A Novel Experience: A Love Between the Pages Novelette Read online

  A Novel Experience

  Copyright © 2018,

  Editing by Sandy Ebel

  Self-Publication Date: December 2018

  All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher's permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Businesses, Places, Events, and Incidents are either products of the author's imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published in the United States by Heather Guimond

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  The Novel Approach

  Chapter One

  I capped my fountain pen for the last time and tucked it away in its special case. We’d completed yet another successful book signing, but I was tapped out. Being Gage Blackstone, the unofficial ‘King of the One-Handed Read’ had its perks, but sometimes it was plain exhausting.

  “Christ, that was grueling,” I said to my assistant, Clarisse. Looking up from where she was attempting to disassemble an empty book rack, she gave me a wry look.

  “How was it grueling for you? All you did was sit there, sign books, and be your charming self. I, on the other hand, have been on my feet all day, making sure your swag and books were always stocked full on the table, that your line moved swiftly, and kept an untold number of women from slipping their panties into your pockets. Again.”

  I had to laugh because she wasn’t wrong. A lot of the grunt work fell to her while I got to sit and make small talk with admiring ladies of all kinds, signing their books with the sexy personalization’s they dictated to me. It wasn’t physically exhausting, but some signings were exceptionally arduous, the ones where woman after woman pushed their way to the front, declaring she was my biggest fan and would do anything to prove it. This had been one of those events. Apparently, the outspoken, kinky women of Boise were a well-kept secret.

  “If you sat in my seat, you wouldn’t last fifteen minutes with your sarcastic attitude and antisocial personality. You try being ‘on’ for four hours while being man-handled.”

  “Cry me a river, Gage. You know you love all the attention. It feeds that already over-inflated ego of yours.”

  I didn’t really think I was all that, but I did get off on the enthusiasm my fans showed me. I loved them. My readers were the main reason I did what I did, but I didn’t always feel like the dominant, sexy playboy people expected. Sometimes, I just wanted to get back to my hotel room, uncap an ice-cold beer, and watch the golf channel or something equally mind-numbing.

  “Well, I should thank you profusely for yet another panty-free event,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.

  “I’m sure most of these broads were panty-free. If not, you know they wanted to be,” she said with a snort as she finally wrangled the rack into its collapsed state and put it in a box.

  “I’d rather not imagine the condition of their underwear, thank you very much. Not my business,” I said, grabbing the empty boxes that had contained my book inventory and hauling them to a large bin someone brought into the conference room. Once again, my readers had cleaned me out, and I’d needed to take back orders for autographed books. It wasn’t a bad problem to have.

  Clarisse finished packing up the rest of my equipment and remaining swag items that weren’t snatched up by the continuous stream of visitors to my table. I was surprised there was anything left. After rolling up my banner and sticking it in its travel sleeve, I slung it over my shoulder before taking command of the small dolly we used to haul my shit back and forth.

  “What are you going to do when you go to London next month without me?” she said with a little pout as we walked out toward the lobby. She’d been giving me shit for the last six months for not taking her with me to a major event in England. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but it was four days, and I’d be busy with various speaking engagements and making nice with other authors and more fans. There wouldn’t be much for her to do until the final day of the conference when they had a massive signing. I figured I could make do by myself for once.

  “I’ll manage somehow, but it will hurt, I promise you,” I said, grinning and trying to get back into her good graces. “I’ll probably regret my decision within an hour. I’ll take you to the next international event I do, okay? I think there’s one in Dublin next year.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that. I could get down with some hot Irish guys,” she said playfully. Clarisse was like a smart-mouthed, bratty, and totally inappropriate little sister. We were buddies as much as we were boss and employee, spending as much time as we did together. She’d taken me on before I could afford to pay her, and I gave her a lot of credit for making me the success I’d become in the world of romance. She’d helped me cultivate my devil-may-care, sexy persona and constantly pushed my books—and me—in front of my target audience. She had years of experience navigating the indie book world and her finger on the pulse of every soccer mom, businesswoman, and grandmother with a penchant for dirty books. It also didn’t hurt that her sharp tongue kept me on my toes, primed for churning out book after book to meet the enormous demand for my kinky tales.

  “Want to grab some dinner?” I asked as we headed toward the elevators. “We could order something from room service and get smashed on what’s in the mini-bar.”

  “I could raid the contents of mine too, and we’ll make it a real party,” Clarisse said with an impish grin. One thing I could say for her, she could drink like a champ. I was well known for my avid self-indulgence, and while Clarisse could keep up with me, drink for drink, she always stayed clear-headed enough to keep me in line when we were in public.

  After binging on the entire appetizer menu from the hotel, we decided we’d decompressed enough to make our way back down to the bar for a few Manhattans since the mini-bar offerings have been found severely wanting in the liquor department. We were working on thirds when two women approached us.

