Topped (7 page)

Also, I’m on a freaking panel!

“Good morning!” I find Evelyn and Vanessa milling about the lobby, large coffees in hand. “Ready for another day?”

“Yes,” Evelyn says, but there is something to the way she says it that gives me pause.

“What’s the matter?”

“Have you seen who you’re on that panel with?” Vanessa is hissing quietly over her coffee cup and looking over her shoulder. “Like, did you really look?”

“No?” I start to panic without knowing why I should be panicking. “Who’s on it? Is it Bethany? Oh, god. Is it Sarah Smith?”

Sarah Smith is my dream agent. I don’t know why we’d be on a panel together, but a girl can hope.

“No, it’s worse.”

“Worse?”

Evelyn grabs me by the shoulders and whispers, “You’ll be fine.”

“You’ll do amazing,” Vanessa backs her up, leaning close. “You’ll be the best one on the panel.”

“Of course.” I fluff my hair. The knot in my stomach intensifies. “What’s going on?”

“Charlie Shivers is on your panel.”

“Shut the fuck up.” The words spill from my lips. I try not to swear at writers’ conferences because, again, Randi Rose is all class, but I can’t help it. “Who the fuck put him on a panel? Are you kidding me? He’s barely even considered an author.”

“I don’t know.” Evelyn shakes her head. “I really don’t. I think Bethany had something to do with it. She’s moderating the panel.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I exclaim and clamp my hand over my mouth. I lean in and whisper, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“It’s total bullshit.” Vanessa looks as angry as I feel, and I’m grateful for friends like them who just
get it
. “He shouldn’t even be here.”

“Erotica is one thing.” Evelyn makes a face. “What he writes is something different all together.”

In the distance, I hear someone say, “Are you going to the
Grinding it Out
panel? I heard Charlie Shivers is going to be there! I love him!”

Pardon me while I vomit all over the floor. What is this life? I started the day positively glowing after an amazing, and I mean completely amazing, night of sex, and then Jane torpedoes me with questions about relationships and now Charlie fucking Shivers is on my goddamn panel.

This is not okay. None of this is okay. I need a do-over. But I’ll settle for telling Bethany Bonafont exactly what I think of her, future friendship be damned.

I storm off in search of Queen B, Evelyn and Vanessa behind me, but she’s nowhere to be seen in the main lobby. She’s got to be in the conference room. I stall out before marching in there. Seats are already filling up, and people are whispering and gossiping about that satanic quack of a writer.

People are here to see him.

This crushes me. Nowhere is anyone gushing about writing advice from
me
…just from that hack. This is not how today was supposed to go at all. This is not how this
week
was supposed to go. I didn’t even know Shivers was going to show himself. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

I straighten my skirt and check my hair in a window. I have to look amazing, and I have to be on my A Game. Shivers can’t upstage me. This is my time to shine.

“It’s fine,” I tell the girls, turning around and taking a deep breath. “So he writes prolifically. I can emphasize how to write well on deadline without it turning into total shit, like Shivers. We’re inherently different, and I’m going to make sure everyone knows it. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

“We’ll be in the front row, cheering you on,” Evelyn promises. “You’ve got this. You’re the most dedicated author I know. You’ll outshine him easy.”

“Besides, who is going to take him seriously? Have you
read
his work?” Vanessa says, and then a small smile crosses her face and she tries to hide it.

“Oh my god, you have.” Evelyn stares at her.

“Okay, yes. And it’s hilarious. Sue me,” Vanessa sighs. “I’m ashamed. But he’s no you! He’s good for a ten-minute laugh and that is it. We all know this. He’s a total joke.”

“Well, he’s a total joke who is about to get upstaged like crazy. I can’t believe Bethany Bonafont, of all people, would put him on there. Someone on the committee has a twisted sense of humor.” I shake it off and try to focus. I’m here to help those who are starting, and that’s my goal. Fuck Shivers and all his shitty “novels.”

I walk into the room and almost fall over. There, sitting in the middle of the speaker’s table, is Joe. He’s looking as devilishly handsome as I remember, and a huge grin breaks across his face as our eyes meet. My stomach flips, and I can’t help but smile back.

Well, at least he’s here. This can’t be all bad!

Wait.

Wait.

