The Signing Part One
The Signing Part One

I sat at the hotel bar nursing a lemon drop martini. The young bartender was good at his craft. I was already on my second and looking at going for my third. Adjusting my position on the leather barstool, my pencil skirt rode up a little higher on my thigh. The top of my stockings threatening to play peek- a- boo with whoever might come to occupy one of the empty stools on either side of me. The bar was void of patrons other than me and the bartender. His name was Luke according to the little black nametag and white lettering attached to the black button down shirt. He was young easily twenty something and enrolled at the University of Wisconsin Milwaukee or at least I assumed that was where he attended. Luke was taking advantage of the empty bar to crack the textbooks he had tried to hide under a bar towel. Swirling my libation bringing it to my lips, I sipped the lemony goodness. If I was twenty years younger I would so make a play for him.

Instead I was pushing my mid forties with a little marshmallow in the middle from my devotion to dark chocolate and carbs. My feet ached from the heels that I had been wearing since ten that morning but it honestly felt like since I slipped out of my mother's vagina. Setting up my swag, books and signage for the Milwaukee author signing event in three inch heels and not breaking my neck was a feat to be celebrated in my book. I stand 5'9" in my stocking feet, tall for a woman the added height even three inches and I was a skyscraper swaying in high winds. I had spent most of the day standing in the damn things in front of my table greeting fans of my work or meeting potential new fans as throngs of women and even a few men had attended the massive signing. A signing event that touted 69 attending authors of romance, chick- lit, erotica or as I preferred literature that inspired one handed reading and rubbing.

I had scribbled my name across anything that had been put in front of my face. I was pretty sure that towards the end I might have even signed something that wasn't mine. I was out of the books I had brought with me so that was happy news. It was by all accounts a success but I was frankly drained. I love my fans, I do. If not for them I wouldn't be nearly as successful as an Indie Author as I am. Hell it was these fans and fans like them that had put me on the USA Today and New York Times best seller lists with my latest release. I adored them and I loved fan-girling myself over a few of my favorites that had been there. I had been asked by a few of them that had planned to party at a few of MKE's clubs but I had declined. I wanted to have a few drinks ditch the shoes, get a bubble bath and maybe break out the vibe have an orgasm and then drift off to sleep. It was a good plan in my opinion. My life did not always imitate what I put on the pages of my books.

I was on drink three when I thought I needed to rub my eyes either I was really getting a tad tipsy or I was seeing a worn copy of my very first book baby. The blood sweat and tears I had poured into that baby. The long nights, the days of no inspiration trying to scrape up the money to pay for the cover. The Ramen noodle nights staring at a blue screen and hoping that my lucky pink elephant had a little more luck in the trunk. Days and nights spent wearing nothing but a t-shirt, panties and a hair pulled back into a messy ponytail; I was hardly the sexy heroine I wrote about. The book of course had its bumps and had some not so great reviews but damn I was most proud of that book. It was still my favorite and if my house caught on fire despite any of my other books and their success that would be the book I would clutch in my hand as I dodged flames and falling beams to escape. It was that moment it occurred to me that not one of the books I had signed today was a copy of my firstborn book baby.

This copy on the mahogany bar top was not only worn but had dog ear pages and apparently being held together with the aid of a rubber band. I hoped the reader had loved it and I was not going to be hammered by an unstable rancid fan like in the movie MISERY. I may enjoy a little pain in the bedroom but I drew the line at broken bones. Raising my head slowly, I saw the small hand well manicured nails polished a pretty pink. A bracelet encircled her thin wrist. My vision trailed up her bare arm taking in the small floral print skater dress adorning her petite figure. A great set of tits that I would easily bet were untouched by the hands of a plastic surgeon. Blond hair hung in curls past her shoulders. She wore little make-up a swipe of mascara, and tinted lip gloss. She was stunning. Bright blue eyes that smacked of innocence but as I locked eyes with her I noticed the blue disappear filling with blackness. The look of a woman who wanted something and I was pretty sure when one of her hands slipped to my thigh that she wanted more than my autograph marking that book. I knew She wanted me to mark her body as well.
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