Promises & Pen Names (The Riley Siblings #1)

6. Sidney

Chapter Six

SIDNEY

“ A re you sure I look ok?”

Blake sighs but gives me a beautiful smile. “You look incredible, Shortcake. Quit worrying.”

Butterflies .

Every single time Blake smiles at me or says something like that, I get mothra-size butterflies.

But still. “You’re positive? I feel like I’m trying too hard.” I reach up and smooth my hair, pushing back the fly aways and kinky curls that won’t stay in my ponytail. “Maybe I’m not trying hard enough? I should have put on makeup. At least some mascara or something. Shit. Why didn’t I buy makeup?”

“Sidney.” Blake drops another box onto the dolly, turns and grips the sides of my neck as he pins me with those caramel eyes. “You do not need makeup. Your hair is hot, your face is gorgeous, and your tight little body is banging in your outfit. You look incredible, not like you are or are not trying at the exact level you should be trying for, which should only be the level at which you are comfortable. You look perfect.” He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, the sweet gesture sending those butterflies right up into my rib cage. “And if I have to hear you freak out about how you look one more time, I’m going to show you exactly what I think of your appearance.” Blake pulls me to him and hugs me so tight. “You’re perfect, Shortcake, so quit questioning it.”

Gah . This man.

If I thought long-distance Blake was amazing, in-person Blake is even more so. Especially when in-person Blake is so much like nineteen year old Blake, who was the boy I thought I was going to spend forever with.

He’s been nothing but sweet and kind, supportive and honest about everything. I’ve had so much fun already just by staying at his house with him it’s hard to imagine how the last few days of my post-signing trip will go.

And shit like this? The lingering hugs and sweet kisses because no, that was not the first time Blake has kissed my forehead, those things make me swoon so hard over the man I can say without a doubt is my favorite human aside from my kids.

His affection surprised me at first.

By nature, I’m almost overly affectionate, a fan of all kinds of physical displays to show someone you care, and while I’m used to people getting weirded out by it—my ex included—I’m not used to someone reciprocating so easily. And like everything else has been, falling back into PDA between Blake and I is super easy.

He doesn’t shy away when I platonically cuddle while we watch movies, doesn’t recoil when I throw my legs over his or shove my always cold feet underneath him for warmth. Blake even went as far as to start pulling my feet into his lap in order to rub them or warm them with his big hands, and when he basically laid on top of me while I was sprawled on his couch Face Timing Sloane and the boys, I damn near cried over the emotions it brought out of me.

And that’s not even the tip of the iceberg when it comes to all the things I love about him.

Blake is thoughtful to the point of psychic, always ready with whatever I need before I realize I need it. He’s attentive, listens to every word that comes out of my mouth, even the stupid ones that make me blush. He takes a genuine and passionate interest in my life, asks tons of questions about living in Atlanta, teaching, and raising my kids there.

And gah, Blake wants to know everything about them too. Every time I FaceTime them he gets on at some point, chats with them, jokes with them, asks them all about their days. Then Blake makes me tell him stories about my kids for hours sometimes, asks to see baby pictures and hear everything about the tiny humans who made me a mother.

Through our endless conversations I’ve been able to find who I am again, even just a little, and that shit made my crush rocket to full blown l-o-v-e in no time flat.

And maybe… maybe that’s because I never got over the first boy to steal my heart.

We haven’t talked much about Jordan since my first night here, since the conversation I had with him where he called me a state-hopping whore and tried to get me to come home, but I’ve come to realize with real clarity that I was defining myself as an ex-wife; a woman who was thrown away by the man I thought I’d have forever with.

Blake has made me see that I’m so much more, helped me figure out what I like and don’t like, what inspires me, what makes me happy and what motivates me as a woman. An independent woman who works her ass off to provide for her kids and make something of herself completely separate from any of the labels I’ve slapped on myself.

I’m a mother, yes, but I’m also a person with needs and wants, hopes and dreams, hobbies and interests aside from raising my kids to be strong, smart, kind little people.

I’m a teacher, sure, but it isn’t my purpose. It isn’t something I should pigeonhole myself to because it’s simply a bridge to gap the life I have and the life I want.

And yeah, I’m an ex-wife, but it’s not because there’s something wrong with me. It’s not because I don’t deserve love and passion, because I’m not worthy of a beautiful forever with someone who adores me, who makes me the center of their world. It’s simply because I haven’t found that yet and I now refuse to settle for anything less.

