~ Andrea

Thirteen years later…

“That’s the last book, Andrea,” Jo announces as the woman in front of me leaves the Avenues Ballroom of The Peninsula Chicago with her signed copy.

“Thank goodness.” I drop the pen in my hand and massage my fingers. “I don’t think I can sign another book.”

For the past two months, I’ve been promoting my latest book series on child behavior and frankly, I’ve lost count of how many books I’ve signed. I’ve done interviews for newspapers and magazines, too, and even ended up on Ellen. So far, all my efforts have paid off, my books ending up on the bestseller list and raves flooding my Twitter and Facebook pages. I’m happy, of course, though I have to admit I’m getting tired, which is why it’s a good thing that after tonight’s book signing, I only have one left.

Sighing, I sit back in my chair. “I can’t wait to take a break.”

“Well, you can tick this one off your list.”

Just then, a plump woman in a yellow dress who looks like she’s in her mid-thirties enters the ballroom, panting. At first, she frowns as she realizes the room is now empty. Then her face lights up as her gaze rests on me.

Jo picks up the pen on the table and hands it to me. “Guess I spoke too soon.”

“Miss Simmons!” The woman rushes towards me. “Thank goodness I caught you.”

“It seems like you did.” I straighten up in my chair as I force a smile.

As much as I’d like to bolt right now, I just can’t turn my back on a fan, not only because I promised Jo I’d try to sell as many books as I can, but also because my readers mean a lot to me. They’re the reason I write, the people I want to help.

Besides, it’s just one more book.

At least, I think so until the woman takes seven books out of her bag.

“I’m a big, big fan,” she says as she places the books in front of me. “I’ve read all your books.”

I look at a few. “Wow.”

“They’ve helped me so much in understanding my four children,” she goes on. “Which is why I admire you so much. I even taped that Ellen episode you were in.”

“I’m glad I was able to help.” I open one of the books to the title page. “So, whom do I sign these books to?”

“Mary,” she informs. “I’m Mary Lewis.”

I nod, scribbling a quick message on the page.

Then I sign my name on the title pages of the other books, giving them all back to her when I’m done.

“Oh, thank you!” Mary stuffs them back into the bag. “Thank you so much! I’m so glad I was able to see you in person. You are so beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I try not to blush, still not used to compliments about my looks. “I…”

“Do you think we could take a selfie?” Mary starts going through the contents of her purse with her bag of books dangling off her arm.

Now, this I’ve gotten used to. “Yeah, sure.”

I go around the table, standing beside her. She puts the bag of books down on the floor so she can place one arm around me, her other arm holding her phone as she snaps a quick photo. Then she gives me a quick hug.

“I can’t wait to tell all my friends. Thank you.”

“Send my warm regards to all your friends,” I tell her. “And thank you. Take care.”

She picks up her bag and heads towards the exit, pausing in the doorway to glance back and give me a wave and one last huge smile before disappearing.

“Well, it looks like you’ve got another big fan,” Jo says.

“The biggest one yet,” I say, gathering my things quickly before someone else bursts through the door.

She helps me, grabbing my water bottle and my coat. “I can’t believe you’re such a celebrity now.”

“And whose fault is that, I wonder.”

Jo isn’t just my best friend. She’s also my book agent and publicist. In other words, she’s half the reason why I’m so successful right now.

She sighs. “I just wish some of them were male.”

“I do have some male fans.” I sling my laptop bag over my shoulder. “Only, they’re with their wives.”

“Well, those don’t count.” She gives another sigh as we leave the room. “If someone as hot, smart and successful as you can’t get a man, the rest of us don’t have much hope.”

“Hot?” I bunch up my eyebrows at her. “As for smart and successful, that may be the problem. Those aren’t exactly the things men look for in a woman, you know. Most men prefer women who think only of them, whose worlds revolve around them.”

“Well, most men are jerks. But I’m sure there’s at least one man out there who can appreciate you.”

“Thanks, Jo, but I’m not that desperate.” I press the UP button on the elevator. “In fact, I’m not desperate at all.”

“And I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying you should look.”

“I am looking.”

I’m just not…hunting. I’m more of like a sit-and-wait person when it comes to romance, more like a kingfisher than a hawk. If someone comes along and decides to stay, then good. If not, I’m not giving chase. And I’m definitely not going to broadcast my availability or put myself out there like a piece of bait.

“Not hard enough.” Jo runs a hand through her short, brown hair that’s streaked with black – or is it black hair that’s streaked with brown? I’ve forgotten.

“Well, I’ve been busy.”

The elevator door opens and we step in.

“Then maybe when you’re done with that book signing in Minneapolis, you can set aside some time?” Jo suggests.

I don’t answer. I haven’t really decided on what I’m going to do once my time in the spotlight is over. I’ve thought about starting to write another book but I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. Travel? But it seems like I’ve been traveling so much lately. I’d rather take a break from the suitcases, plane rides and hotels. What then? Just coop myself up in my apartment in San Diego, watching TV in bed and ordering dinner? Sounds good, at least for a few days. I get bored easily, so I’m sure that I’ll get an itch to leave the house and do something. But what? As much as I’d love to take patients and see children again, I’m not really eager to get back to all that stressful work.

It’s ironic, I know.

