Pressing send on my email, I lean back in my chair happy to have that edit off my plate. I love helping with the creative process, but one hundred forty-five thousand words are a lot to go through with a fine-toothed comb. It seems like even more when you’ve been as sick as I have been.
Glancing at my calendar, I realize I haven’t heard from Adeline Snow yet, and part of her book was due to me two days ago.
As much as I’d like to take the rest of the day off, I need to deal with this first. It’s not like Adi to be late, and that has me worried.
Grabbing my phone, I search for her contact information and dial.
“I can’t do this, Greer,” she answers without even a greeting.
I settle into my seat further, already knowing this is going to be an interesting conversation.
“I see the promotional tour is going well.”
“We’ve been here for one day,” she begins, “and I’m already practically breaking out in hives thinking about how many times I have to stand next to Spencer in all his athletic glory and try not to barf all over his shoes.”
A laugh bursts out at the visual image. Then I think about how close I came to throwing up on Ace, and suddenly, I’m empathetic. And I already felt bad for her. Somehow, word got out Spencer Garrison is her muse, and she ended up on a promotional tour at the insistence of her publisher and his agent.
“Don’t you think you’re being overly dramatic?” I ask, only half-heartedly trying to calm her down. It’s going to take more than a conversation to get her to relax. More like a total body massage and a full bottle of tequila. Even then, it’s iffy.
As suspected, my attempts don’t work. “Overly dramatic? You’ve heard the saying ‘Never meet your heroes’? Yeah, well, meeting your muse is even worse!”
“Well, has he disappointed you yet?”
“That’s not the point.” Okay. Obviously, my attempts at rationale aren’t going to work. Maybe I should have taken a nap.
“Then what is the point?”
“I don’t know!” she huffs and suddenly calms down considerably. “I get this is good cross promotion, ya know? He pulls in some X-Games fans who have never read my books. I pull in some readers who have never watched the games. It seemed like a good idea, but now he smells fantastic, like Red Vines. I just want to lick his neck.”
I want to laugh because she’s funny and witty when she’s anxious. But I’m too tired to have much energy. Instead, I say, “I would highly advise against licking any part of him without his consent.”
“You’re not helping.”
“What do you want me to say, Adeline? I agree with your publisher. This is a fantastic opportunity.”
“It’s an embarrassing opportunity, that’s what it is.”
“Why? Because he knows he’s your muse now?” She doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “Adi, the only ones who know about the cardboard cutouts you used to stare at are you and me. Someday, if you opt to share that information with him, you can. But until then, we’re going to keep it our creepy little secret.”
“Fine,” she acquiesces. “But tomorrow when the headlines say, ‘New York Times Best Selling Romance Author Passes Out as Spencer Garrison Points and Laughs,’ that’s on you.”
I chuckle lightly. “That’s definitely a more likely headline than you barfing on his shoes, so I’m more than happy to take the blame for it. I assume this is why I don’t have your manuscript in hand.”
She groans and I hear a thud like her head just hit the desk. If she keeps banging her forehead on things, she’s going to give herself a concussion and definitely pass out in front of Spencer.
“This whole thing threw me for a loop. I was starting to write my story and then it just… well… it sort of changed when he came into the picture,” she explains. “Spencer Garrison as a fantasy is amazing. But Spencer Garrison for real is… is…”
“Is your wet dream come to life?”
“No!” she yells through the phone, forcing me to pull it away from my ear while I laugh. “No, that is not what I was going to say! I was going to say it’s even more amazing.”
I can’t help being amused she’s this off-kilter because of one man. I think it’s sweet. And while I’d never tell her this, secretly I hope they fall in love. I’ve seen a couple pictures of the tour, and they are cute together. Her with her ‘50s poodle skirt dresses and coifed hair. Him with his baggy jeans and skater boy qualities. They’re precious together. It’s one instance where the real-life love story would be so much better than a book.
“Okay, I’m focusing now,” she says. “When was the manuscript due to you?”
“Two days ago.”
She pauses. “Wait. It took you this long to track me down? What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
I laugh because she’s right. Normally, I’m contacting her a couple of days before it’s due to make sure she’s on track. This time, I wasn’t willing to keep a trash can on my lap so I could message her without worry.
“Actually, I have been sick, thank you very much.”
“Oh no. Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. Just a stomach virus that seem to be running around town.”
“A stomach virus,” she deadpans and puts me on alert.
“Yes,” I say defensively.
“Uh huh.”
“Exactly what are you insinuating, Adeline Snow.”
“I’m not insinuating anything. I just think it’s awfully coincidental you started riding your rodeo cowboy a couple of months ago and all of the sudden you have a stomach bug.”
I can practically hear her fingers being used as italics.
Snorting through my nose, I retort, “If you are suggesting I’m pregnant, then Julie is also pregnant. And Oli. And half of Ace’s staff.”
“So you weren’t kidding. A virus really is running around town.”
Smacking my own face this time, I can’t help laughing again. “Yes, Adi. There actually is a stomach bug running around town.”
“Yeah, okay. When was your last period?”
“It was…” I stop to think because I honestly don’t know. “November? December? Something like that. I stopped paying attention about a year ago when Julie started her cycle because we seem to throw each other off all the time.”
“Hmm,” she says again, and it’s starting to irritate me. “You don’t know when your last period was…”
“Stop. Adi. I’m not pregnant.”
“Okay. I’ll take your word for it.”
“But Adi…”
“Yes?”
“I’m hoping you will be soon with Spencer’s baby,” I singsong.
“You shut up right now!” she yells. “Don’t you put that kind of pressure on me!”
A belly laugh rips out of me as she yells curses and grumbles about how unfair life is that her muse has been taken away and how she’s going to have to start following Jason Mamoa to come up with a storyline, and she doesn’t even like the DC movies. Her rambling is hilarious.
When I start to feel bad again, I cut her off and let her know I need to go lie down. She ribs me one last time, and I promise her there is nothing more wrong with me than a stomach virus. For whatever reason, that satisfies her and she lets it go.
But it doesn’t satisfy me.
When I hang up, I start wracking my brain. When was the last time I had my period? I thought it was over the Christmas holidays, but for the life of me, I don’t remember if I had it or not. We were busy with family and school events and co-op events; I know we were stocked with supplies, but I genuinely don’t remember if I used any.
Racing to my bathroom, I fling open the cabinet and sure enough the box is half gone. Because I used them, right? The thought occurs to me maybe Julie ran out in her bathroom so she used mine instead.
“Shit,” I say and glance at myself in the mirror. “SHIT!” I yell louder.
So much for that nap. Now I have to go buy a damn pregnancy test!