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  The genius who designed airplane seats and I need to have a sit-down. A meeting. A conversation. These seats were not engineered for anyone over five feet, let alone a six–foot-four man. This is why I try to fly first class whenever possible. Not because I want the free drinks or the hot towels, but because there is at least six inches more of leg room. On the rare occasion, like this one, that I have to fly coach, I’m usually able to sweet talk a flight attendant into a row without someone assigned to the middle seat. I wasn’t lucky this time and here I sit, row thirty-seven of forty and the middle seat. Someone kill me now. I’m practically sitting in a fetal position. It’s like I’ve returned to the womb, only without the comfort of white noise and sleep.

  After I picked up my first sponsor and began flying regularly, I had one request of whoever made my plane reservations: window seat. I was a kid and loved looking out the window at the bright lights, imagining all the places I would skate. Okay, all the places I planned to skate. Most of the locations on my list included vacant lots, deserted business parks, and other public locations with large signs that read “Keep Out” or “No Skating.” It’s cute how people think a sign will keep a skater off their property.

  As a teenager after a few growth spurts, I moved that preferred seat to the aisle. In the aisle, I can stretch my legs between the flight attendants rolling their carts by and avoid the leg cramps from hell. By the time I turned pro and was pulling in real sponsorship money, I’d upgraded to first class and which seat I was assigned wasn’t an issue. Even now, as I stare down my retirement as a professional skateboarder and X Games medalist, that’s how I prefer to fly.

  But then there are the random occasions I’m responsible for booking my own flights and forget to actually purchase the ticket until the day before I’m scheduled to leave. Then I end up in the middle seat between Gladys and Martin, playing go between during the first fight of their vacation. Because of their spat, they refused to switch seats with me. Something about refusing to share an arm rest with someone who can’t respect personal boundaries. I’m not thrilled about the role of mediator, but I have to say, I’m with Gladys on this one. Martin really shouldn’t eat dairy when he flies.

  Thankfully, the captain has announced our descent and my torture is almost over. Or just beginning. I suppose it depends on which way you look at it. When I told my sister, Kate, I would do anything she wanted for her thirtieth birthday, I expected her to ask for a weekend at an all-inclusive resort, complete with massages by a hunky guy named Rico and unlimited glasses of rosé. I was wrong. So very, very wrong. No, my smart, over-worked sister, who spends her days working with troubled teens and her nights being a wife and mom, did not choose the all-inclusive resort. She also didn’t take up my offer for a weekend in New York, shopping and seeing a Broadway show. Kate also put the kibosh on the offer to watch her children, so she and her husband could take a romantic getaway to a cabin in the woods.

  What did she choose for her amazing birthday celebration?

  A convention. Not just any convention, a romance book convention. I have absolutely no idea what the weekend will entail. All I know is she was over the moon excited when I bought her the VIP tickets and booked a hotel room for her and her best friend. But, joke was on me when she opened her card with the itinerary printed. She peered up at me with her big doe eyes, bottom lip stuck out like it was injured, and mock sniffled when she asked me to go with her instead of a girlfriend. Me. Spencer Garrison, five-time X Games gold medalist, professional skateboarder, and not a woman. Or a man who reads romance, because I’m assuming there are some of those out there. I don’t judge them for it. They’re allowed to be in touch with their feelings or whatever.

  But Kate is my sister, and I love her more than anyone else in this world, which she knows and uses to her advantage. So, here I am, in the middle seat of an airplane wishing Martin had said no to the cheese board and praying my sister remembers this weekend for the rest of her life because it’s the last gift I’m ever giving her.

  •••

  “Freddy, I hear what you’re saying but no.”

  With a heavy sigh, my agent grumbles under his breath before trying again to convince me to change my stance on promotional tours. “Spencer, you have to see the benefit of this tour from a business perspective. You’ve been dropping hints about potential retirement, and while I think you’re an idiot for even considering that, the damage may be done. We need to get ahead of this and get you out there, show your sponsors your commitment.”