I’m still working on that last one since I’m pretty skeptical over whether or not it exists, but I’ve acknowledged I want it, so I’m taking steps in the right direction.

“You ready?” Blake asks into the crown of my head, his arms still holding me close.

I shake my head and grunt into his chest. “No.”

He chuckles as he hugs me impossibly harder. “You’re going to be great, Shortcake. Today is going to be amazing because you’re going to make it your bitch.” Then Blake laughs again. “Are you smelling me?”

“No,” I lie as I rub my nose against the front of his shirt, deeply inhaling the scent of cedar and pine, leather, spice and a touch of citrus. Blake smells incredible and I sniff him every time we’re close.

“Well, if you’re not smelling me you must be wiping snot all over my shirt then.”

I giggle, tilt my head back, rest my chin on his muscular chest and meet his eyes. “You got a problem with my snot?”

He smiles down at me. “I love your snot.”

“Damn straight.”

With another rumbling laugh that makes everything inside me clench—most notably my pussy—Blake lets go and pushes my disastrous hair out of my eyes. “We should head inside.”

Anxiety tears through me as I step around him and grab the rolly suitcase from his trunk. I am so fucking nervous I could puke, but I refuse. Nope, no anxiety riddled vomiting for this girl.

It totally helps that Blake is like a security blanket mixed with a support group, if he wasn’t so calm and positive I’d be an even bigger mess. And thinking ahead by having my booth decorations, swag and paperbacks shipped to his house instead of mine definitely helps too, especially since ATL lost my luggage. If that stuff got misplaced or lost, I would have just turned around and got back on the plane.

“Do you really think I need to bring all this?” I glance at the dolly loaded with boxes of our paperbacks that we’ll set up for people to buy for us to sign. “I feel like it’s too much.”

Blake closes the trunk, throws his duffle on top of the boxes then locks his car. “I still think you should have ordered more.”

A disbelieving huff exits my mouth as we start walking. “Cause one-hundred and fifty copies of only two books won’t cut it?”

“Nope.” He grins. “You’re going to sell out, Shortcake, and since you’ll need the other one-fifty for tomorrow, you’re going to regret not listening to me.”

“Whatever.”

When we were planning for the signing, Blake suggested I order seven hundred copies of my books, three fifty for each day but I wanted to keep it around one hundred a day because I thought that was way overshooting. I’ve had decent eBook sales but I haven’t sold many paperbacks, maybe twenty of both books combined, so I’m not expecting a huge turnout. And seven hundred seemed ridiculous when I know Blake ordered a thousand, five hundred per day, for himself .

He’s way more established than I am, has several more books published than I do, and his paperback sales are ten times bigger than mine per book. His order seemed appropriate, almost undershooting, while I could barely justify two hundred.

But we compromised and I ordered one fifty of each book, used his swag girl to create merch based on my most highlighted quotes and I have two boxes of lanyards, bookmarks, stickers, buttons and random other shit sporting those and my logo as well as the titles of both books in my series. Another expense I’m sure will be unnecessary and all of that will go home to Georgia with me.

Lots of promo shit for my kids to play with.

“Ok. When we get inside, we need to head to the talent desk to confirm our registration and get our VIP passes.” Blake starts running through his mental checklist, something he does quite frequently. “From there it’s convention center B, our table is somewhere in the middle.”

Thank God for that.

Blake and I are sharing a table because he registered us together and that’s probably the only reason I haven’t turned into The Exorcist yet.

“Once we put up our banners and set up the table, we have maybe an hour before they open the doors to the early access ticket holders. If you want, we can shop around the other author booths, but we’ll have more time tomorrow since?—”

“Did you bring the stuff for our book?” Panic slices through my gut. “I didn’t grab that bag this morning. Shit. Please tell me you have the teasers and title reveal shit for our book. Oh my god, Blake, I’m freaking out. I didn’t grab that stuff. I was too busy trying on twenty different outfits and fighting with my hair. Blake. Oh my god?—”

“I have it, Shortcake.” He chuckles and switches hands pulling the dolly so he can lace his fingers with mine. “I grabbed it while you were talking to Sloane. It’s right on top of the stack.”

“Thank god.” I squeeze his fingers, tighten my grip and try not to smile like an idiot over how amazing it feels to have his hand in mine.

Even more so when we enter the convention center and he doesn’t let go, get to the registration desk still entwined, and damn near perfect when Blake lets go of the dolly instead of me to provide our paperwork.