  “Mr. Blackstone,” the svelte woman with long curly black hair purred. “Would you mind if we joined you? We’re huge fans and didn’t get to spend enough time at your table. We’d love to get to know the real Gage Blackstone.”

  Clarisse gave me a warning look, but the alcohol had loosened me up, and more company sounded like a good idea. I ignored her expression and donned a killer grin. She huffed and opened her mouth to object, intent on keeping the women away from me, but I cut her off.

  “Sure, take a seat,” I said, motioning to the remaining chairs at our table. The woman who spoke rushed to take the seat next to me while her blonde friend sat next to Clarisse, looking unhappy. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “I’ll have a Cosmopolitan,” the blonde piped up, her softly lined but plump face returning to its formerly hopeful expression.

  “I’ll take whatever you’re having. I’m Carina,” she said, extending her hand. Taking it as my cue to turn on the charm, I cradled it in my own, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles. The blonde bristled with envy.

  “And you are?” I inquired, turning to her with a lazy smile.

  “I’m Sharon.” Her eyes locked on Carina’s hand in mine. I pulled away only to receive Sharon’s limp-wristed handshake. Clarisse just rolled her eyes as I signaled o
ur server.

  “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she announced, giving me a bored look. “Are you going to be okay while I’m gone?”

  “Oh, we’ll take good care of him for you, dear,” Carina replied suggestively. “Won’t we Sharon?”

  “Don’t take too long, honey. We might drag him off and have our way with him before you can get back,” Sharon said. “On second thought, you just go right ahead and take your time.”

  I chuckled as Clarisse nearly gagged before giving a brief wave and heading off toward the restrooms. Though at times overwhelming, it never hurt my ego to know women all over the country wanted my attention. Normally, I kept it in perspective, but nights like this, when I’d indulged myself in good food and better spirits, I wasn’t above swimming in the compliments and innuendo they provided.

  As soon as Clarisse was gone, Sharon jumped chairs and scooted closer to mine. Not to be left out, Carina also moved closer until they both had their arms over my shoulders and were leaning in to whisper to me rather than just talking in normal voices. Before long, their hushed tones led to soft kisses on my cheeks and neck. I leaned back in my seat, bathing in their adoration. I was completely aware they were only impressed by a characterization of myself—whether it was the image we’d so carefully built or one they imagined. Nevertheless, there was no harm in enjoying playing my role.

  “I just loved ‘Her Master’s Secret,’” Sharon sighed as she laid her head on my shoulder and rubbed my arm. “Archer is my number one book boyfriend of all time. I’d be his secret slave any day.”

  “I preferred Zander in ‘His Sweet Possession.’ Was that scene where he binds Arianna’s hands with his tie and presses her up against the wall in front of everyone in the nightclub purely fictional, or have you ever put on a show like that in public?” Carina asked as she plucked at the buttons on my shirt.

  I was never sure how to answer questions like that. Most things I wrote were purely the product of an overactive, overly sexual imagination, but some scenes were peppered with real details from my past. My readers wanted to believe every male character was me, and each novel was part of my memoirs though. I gave an internal shrug. Who was I to ruin their fantasies with a dose of reality?

  “All I’ll say is I’ve never been one to shy away from the limelight,” I offered, allowing them to interpret the statement whichever way they desired.

  “I just knew it,” Sharon whispered as she looked at Carina wide-eyed. Carina gave her a Cheshire Cat smile, then turned back to me, pushing her fingers into my short hair and massaging my scalp.

  “We’d love to play with you like that one day. You could have a twofer with us. Imagine what that would do for your already impossibly sexy image,” she said breathlessly, her hand making its way down my chest.

  “We could even be the inspiration for the next book you write,” Sharon breathed. “Imagine, a true-to-life ménage à trois immortalized in a Gage Blackstone book.”

  I grinned despite the fact it would more likely make me look like a really sleazy man-whore. Better for women to imagine being taken by me in public than to put it into practice. I didn’t need my bare ass posted on Instagram for all to see or worse, a cell phone video posted on PornTube.

  “Well,” I began with a short cough. “I’m from Sin City where mischief and misbehavior are always on the menu. Truth be told though, I’d rather entertain women in my playroom at home, one at a time. I really like to dedicate myself, you know what I mean?”

  It was bullshit. Well, part of it. I did live in Las Vegas, but I didn’t have a playroom at home. I had a man cave with a ratty old recliner, a mini-fridge, and a widescreen TV. The sexiest thing I got up to in there was worshiping an extra-large, deep dish, meat pizza and a plate of buffalo wings. I preferred to restrict my extracurricular activities to the home of whichever lady I chose to spend the night with. I didn’t bring women home.