  “No.” My response is louder than I planned and the other passengers disembarking from the plane look at me with wide eyes. Mouthing “sorry,” I tug my backpack higher on my shoulder as I smile to the flight attendants on my way out.

  The minute we landed I, like most of the passengers, pulled my cell from the seat pouch in front of me and powered it up. My plan was to text Kate and let her know I landed and would meet her outside. Instead, I was greeted with an overwhelming amount of notifications. Not only were there a few voice messages but also half a dozen texts from my agent. I planned to ignore the messages from Freddy until I was at the hotel, showered, and had a cold beer in my hand. Lately, most conversations with Freddy require a beer. He’s been up my ass about my plans to retire, and I knew this wouldn’t be any different. After pulling my carryon from the overhead bin, I wait patiently for the other passengers to disembark as Gladys tries to pull me back into their conversation. Slightly rude but mostly in desperation, I click the call button on Freddy’s name as I excuse myself from Gladys. Even Freddy’s harassment is better than having to endure Martin’s puppy dog eyes when I side against him.

  “It’ll be great exposure for the foundation.” Freddy’s voice isn’t smug like it should be. He knows he has me by the balls now. My foundation. The greatest achievement to come from this career of mine.

  “I’ll think about it. But for now, I’m going to spend the weekend with my sister. Family first, Fred. Speaking of, don’t you have like an anniversary or birthday thing today?”

  “Shit. I didn’t even realize the time. I’ll call you tomorrow so we can talk about this more.”

  The line goes dead and I’m relieved. For the first time, remembering my agent’s wedding anniversary came in handy. But how could I forget? Last year, he almost ended up on my couch for forgetting and getting home three hours late. Apparently the wifey had made a special dinner and fell asleep wearing a negligee for the occasion. For the guy who tries to organize my life, he doesn’t do such a great job of taking care of his own.

  My walk through the airport is quick, but since I was distracted by Freddy I failed to text Kate. Great.

  Me: Landed. I’m heading out now. No luggage.

  Kate: I just got the stink eye from Security. Looping around. Be about ten.

  Me: NO TEXTING AND DRIVING!

  Kate: Voice to text ducker!

  Kate: Ducker!

  Kate: Forget it. I’ll call you it when I see you. Ten.

  I love my sister and considering her potty mouth, I’m sure the “d” in ducker is supposed to be an “f.” Since I have a few minutes, I swing by the bathroom to handle business before continuing my walk to the pick-up spots at the curb. When my phone rings, I assume it’s either my sister or Freddy, so I answer with a fake accent.

  “Nico’s Pizza what’s ya pleasure?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for Spencer Garrison?”

  Shit, that’s not Kate nor Freddy. Clearing my throat, I say, “Speaking.”

  “Mr. Garrison, this is Officer Hertz with the Lexington Police Department.”

  The Lexington PD? I just finished building my house in Lexington and have only spent a few weeks there. What could the police be calling me about? Shit, I hope there wasn’t a fire or something. That would be just my luck. To build an amazing home on acreage only to have it burn to the ground before I can even enjoy it. Before I can host my family there. Before I can show my mom and my sister what all the broken bones, missed h
olidays, and work has been for.

  “What can I do for you, Officer?”

  “Sir, I’m calling about a break-in at your home.”

  “A break-in? I suppose the thieves were disappointed with the lack of items to steal.” My laugh is not returned so I clear my throat before continuing. “How was it broken into? I have a great security system, and it isn’t like the house is easily accessible.”

  “Well, it appears a bunch of teenagers helped themselves to your pool and skate setup. They didn’t actually make it in the house.”

  This is why I started my foundation. I know firsthand teenagers with a lot of time on their hands have too many opportunities to make poor life choices. Choices that will follow them for the rest of their lives, taint their history. The Garrison Foundation’s primary objective is work with communities to build alternative recreation opportunities for kids. Of course, I’d like a skate park in every city across the nation, but that isn’t always feasible. Instead, my team works with community leaders to help fund and create programs that fit each city.