Why is a model sitting at a panel table at a writers’ conference, specifically a panel about writing…

Nothing short of what can be described as pure horror crosses my mind as I near the table and spy his badge. An author badge. Not a cover model badge. The letters swoop together to form a name that threatens to knock me off my feet. As I feel lightheaded, I see his smile falter, too.

My one-night stand, my best sex ever…

Is Charlie fucking Shivers.

N
o
, seriously? Seriously? Randi Rose is Miranda the Sex Goddess? The same Randi Rose who one-stars all my books, and who writes scathing reviews about how terrible I am, and how I’m not a legitimate author, that fucking
trapped fart
is Miranda? Holy shit. This is not even cool.

I try to keep the smile on my face, but she looks absolutely horrified. Good. Let her sit there and stew over the fact that the guy who rocked her whole world last night is the same guy she totally fucking hates. I can’t decide if I love this or hate this. I’m leaning heavily towards hate, but it’s also kind of fucking hilarious.

At least she can’t one-star my dick, right? Heyyyy.

But seriously, she totally can’t. That girl was so thirsty for me last night.

I make a mental note to add that one-star line to a future book, because it will absolutely go into a book. Something raunchy and completely tasteless, like with Furries. Probably a wolf and a sheep, or some other similar weirdness, Yelping each other with sex reviews. One will be a stuck-up bitch and the other will be a total stud.

I’ll bring it up at the next Buddy Lunch.

What are the odds we’re on a panel together? Oh, this is quickly moving to hilarity. She can barely conceal her hatred as she stomps down to her spot on the table. I go to move us next to each other, so I can finger her during the panel, but the ancient and venerable Georgia Whitney sits down between us and starts gabbing about how thrilled she is to be on a panel with me. At least
someone
appreciates me.

And about half the crowd appears to be here for me too. One older lady winks at me from the front row and I wink back. She holds up two of my books,
Spitney Brears and Bustin Timberdick are Back Together—In My Butt
and
Pummeled in the Ass by a Hungry Triceratops
. Two classics. I motion for her to come up, and Randi—I mean Miranda—lets out a groan of disgust.

I like her better when she’s moaning my name. Too bad I can’t throw her on the table and fill that pinched mouth with my dick. I totally would. I make another mental note to add that to my next book. I’m gonna dedicate this one to her, too. I’m going to dedicate every book to her; she’ll be furious. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? It’s super brills.

“Can I have your autograph?” asks the lady. She’s all quavery like she can’t believe she’s really talking to me. Me! I love my fans.

“Sure,” I say loudly and smile with a wink. “Who should I make these books out to?”

“Heather.”

“Sure thing, Heather. I love meeting fans.” I leave her a dirty note in each of the books and sign my name. “Are these your favorites?”

“My absolute favorite is
Pounded in the Ass by St. Patty’s Day
, but I only have the ebook version.”

“I’m working on hard copies of all of them,” I promise her. “There’s been a big demand, and I like to give my fans what they want.”

Here, I turn very pointedly, stare at Miranda, and wink. She looks like she could possibly explode, she’s so angry.
Banged by my Hatred of my One-Night Stand Charlie Shivers
by Randi Rose. Oh, today is going to be all kinds of fun. Lesson learned, self. Always check the badges before jumping into bed.

What’s painful, absolutely painful, is that Miranda was sublime in bed. I jerked off twice this morning just thinking about her. Everything about last night was perfect: her touch, her scent, the way she took my cock in her mouth, the fact that she was gone before I woke up. A better lay couldn’t be found anywhere. And it was with Randi fucking Rose.

Consolation prize is she’s probably so thoroughly disgusted with herself that she wants to burn off her vagina. Which would be a real shame. She may be terrible, but that ass was awesome.

But she wasn’t terrible, that’s the worst part. I really enjoyed her company. Perhaps she’s bipolar?

“—all my friends were so jealous when they found out you’d be here.” The lady fan is still gabbing on, and Miranda is angrily making notes in her notebook. I briefly wonder if she is writing me into a book, but no. Probably she’s just journaling notes to bring to her anger management counselor later.

I wonder if I can steal her away for some angry fucking during lunch. My balls draw up at the thought. Yes, yes some afternoon delight with my mortal enemy sounds scrumptious.

“I can’t wait to hear what advice you’ve got to offer! You’re such an inspiration.” Lady-fan finishes gushing and looks at me with big eyes. Now I feel guilty I barely listened to a word she had to say.