“Blake Morgan and Harper King,” he grunts as he slides our printouts toward the girl who’s already drooling.

Here we go again.

I’m pretty used to being stared at, the tattoos and piercings, the ridiculous curls that are going silver and have been since I was a teenager. Gawkers don’t really bother me, at least not the kind of gawkers I gained attention from.

Jordan isn’t a bad looking guy at all, but Blake, hell, Blake is absolutely gorgeous. The muscles, the height, the tattoos and facial hair. Throw in his glasses that draw you to the most beautiful honey-colored eyes ever and you have a recipe for the hottest man the world has ever seen, and that gets my broody romance co-author a ton of heated looks from men and women alike. His admirers are even less discreet than mine and while I totally get it, it’s been kind of hard to deal with. And it was definitely something else I wasn’t prepared for.

Every time we’re in public at least one woman loses her shit over how sexy Blake is and after they come back to earth, they look at me standing next to him like I’m both blessed to be in his presence—something I agree with—and stupid for thinking a man like him could want a woman like me—something else I agree with but fantasize about anyway. They’d really shit if they knew I lost my virginity to him a hundred years ago.

It’s like he’s a celebrity, a famous heartthrob, or a sex symbol, and despite the way he ignores the gaping morons dying to take a bite out of him, I have found myself questioning what I’m doing with someone as perfect as Blake, even in a friendly way, and jealous to the point of maddening, which is far less friendly.

I want to punch Blake’s gawkers in the tits.

The girl checking us in, included.

“Mr. Morgan, welcome to BookCon. I see this is your first time attending.” She bats her fake lashes. “Since you’re participating alone, I’d be more than happy?—”

“Blake Morgan and Harper King. We’re together.”

I narrow my eyes then dart them toward Blake as his words hit me.

Then I immediately scold myself.

Stupid.

We’re not together together, just checking in together because we registered together.

That’s all he meant.

Then why did he growl at her like that?

Not that it matters because she’s unfazed, proven when she merely glances at me, gives a yeah right smirk then turns her big green eyes on Blake. “I’d be more than happy to show you around while your assistant sets up your table. I’m not here with the BookCon, I work for the conference center, so I know all the hot spots...” She lowers her voice and leans to reveal rather ample cleavage. “All the secret spots.”

Jesus.

She might as well just hop up on the desk and spread her legs.

“My assistant?” Blake blinks then finally lets go of my hand in favor of balling his into a fist. “I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly?”

She nods toward me and shoots a dazzling smile at him. “I can give her all the paperwork, a map, and let her find your table on her own. I’m sure she’s a smart girl. While she does that, I can show you around, make sure you’re comfortable and well taken care of.”

Awesome .

So, I’m already not good enough in every other possible way, I apparently am only good enough to be Blake Morgan’s assistant and nothing more because that’s obviously the only reason I’d be at something like this with him.

Not because I’m an author too.

Not because Blake is my friend, my best friend and someone I’d totally assist if he needed it, someone I’ll support no matter what.

And definitely not because he would ever view me as something more than a friend or colleague, even though we used to bang like bunnies in high school and our first semester of college.

I’ve been reduced to the coffee bitch for a successful sexy author because God forbid I could be anything more.

And now I feel like crying.

Fucking great.

“Is there a manager available?”

I lift my eyes from my adorable purple flats I bought specifically for today and stare at Blake. His expression is pretty neutral but I can tell his jaw is clenched by the slight tick in the muscle and that is the exact same thing that happens every time I talk shit about myself.

Uh oh.

“A manager?” The girl frowns, totally oblivious to what’s about to happen.

He nods. “Preferably your manager but any will suffice. ”

“Blake,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my waist. “It’s fine. Just finish registering.”

“You want to talk to my manager?”

“Yes,” he grunts. “ Now .”

The girl blinks and straightens her spine. “Why?”

“Blake.” God, I’m so fucking embarrassed. I just got myself calm enough to handle the signing and now my pulse is through the roof again.

Blake puts his palms on the desk, leans in a little and narrows his eyes. “I would like to inform someone in a position of authority that their employee not only blatantly propositioned someone during registration, but also insulted the talent by reducing her to an assistant before insulting her intelligence as well as her place in my life.” He smiles but it’s a touch evil. “Harper King is an Amazon Top 100 author on the roster for BookCon and we are here together. I am here with her, she is here with me.”

