Richelle Mead: Succubus Blues

She introduced us matter-of-factly. "Warren Lloyd, store owner. Doug Sato, assistant manager. Bruce Newton, cafe manager. Andy Kraus, sales. And you already know Georgina Kincaid, our other assistant manager."

Seth nodded politely, shaking everyone's hand. When he reached me, I averted my eyes, waiting for him to just move on. When he did not, I mentally cringed, bracing myself for some comment about our previous encounters. Instead, all he said was, "G.K."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"G.K.," he repeated, as though those letters made perfect sense. When my idiotic expression persisted, he gave a swift head jerk toward one of the promotional flyers for tonight's event. It read:

If you haven't heard of Seth Mortensen, then you obviously haven't been living on this planet for the last eight years. He's only the hottest thing to hit the mystery/contemporary fiction market, making the competition look like scribbles in a child's picture book. With several bestselling titles to his name, the illustrious Mr. Mortensen writes both self-standing novels and continual installments in the stunningly popular Cady & O'Neill series. The Glasgow Pact continues the adventures of these intrepid investigators as they travel abroad this time, continuing to unravel archaeological mysteries and engage in the persistent witty, sexual banter we've come to love them for. Guys, if you can't find your girlfriends tonight, they're here with The Glasgow Pact, wishing you were as suave as O'Neill.

—G.K.

"You're G.K. You wrote the bio."

He looked to me for confirmation, but I couldn't speak, wouldn't utter the clever acknowledgment about to spring from my lips. I was too afraid. After my earlier mishaps, I feared saying the wrong thing.

Finally, confused by my silence, he asked haltingly, "Are you a writer? It's really good."

"No."

"Ah." A few moments passed in cool silence. "Well. I guess some people write the stories, and others live them."

That sounded like a dig of sorts, but I bit my lip on any response, still playing my new ice-bitch role, wanting to defuse the earlier flirtation.

Paige, not understanding the tension between Seth and me, still felt it and tried to allay it. "Georgina's one of your biggest fans. She was absolutely ecstatic when she found out you were coming here."

"Yeah," added Doug wickedly. "She's practically a slave to your books. Ask her how many times she's read The Glasgow Pact."

I shot him a murderous look, but Seth's attention focused back on me, genuinely curious. He's trying to bring back our earlier rapport, I realized sadly. I couldn't let that happen now.

"How many?"

I swallowed, not wanting to answer, but the weight of all those eyes grew too heavy. "None. I haven't finished it yet." Practiced poise allowed me to utter those words calmly and confidently, hiding my discomfort.

Seth looked puzzled. So did everyone else; they all stared at me, rightfully perplexed. Only Doug knew the joke.

"None?" asked Warren with a frown. "Hasn't it been out for over a month now?"

Doug, the bastard, grinned. "Tell them the rest. Tell them how much you read a day."

I wished then that the floor would open up and swallow me whole, so I could escape this nightmare. As if coming off as an arrogant strumpet in front of Seth Mortensen wasn't bad enough, Doug was now shaming me into confessing my ridiculous habit.

"Five," I finally said. "I only read five pages a day."

"Why?" asked Paige. She had apparently never heard this story.

I could feel my cheeks turning red. Paige and Warren stared at me like I was from another planet while Seth simply continued to remain silent and look thoughtfully distracted. I took a deep breath and spoke in a rush: "Because... because it's so good, and because there's only one chance to read a book for the first time, and I want it to last. That experience. I'd finish it in a day otherwise, and that'd be like... like eating a carton of ice cream in one sitting. Too much richness over too quickly. This way, I can draw it out. Make the book last longer. Savor it. I have to since they don't come out that often."

I promptly shut up, realizing I had just insulted Seth's writing prowess... again. He made no response to my comment, and I couldn't decipher the expression on his face. Considering, maybe. Once again, I silently begged the floor to consume me and save me from this humiliation. It obstinately refused.

Doug smiled reassuringly at me. He found my habit cute. Paige, who apparently did not, looked as though she shared my wish that I be somewhere else. She cleared her throat politely and started a completely new line of conversation. After that, I scarcely paid attention to what anybody said. All I knew was that Seth Mortensen probably thought I was an erratic nutcase, and I couldn't wait for this night to end.

"... Kincaid would do it."

The sound of my name brought me back around several minutes later.

"What?" I turned to Doug, the speaker.

"Wouldn't you?" he repeated.

"Wouldn't I what?"

"Show Seth around the city tomorrow." Doug spoke patiently, as if to a child. "Get him acquainted with the area."

"My brother's too busy," explained Seth.

What did his brother have to do with anything? And why did he need to get acquainted with the area?

I faltered, unwilling to admit I'd spaced out just now while wallowing in self-pity.

"If you don't want to..." began Seth hesitantly.

"Of course she does." Doug nudged me. "Come on. Climb out of your hole."

We exchanged smartass looks, worthy of Jerome and Carter. "Yeah, fine. Whatever."

We arranged the logistics of me meeting Seth, and I wondered what I'd gotten myself into. I no longer wanted to stand out. In fact, I would have preferred if he could have just blotted me from his mind forever. Hanging out as we toured Seattle tomorrow didn't seem like the best way to make that happen. If anything, it would probably only result in more foolish behavior on my part.

Conversation finally faded. As we were about to disperse, I suddenly realized something. "Oh. Hey. Mr. Mortensen. Seth."

He turned toward me. "Yeah?"

I frantically tried to say something that would undo the tangled mess of mixed signals and embarrassment he and I had stumbled into. Unfortunately, the only things that came to mind were: Where do you get your ideas from? and Are Cady and O'Neill ever going to get together? Dismissing such idiocy, I simply shoved my book over to him.

"Can you sign this?"

He took it. "Uh, sure." A pause. "I'll bring it back tomorrow. “

Deprive me of my book for the night? Hadn't I suffered enough?

"Can't you just sign it now?"

He shrugged haplessly, as though the matter were out of his control. "I can't think of anything to write."

"Just sign your name."

"I'll bring it back tomorrow," he repeated, walking away with my copy of The Glasgow Pact like I hadn't even said anything. Appalled, I seriously considered running over and beating him up for it, but Warren suddenly tugged on my arm.

"Georgina," he said pleasantly as I stared desperately at my retreating book, "we still need to discuss that matter in my office."

No. No way. I definitely wasn't putting out after this debacle of an evening. Turning slowly toward him, I shook my head. "I told you, I can't."

"Yeah, I know already. Your fictitious date."

"It's not fictitious. It's—"

My eyes desperately scanned for escape as I spoke. While no magical portals appeared in the cookbook section, I suddenly locked gazes with a guy browsing our foreign language books. He smiled curiously at my attention, and in a flash, I made a ballsy choice.

"—with him. It's with him."

I waved my hand at the strange guy and beckoned him over. He looked understandably surprised, setting his book down and walking toward us. When he arrived, I slung my arm around him familiarly, giving him a look that had been known to bring kings to their knees.