There’s one quick fix. I offer a selfie. She nearly cries.

“You’re too kind.” I cover her hand with mine and squeeze. She looks like she’s going to cream her panties. “I really do have the best fans. I hope my advice will be good enough for you today.”

“I’m sure it will be!” She winks at me and scuttles off to her seat, clutching the signed books to her big tits. I shamelessly check out her ass as she heads back and can feel Miranda’s eyes on me the whole time.

Ha-
ha
. She may hate me, but I can taste the jealousy from here.

“All right!” Bethany Bonafont the Lech claps her hands and pulls out a stack of index cards. “Thank you all for attending
Grinding It Out: Strategies for Staying Consistent.
Today’s panel should be a good one. First up is
USA Today
bestselling author and my best friend, Karen Star.” Pause for applause and
aww
s. “Next, we have bizarro-porn bestselling author and mega-hottie Charlie Shivers.”

The crowd whoops. Mega-hottie! I rejected her and she still says that. Good times.

“Join me in also welcoming sixteen-time
New York Times
bestseller Georgia Whitney! She just sold the television rights to her beloved Watson Brothers series.” Another pause, more applause. “And also Randi Rose!”

A smattering of applause, mostly from her two friends in the front. I try to remind myself I shouldn’t feel bad for her, but that was a shit introduction.

“I’ve got all of your questions here.” Bethany waves the index cards. “So let’s get started, shall we? First question of the panel: Tell us a little about your normal process. Charlie?”

I rub my hands together and offer a charming smile. “Well, of course I’m not a
real
writer, but I adhere to the ‘butt-in-chair’ principle. Inertia gets to the best of us, so I just make sure I’m in my office every night, whether I get ten words down or ten thousand. I imagine we all have pretty different processes, though. Randi, for example, strikes me as the crying-over-wine type of writer.”

I glance over at her, and judging from the red creeping across her face—which I can neither confirm nor deny is actually, really adorable—I hit the nail on the head. The audience titters, which is a great word. Anything with “tit” in it makes the Charlie Shivers Best Words list.

Miranda smiles sweetly and says, “I do, actually. It’s cathartic. I suppose I wouldn’t need to if I was only writing five pages of butts, though.”

“Oh snap!” someone up front yells.

“A great story can be told in five pages or in fifty. Great writers know that,” I lob back. There’s another tittering in the crowd. Unless I’m seeing things, Bethany looks pretty ecstatic. She may be a bitch, but she sure knows how to put together a lively panel.

“There are plenty of methods to the madness,” Georgia interrupts, playing peacekeeper. I decide I don’t like her, because I had a couple more one-liners all ready to go and now they’re wasted. “A butt-in-chair practice, no matter how you get through it, is something we can all relate to. You can’t write if you don’t show up.”

“But where you write doesn’t matter, so long as you can produce,” Karen chimes in. Can’t forget about Bethany’s bestie. “Work in a home office, at a coffee shop, or at a park. The
where
doesn’t matter, it’s the
what
. Are you writing? Awesome.”

“Sometimes, though,” I piggy-back off her small smattering of applause, “sometimes, writing isn’t just about getting words down. It’s about plotting, it’s about feeding your internal muse. Watch movies, read a ton of books, write three words and then spend four hours plotting. How you do it doesn’t matter as long as you are progressing with the story.”

“Excellent point.” Georgia pats my hand. Okay, she can stay.

“Unless,” fucking Miranda opens her stupidly kissable mouth again. “You let yourself get stuck. You have to not just show up to work, but tell yourself you are going to get stuff done. Sometimes, writing blocks can threaten to keep your butt in the chair, but your Word document empty.”

“Sure,” I say. “If you’re too drunk to get shit done.”

A low “ooh” echoes around the room, and Miranda glares at me. I’ll give her credit, though, she keeps up an awesome game face. I even get a smile from her, although her eyes are filled with hellfire and fury. Thank God she doesn’t know she was up for an RTW Award that I vetoed! She’d actually factually murder me.

“I find it hard to believe writing stories about banging piggy banks is done sober, but I’m not one to judge.”

“That’s an excellent idea.” I pretend to write it down but make a mental note to actually write it down later. A sentient piggy bank would be an awesome thing to write about. It would have a literal moneyshot. “I’ll make sure to put you in my acknowledgements for the next book.”