She looks between us a few times as all the color drains from her face. “I see. I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan. It’s not necessary to involve management, I can complete your registration so that you and Ms. King can find your booths without further hassle.”

“I’d really like?—”

“Blake, please.”

He looks at me for the first time in way too long, his eyes softening the second they connect with my watery ones.

I’m sorry, Shortcake , his beautiful face says.

Not that he really needs to apologize, I know Blake was pissed on my behalf but I just want to get out of here and try to get excited about the signing again. The fact that he’s so willing to defend me in any way at any time has me wanting to cry for a different reason, though. Blake is a really good man, and I am well and truly fucked.

“VIP passes for Blake Morgan and Harper King.” He sighs, wraps his arm around my shoulders and presses a kiss to my hair. “Friday and Saturday.”

The girl who is more embarrassed than I am types away on the keyboard for a few minutes then slides two lanyards across the desk. “VIP All Access for Friday and Saturday. From this point forward you will use the talent entrance that connects to the hotel. Your passes must be on your person at all times and visible upon exit or re-entrance.” So professional now that she’s not trying to hit on my broody romance author.

Blake grabs both, drops his around his neck then carefully puts mine on, his fingers gently caressing my skin, lingering over my now erratic pulse. He smiles down at me, tracing my lanyard until he tugs on my pass. “Harper King, Romance Author. BookCon 2K20 Talent.”

Yeah, I’m fucked. And I’m so in love with him it practically hurts.

“Mr. Morgan.” The girl clears her throat. “Your room key.”

Blake turns and just when I was able to say I was feeling less flustered, panic rips through my chest once again.

“Blake...” Oh my god . I didn’t even think about that. The plan was for Blake to stay at the hotel connected to the conference center while I stayed in my hotel down the street. My hotel that I’m not staying in because Jordan canceled my reservation.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

But because he is always maddeningly calm, Blake grins as he takes my hand, the key and points me in the direction of conference center B. “What’s up, Shortcake?”

“What’s up?” I scowl at him, my voice reaching a new octave. “What’s up? Seriously? Blake, I don’t have a room. I was supposed to be in the hotel down the street but obviously I’m not since I’ve been staying at your house all week. What the hell am I supposed to do? There’s no way there’s a room available here and I can’t exactly drive your car back to your house since I don’t know how the fuck to get there. Not to mention I’d feel weird staying there without you and I definitely wouldn’t sleep because?—”

“Sidney.” Blake chuckles as we start weaving through booths. “Calm down, honey. Everything is fine.”

“Says the man with a hotel room one building over.”

“It is.” He checks the map then guides me toward what I’m assuming is our table. “You don’t need to stress out over this.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re right. I don’t need to stress because I don’t have to drive your car back to your house, I’m sure I can just park it under a streetlight and sleep there. I’m small enough to fit.”

“Sid.”

“Blake.”

“Everything is fine, you’re not going anywhere or sleeping in my car.”

I watch him park the dolly and start dividing boxes. “Well, I doubt they’re going to let me camp out here.”

He rolls his eyes with a grin. “They probably wouldn’t appreciate that.”

“Probably not, which is why your car is sounding better and better.”

“You really think I’d let you sleep in my car?” Blake sets the swag boxes on the table, drops his duffle and hands over our banners. “Or drive back to my house without me?”

I sigh because no, I don’t think either of those things, but still. “Then what am I supposed to do, Blake? It didn’t occur to me that I’d need somewhere to stay for this and... what?”

My ultra-sexy co-writer is smirking while he unpacks, shaking his head the entire time.

“What? ”

“Sid, really? Come on, honey, think about it.”

I can’t think of anything when he calls me honey in his deep, raspy voice that makes my nipples hard.

“Sid, baby, I have a room.”

Baby? Did he just call me baby and honey within a five-minute span? I’m pretty sure I just started spontaneously ovulating.

Another chuckle. “Shortcake?”

I blink up at him as I mindlessly unroll our banners. “Hmm?”

“Did you hear me?”

“What?” Cause all I heard was baby and everything else turned to static.

Blake grins, grins like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “I have a room at the hotel. You’ll be staying there with me.”

“Oh.” I swallow hard then blush down to my fucking bones. “Ok, sure. Thanks.”

Have I mentioned how fucked I am lately? Or how much I love Blake Riley? No? Well I am, I do and everything just got a whole lot scarier because I highly doubt Blake booked himself a room with two beds.

Fucked probably isn’t a strong enough word for what I am.

Hopeless and totally screwed might be more accurate.