What then am I going to do? If I were to be completely honest with myself, I’d say, “I don’t know.” All I ever wanted was to be a child psychologist so I could help children feel less lonely, and fulfill my mother’s dream, do what she wasn’t able to do. Now that I’ve done that, I don’t really know what else I want to do or what else there is for me to do. What else is there? Besides men, that is.

“You’re already 28, Andrea,” Jo reminds, stepping closer to me. “How long are you going to stay a virgin?”

I hold a finger to my lips as I look at her in shock then quickly glance around the elevator.

Thankfully, there aren’t too many people – just a teenage boy with earphones, a woman who’s busy doing something on her phone and an old couple who hopefully are hard of hearing. I give them a smile before turning back to Jo with a glare.

“What?” She puts one hand up in the air. “I’m just saying you should be more interested in men. Honestly, I can’t believe there hasn’t been a guy who’s sent shivers up your spine, made your knees melt and turned your guts inside out.”

I don’t answer. There has been, actually. Just one guy. Well, not the gut-turning kind but the knee-melting, shiver-sending kind. The first time I saw him on a magazine cover a few years ago, my heart still skipped a beat but I scolded it, reminding it of how it got broken long ago – thirteen years ago to be exact. Whatever feelings I had for him are long extinct now, only the pain remaining like a fossil buried in my heart. That’s why I haven’t told Jo about it.

“What about Paul?” Jo asks.

I shake my head. “That’s why that didn’t work.”

“So you’re saying there hasn’t been a guy who’s made your heart skip a beat?”

I shrug.

“Then you clearly haven’t been looking,” Jo says. “Don’t you want to get married, Andrea? Have kids? You love kids, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

The reason why I quit working with children is because of the work, the schedule, and not the children themselves. I love children. I love how carefree and optimistic they are. I love how curious they are, how they learn so fast, how easily they are amazed by everything. I love how funny they are, their crazy ideas and the silly things they say. Actually, I have dreamed of having my own.

If only that didn’t have to require a man.

Alright, I’ll admit it. I’m scared. Not of men really. But of being with men. Ever since that incident thirteen years ago, I haven’t been in a relationship, scared that I might get left behind again, left hanging. Worse, I’m scared of being made a fool of again, which I think is one of the worst feelings in the world. You think you’re so smart, so sure of knowing what you want and thinking that everything in your life is falling into place then you wake up and realize you didn’t know anything at all, that the pieces have been scattered, some lost. And you want to hit your head on the wall because you should have known better. You should have been better.

Yes, it sucks.

I don’t want to go through that again. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.

“You know what?” I tell Jo as we step out of the elevator. “Instead of trying to convince me to find myself a man, why don’t you do it yourself? You’re just as smart, pretty and successful as I am.”

“Finally, she admits she’s pretty,” Jo mutters.

Oops.

Jo places her hand on my shoulder. “I have a better idea. Why don’t we both go to the bar after we’ve changed and taken a shower, huh?”

I look at her. Shit, she’s serious.

“Sorry, Jo.” I stop in front of the door to my room. “I’m tired.”

I slip my keycard into the slot and then push the door open after the dots turn from red to green.

“I know.” She follows me inside the room. “That’s why you need to relax.”

I put my things down on the bed before sitting on the edge of it to take off my shoes. “I can think of a hundred better ways to relax.”

Like soaking in a warm bath, taking a dip in the pool, reading a book or simply lying beneath the comforters listening to music.

“Come on.” Jo sits beside me. “It will be fun.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Yes, it will,” Jo insists. “We’re going to have drinks, maybe have a man buy us a round, talk to a few, flirt a little, have fun.”

I shake my head as I toss my shoe off. “It sounds more like trouble than fun.”

“What’s wrong with getting into a little trouble? Why do you always have to go the safe and easy way?”

I pause. I must confess that hurt a bit.

Jo must have noticed it, too, because she puts her hand over mine. “Hey. You don’t have to protect yourself all the time. You have me. I’ll protect you. I promise you’re not going to get hurt.”

“You can’t promise that, Jo.”

“I’m promising it anyway.” She lifts my hand and places it between hers. “So, please, come to the bar with me? If not for yourself, then do it for me.”

I look into her eyes. I shouldn’t have. Seeing those black eyes pleading with me and shimmering with hope, I feel my resistance crumbling. Jo isn’t just my best friend. I’m hers and there’s not much I wouldn’t do for her.

Unfortunately, she knows it.

“Fine,” I give in, pulling my hand away. “I need a drink anyway.”

“Yes!” Jo jumps up and down like a child on Christmas morning.

“But we’re only staying for a little while,” I tell her, lifting a finger.

“Just two hours,” Jo promises. “And if we run into a jerk, we can leave at once.”

“Good.”

That makes me feel a lot better.

“But if we meet a great guy, promise you’ll at least talk to him,” Jo tells me, sitting back down. “Promise you won’t run away.”

I frown.

“Please?” Jo begs, sticking out her lower, ruby-colored lip.

She’s really pushing it.

I exhale. “Fine.”

Knowing Jo, she won’t take no for an answer. Well, at least, she said ‘great guy’. I may not have been to a lot of a bars but I know it isn’t easy to meet a nice guy at one, or anywhere for that matter.

What are the chances I’ll run into a great guy?