If we were alone, she would certainly be stabbing me in the carotid artery with a pencil by now. Instead, she simply says, “You’re welcome.” And then scratches the side of her face with her middle finger. I look around. No one saw it but me, apparently. All right, sister. Game
on
.

“All right.” Bethany clears her throat to get control of the panel again. Good fucking luck, Bonafont. This is a runaway train. “How do you determine your daily word counts?”

“The easiest way to do this is to set a deadline,” Karen answers, folding her hands and looking very professional. Fuck that. “Once you know how long you have to write the project, you can average out your daily word count. Setting your own goals allows you to work with your strengths. You want your word count to push your limits, but also be attainable, so you aren’t pulling your hair out and hating the process. Of course, my editor doesn’t always see it like that!”

Georgia nods sagely. “This is really sound advice.” She reminds me of Mother Goose or something. Picturing her writing sex scenes has me coughing to cover up a laugh. “You need to learn to work with yourself. What are your strengths? What are your weaknesses? Find them out and use them.”

“Wine-sobbing, so we are all clear, is not a strength.” I point in the general direction of Miranda. With my middle finger.

“I don’t expect you to understand the intricacies of telling emotional stories, Shivers,” Miranda replies immediately, her voice as smooth as silk. “Emotional investment in your stories speaks to how well you, as well as the reader, connect. Immature people simply aren’t capable of producing emotional writing.”

“I’m going to disagree with Wino over here, actually. I give every single one of my characters their own HEA. Because I do care.”

“It’s not a Happily Ever After if it’s with a dinosaur,” she seethes. “Eventually you’ll fall asleep in each other’s arms and it’ll eat your face off.”

“So you do concede that interspecies marriages can last for as long as the romance does?” Point to me. I see Bethany about to intervene. “The important thing here is that immature people like me can still send their characters off into the sunset. Sober.”

“Back to the question, please?” Bethany nods at Karen, but Miranda jumps back in.

“Georgia was right, you need to learn what you are capable of doing. Are you the kind of author who spits out a bunch of words, calls it a story, and posts it, like our pal Shivers? Or do you write slower and craft your words like an artisan? You need to understand your process before you can set a goal.”

“Or,” I jump in, “you can be assertive in your writing, and know that endless nitpicking is only going to further damage your work. If you are a plotter, you know where the story is going. Take comfort in that. If you are more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants writer, be prepared for a lot of revisions, but know that throwing words out there lets you edit them.”

“Or, in some cases, delete all of them. Especially if you throw them all at a wall,” Miranda counters. “Don’t forget who you are writing for.”

“Precisely.” I sit up taller. I write for my audience, dammit. And my audience is in on the sweet joke. How dare that weeper infer I don’t write for them? So rude. “Your audience should play a role in how you write. I have the best fans in the world, who appreciate my style of writing. It makes me more confident in my process and in my work, which allows me a faster output. I’m also constantly working. I have a notebook,” I say and lift it up, “where I write down ideas as I get them and flesh them out throughout the coming weeks. When it’s time for a new story, I go over my notes and know exactly where I am with them.”

Miranda nods. “I’m sure it takes you a long time to work out how you are going to have sex with a paperclip.”

That woman, I swear to god. I have a strong urge to bend her over the table and spank her.

“Paperclips can be very complicated pieces of equipment to have sex with. I’m sure you’re familiar with this.” Damn. I’d have had a better comeback if I hadn’t accidentally distracted myself with thoughts of her bare bottom.

“Research is important.” Miranda flashes what I am coming to recognize as her you-bout-to-get-served smile. “I’m sure your own dick gives you plenty to work with in terms of narrow things that bend.”

I laugh along with everyone else. Hey, that was pretty good. Wait, is she insinuating that I can’t keep my dick up? We both know that’s bullshit. I rocked her world so hard last night.

“Next question!” Bethany rifles through her notes. “How
do
you handle writer’s block?”

“It’s not a thing,” I say. “Either you write, or you don’t. You have the choice over your own actions.”

“I disagree,” Karen says. “Writer’s block comes in many different forms and for many different reasons. Are you burning yourself out? Read a book or watch a movie. Work on a different project or journal. Are you hitting brick walls because you wrote yourself into a corner? Reread and re-plot.