  “Was anyone injured?”

  “No, sir. And, unfortunately, we were only able to apprehend two of the kids. The rest fled.”

  “They left two behind? That sucks for them,” I say as I step out through the sliding doors of the airport and into the warm Chicago night. Late summer is definitely in the air here in Illinois. It’s nowhere near the pits of hell also known as a late Texas summer, like the kind I grew up in. I’m grateful for that.

  “Yeah it does. Look, normally we’d write the kids up, but these two . . .” He pauses, and I hear a door close before he continues. “Look, Mr. Garrison, I don’t think these two boys intended to do any harm. They’re good kids, one just moved to town with his mom, and I think he was just trying to look cool to the older kids. He even had your gate code.”

  He had my gate code? Who could have had my gate code? I wrack my brain thinking about that when it dawns on me . . . Landon. I bet this is the kid working with Landon and helping him deliver the custom furniture he’s building for the house. Dammit.

  “Look Officer Hertz, I don’t want to be the reason these kids have a blemish on their record. How about you . . . can you hold on for a sec?” I ask when I spot Kate’s minivan approaching before she cuts off a few cars and pulls to the curb. I roll my eyes. Chances are when I open this door she’ll be playing some awful pop music that will make my ears bleed and start shouting the correct word her voice to text didn’t catch.

  I point to my phone indicating I’m actually talking to someone before I open the door and she nods in response before reaching for the radio dial. When I’m sure the music is turned down and she won’t embarrass me too much, I open the passenger door and toss my bag in as I continue my call.

  “Sorry about that. I think I know one of these kids, well his mom and her boyfriend anyway. I don’t want to press charges or anything. But,” I say as Kate shoots a wide-eyed look at me. Shaking my head to let her know it’s not a big deal, I continue, “What do you think about scaring these kids a little and letting them know the next time they may not be so lucky?”

  “I like the way you think, Mr. Garrison. Consider it done. I’ll call you later to let you know how it goes.”

  “Sounds good. Thank you for calling.”

  I disconnect the call and look to my sister who is chewing on her bottom lip. I know it’s killing her not to speak.

  “Proceed, sister.”

  “Fucker. That’s what I was calling you. My damn phone is an idiot.”

  Laughing, I pat her shoulder and laugh. “Your phone?”

  Sighing she says, “Fine, not my phone. Me. I wasn’t circling. I was getting coffee. I got you something so don’t be mad.” I look to where she’s pointing and smile when I see a large coffee and a pastry. “But I was also calling you a fucker. Whew,” she says with an exaggerated exhale. “That’s better. Now why were you not pressing charges?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over a burger and a beer. Which, there will be a lot of if I’m doing this weekend with you.”

  My sister doesn’t respond and instead turns the dial on the radio as one of my favorite Pennywise songs pumps through the speakers. Surprised, I look to my sister who has a huge smile on her face.

  “It’s the least I can do if you’re going to spend all weekend lugging my books around and being my personal photographer.”

  Great. If she’s buttering me up with music this is really going to be a long weekend.

  “I wish you would have taken me up on my offer to buy you a plane ticket. I can’t believe you drove.” I have hated the idea of her being alone on the road for hours on end.

  “Oh stop. This is like a vacation. I have three children, Spencer. I barely pee without an audience. Hours in the car alone is like a vacation.”

  Settling into my seat, I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.

  Chapter 3

  Aggi

  I have never considered myself a people person.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-people. I like personalities and character traits and quirks. I like stories of the underdog overcoming. I like the history our great-great-gran-whatevers tell.

  But the idea of going to a concert or dinner party has always made me nearly hyperventilate. I’m likely to say something really weird like responding to someone’s “Hi” with “Thank you.” It’s easier to stick to myself and a couple of people who are either as odd as me or don’t have a judgy bone in their body.

