you care about him at all, you will go outside with me. Otherwise my fist is going to be in his face in the next ten seconds.”
Wyatt stares at me with wide eyes and says, “Maybe you should . . .”
I stand up, my chair pushing back. “You’re such an asshole, Tracker.”
I storm outside and stand next to his bike. I consider kicking it.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growls, grabbing my arm and turning me to face him. “You fucking him?”
“How’s that any of your business?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “You ended it. I don’t belong to you.”
“You will always belong to me,” he snaps, then looks away.
“You’ve ignored me all this time. Now just because you see me with another man, you what? You want to talk? Why, you don’t ever want to see me happy? Is that it? You want me pining after you for the rest of my life while you ignore me and fuck other women?”
I’m yelling at him by the end of my rant.
“Lana, you’re a fuckin’ famous author, and you didn’t feel the need to tell me? When I saw what you were writing, I just lost it. I didn’t know you wrote shit like that, because you never told me.”