Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Axel fake coughs. “And it was…very rough.”
Holy fuck.
Axel is a fantastic faker. He’s got the whole poke and prod playfully down to an art.
I better up my game. “That’s what she said,” I add, and the crowd pretty much goes wild.
But it’s time for the Axel and Hazel show to end. That’s the point, after all—we don’t want to hog the limelight.
“What about you, Saanvi?” I ask, helping steer the question to the others.
She answers with a comment about how she’s always been drawn to bad boys, like her heroes and heroines are. After Mateo and Kennedy answer too, Luciana strolls to the edge of the stage, picking a new audience member.
A question about what everyone’s working on next keeps the focus on the others, and when I steal a glance at the time, I want to pump a fist.
We only have fifteen minutes left of this Q and A, and we’ve been pulling this off.
Soon enough the clock winds down, and Luciana wraps up the session, thanking the audience. “And don’t forget, these authors will be signing books starting in thirty minutes at the publishers’ booths, so get your paperbacks ready.”
It’s clear the session’s over, but a strong, brash voice pipes up from the front row.
“But Axel never answered the question,” a woman with purple hair points out. She stands, grabs the nearest audience mic. She looks familiar, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her face on my social media feeds. She’s a popular BookToker who’s made a mark for being provocative. “About what part of him he puts into his books.”
Soft murmurs float through the crowd, a sound loosely translating to I want to know more about the handsome guy with the glasses who never says much about himself.
Luciana will probably let him off the hook since the time is running out, but she checks her watch then says, “We’ve got thirty seconds left. Axel, can you answer Melissa’s question and help quench Tracy’s need-to-know thirst? Did you ever accidentally play a sexy dictation on the subway or fall for someone with an English accent?”
He laughs, the kind of laugh that somehow manages to say Oh, Luciana, I never talk about my private life. He squares his shoulders and faces the crowd, squinting through his glasses at the woman who asked the question.
But before he can answer, Tracy asks another question. “For instance, your last hero was a former lawyer turned vigilante-for-hire. Is he a little of you?”
Axel narrows his brows and nods thoughtfully. “I can see the similarities, Tracy,” he says. “I definitely look like a badass vigilante that underground associations would hire to retrieve priceless stolen goods. But…sadly, I’ve never rappelled into a museum to retrieve a work of art belonging to someone else.”
It’s a good answer, but I can tell that won’t be enough for Tracy. She likes to push buttons. She wants a real answer. Everyone else gave one, but Axel isn’t offering any nibbles.
“But the law school bit? The reason he didn’t practice? Was that based on you?” She presses, digging deeper into the character’s psyche, trying to draw comparisons.
Axel’s face goes blank, and he’s quiet for a few seconds.
I look to Luciana. Shouldn’t she be stepping in? But a stagehand is whispering something to the moderator, so Luciana’s not available for swooping.
Ah, hell. I don’t want to save him, yet I hate to see anyone backed against a wall. Also, I do want the points. So, I jump on the grenade. “His heroes like tacos,” I add with an I’m sharing a secret smile. “And this guy’s addicted to them,” I say, pointing my thumb at Axel.
A flash of relief passes across his blue eyes. Then he’s sharp again, confident again, when he says, “She’s right. I’m a taco lover.”
I cup the side of my mouth. “Taco Tuesday is a religion for him.”
“Tacos are holy,” he adds.
“Look, he’s not wrong,” Saanvi contributes, and for a few seconds the audience turns into a congregation singing the praises of tacos.
When the Q and A ends, my sister texts me to come find her in the greenroom. Thank god Veronica’s here. I know she came for the signing we’re doing next—she loves Kennedy’s books. I feel a little exposed after that Q and A, hoping the attendees couldn’t see through Axel and me. I need a safe space for a few minutes, and that’s my sister.
She’s waiting for me by the greenroom, leaning against the doorframe, wearing a red polka-dot top, with brown wisps of hair framing her face. When our eyes meet, she waves me over, grabbing my wrist when I reach her.
“Why didn’t I know about the sex dictation? We’re sisters in mortification now.”
I smile, loving that she can laugh about her own snafu. A year ago she accidentally sent her anonymous sex column to her entire company and lost her job. But it was kind of her cat’s fault. Quirky pets can be so dastardly.