  That’s one of the reasons I like my job so much. My favorite part is creating stories, of course. But as an added bonus, I don’t have to sit in an office and interact with people who are overworked, underpaid, and badly need a shot of caffeine. Plus, the age of social media means I get to connect with people who are very like-minded.

  Readers may not agree on everything, but we all love the written word. I learned at the beginning of my career, as long as I talk about the latest book I read, I’m going to connect with someone despite my ineptness. Especially online.

  But today isn’t online. Today is live and in person. So, seeing the long line of readers waiting to get into today’s signing has me full of anxiety. Some of them have been here for hours with their empty carts waiting to be filled with books by their favorite authors. Many of them gave up standing long ago and are sitting on the floor.

  Wait . . . did someone . . .?

  Yep. Someone brought her own collapsible chair to sit in while she waits.

  That is hard core and a lot of pressure to live up to. Which is funny because I don’t have to impress them. For some strange reason I still haven’t figured out, they’re here for my books. My novels speak for themselves and, thankfully, that puts me one step ahead of the social niceties. To make it even easier, at one time Greer made me memorize a list of topic questions I can ask while signing a book. Things like, “Are you having a good time?” and “Where did you come in from?” You know, easy conversation starters that always gets someone talking.

  Well, almost always. There was that one time a young girl froze. When I asked where she drove in from, she said, “My car.” Poor girl turned red as a tomato until I told her I once accidentally kissed my pastor on the lips when he went in for my cheek. She giggled so loudly she snorted and turned red again. Hey I tried. But the socially awkward really shouldn’t lead the socially awkward. It’s in the nerd girl handbook or something.

  Walking past the line of readers, I keep my head down, hoping not to be noticed yet. I still need to mentally prepare myself for the five hundred plus people here for the events. That’s plural.

  Five hundred? Don’t think about it, Aggi. Maybe I can leave the signing early and claim I’m behind on my deadline. It’s not a lie. I’m way behind.

  I roll my eyes at myself because there’s no way I’ll be leaving early. “Adeline Snow” has already been placed in one of the coveted corner spots to accommodate the anticipated line. No pressure there.

/>   The crowd suddenly gets excited and I make the mistake of looking up to see what’s happening. That’s when I realize they’re looking at me.

  “Ohmygod, it’s Adeline Snow!” someone yells and people begin cheering.

  This is the part that always gets me. What am I supposed to do when people are screaming for me? Wave? Take a bow? Shake hands and kiss babies? No one has trained me for this kind of attention.

  So, I do the only thing I can think of . . . I awkwardly curtsy, stumbling as I trip over my own high heel. Racing to the closed door that will get me into the banquet hall, and hopefully to safety, I pray I won’t trip again. I love wearing heels to these events. It’s the only time I dress up, and combined with my favorite ’50s-inspired red satin dress and coifed hair, it seems to go well with the brand my publicist and I created, but they are not conducive to running from a crowd.

  Swinging the door open, I step inside and pull it shut behind me. Holding my hand over my chest, I lean against the door and will my breathing to slow down. I should be used to this by now. It’s not like it’s my first event.

  “I don’t know why you are always so surprised when the readers are excited to see you.”

  Opening my eyes, I see my friend Sharon pulling paper wristbands apart in preparation for today. Sharon is at all the big events. She’s like the volunteer extraordinaire—always willing to help. Always with a smile on her face. She gets there early and stays late. Plus, she’s always kind, no matter how freaked out you may be.

  “I never seem to learn, do I?” I joke back.

  She giggles. “Not ever. You know what else you never learn?”

  Suddenly, I’m falling backward and landing on my rear in the hall where everyone can see me.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you were standing there!” I look up to see Donna Moreno, best-selling erotica romance author and practically a model, standing over me.

  Climbing to my feet, Sharon is by my side almost instantaneously to help me get my bearings straight again. “You never learn not to lean against the doors of the banquet halls. That’s what, twice you’ve fallen on your rear when the door swings open?”