  “Ooooh,” Sharon sighed as she started to let her hands wander toward my lap. I was going to have to redirect her attention shortly. Otherwise, she’d discover I wasn’t as excited by them as they thought I was. Playing the part was fun, but I didn’t choose groupies as my bed partners.

  “I think we need a girls’ trip, don’t you, Sharon?” Carina said as she finally reached the no-go zone. I deftly picked her hand off my belt and kissed it again. With her uncanny ability to arrive in the nick of time, Clarisse returned.

  “Hey, Gage, I’m sorry to interrupt this little party you’ve started, but I got a call from your sister. Her jerkoff husband is at it again. She begged me to have you call her,” she said, using our code to end sticky situations—I didn’t have a sister.

  “I’m sorry, ladies. It seems Tina needs some big-brotherly advice. I’m sorry I have to go, but family always comes first.” I grabbed a couple cocktail napkins as the women’s faces fell in disappointment. I scrawled a sexy but harmless message on each, then signed my name on the bottom. At least they’d be able to go home with a souvenir and the fantasy of nearly having a threesome with Gage Blackstone.

  Chapter Two

  I groaned as I tried to stretch my long legs out, only to have my shins hit the seat in front of me. I hated flying. I didn’t have an issue with being umpteen thousands of feet in the air. It was being squeezed into a tiny metal tube with a hundred or more passengers, all invading each other’s personal space. It was a horrible way to travel. I longed for a day when I’d be able to afford a private jet, pretending it was a possibility. Writing dirty books paid for a lot, but the pinnacle usually fell way short of millionaire status.

  Clarisse looked up from her Kindle, checking to make sure I was okay. Once reassured I wasn’t going to smash the seat in front of me—and the kindly old lady in it—she all but pressed her nose back to the screen. For all her disdain for my overly ardent fans, she was a secret fangirl herself.

  “Whatcha readin’?” I asked, curious as to which story had her so tightly in its grasp.

  “Hmmm?” she replied, her eyes never leaving the tablet. I reached over and plucked it from her hands.

  “This. What’s this?”

  “Oh, it’s Wyatt Chance’s new release. He’s fast becoming your main competitor,” she replied, snatching the device back.

  “It’s not a competition, Clarisse. There are three-hundred and sixty-five days in a year. Readers can burn through pages faster than any one author can write. There’s plenty of room at the table,” I said. I never understood author-envy. While I could admire someone else’s success, I never felt like they achieved theirs at the expense of my own, the way some did. I was all for promoting my contemporaries and hoped they’d promote me, too. Especially the other males in the genre. There were few of us, compared to our female counterparts. Approaching it like a brotherhood had all kinds of potential, in my opinion.

  “Be that as it may, he writes very well. His imagery is top notch,” she said, turning her attention back to the screen.

  “I’ll have to take a look when we get home. If it’s as good as you say, maybe I’ll reach out to him.”

  “I think that’s a very good idea,” she said, her interest suddenly moving from the book to me. “If you want, I can make first contact with him.”

  “Thanks, but I think it’s better coming from me. You have a reputation for being my watchdog,” I teased her. I was certain she’d do perfectly fine reaching out to this Wyatt guy, but I always felt like authors who used their PAs to talk to other authors came across as self-important and snobby. I liked making personal connections.

  “So, what’s next?” she asked, finally tucking the e-reader into her purse, then stowing it away under her seat.

  “Next, I finish that fucking blurb, I just can’t seem to get right, for the new release. I write whole novels, for God’s sake. If I could condense a story effectively to two paragraphs, there wouldn’t be a book at all. Only a true masochist can do it which we both know I very much am not.”

  The lady in the seat across the aisle v
isibly perked up when the word masochist fell from my lips. I smiled innocently at her, then turned my head toward Clarisse as she leaned in.

  “You know there are people out there who’ll write them for you.”

  “I know, but you know I’m a control freak. Look how long it took you to get me to trust you,” I said quietly with a lift of my shoulder. “I can’t just put my words in anyone’s hands and hope for the best.”

  “Yes, but you trust me implicitly now, right?” she asked, already knowing full well I did.

  “Of course. You’re the only person I do trust.”

  “Then rest assured, I’ll find you the right person to write your blurbs. Just give me a couple days. You can get started on your next panty-melter in the meantime,” she said with the signature roll of her eyes.

  “Nah, I think I’m going to take a week or two off and just have fun. It’s been all work lately, either writing or traveling somewhere. I’ll have to prepare for my lectures at the con in London which would interfere with any writing I started now. It’s the perfect time to just relax.” The more I thought about it, the more I realized a little fun and some R&R were exactly what I needed.