Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
I was antsy as hell and needed to get out of my hotel room while she was gone. I’d come back up and meet her at four and we’d talk, figure something out, but to sit and drive myself crazy for the next hour sounded less than appealing. And so I headed to the lobby and decided to stop by the end of the expo, probably just finishing up about now. I’d make an appearance, chat with a few people, pass the time.
When I entered the conference room, it was still crowded with fans, lines formed at tables where the most popular performers sat signing anything from photos to body parts. This was good. A crowd was good. Distraction. Speaking of which… I shook my head on a smile when I saw one woman bent over, as a male performer I didn’t know signed her bare ass.
“Carson Stinger!” I heard shouted and looked over to see Bobby Prince, another male performer who worked for Courtney at ArtLove.com.
“Hey, man.” I said as I walked toward him. Bobby was just packing his stuff up and so we stood and shot the shit for a little while before his girlfriend, who was in the business too, came over and put her hand around his waist asking, “Ready, baby?” We shook hands and he took off. I looked around and saw a grandma who must have been ninety years old having her saggy cleavage signed by a woman I didn’t know in a short, red leather dress with a zipper up the front. The old woman sort of reminded me of my granny. She probably knew how to pick out a cantaloupe too. Okay, that’s enough. I turned away. This was not my scene and exactly why I had told Tim that I wasn’t doing this type of stuff anymore. Why I thought it’d be a good idea even to walk through, I didn’t know.
Suddenly, everyone I looked at had a story. I wanted to know why they were here, doing what they were doing. I let out a harsh breath. Christ. No, I didn’t. Did I? I really had no fucking idea. It was just because I’d spent the weekend hearing Grace’s story, a woman who I’d judged to be completely different than she actually was. A woman who had a family, and a past, and hurts and fears. A woman who made decisions based on things I’d have never known about if I hadn’t fucking asked.
Oh, Jesus. I was reeling.
I headed for the exit doors and just as I was almost there, I heard my name shrieked. I pivoted with a jolt to see a twenty-something blond jumping up and down and pulling her friend’s arm. “Oh my God!” she yelled. “Carson Stinger, I LOVE you!” Then she ran over to me and pulled her shirt all the way up, exposing her tits. “Sign me!” she demanded, sticking a Sharpie pen in my face.
I managed a smile and scrawled my name across her breasts. “Thanks for the support.” I smiled, handed her back the pen, and started to walk off.
“Wait!” she yelled. “Will you take a picture with me?”
I sighed. No. “Sure.” I returned to where she stood and put my arm around her shoulders. She pulled her shirt back up to expose my signature, as her friend snapped a picture.
I said another goodbye and as I turned, I heard one of the girl’s whisper to the other, “Grab his dick so you can say you felt up Carson Stinger.”
I heard them rushing at my back and turned toward them saying, “Whoa, ladies, I appreciate your fan support, but no one’s grabbing my junk.” I tried to laugh it off, giving them my most charming smile, the one that always got me off the hook with women, the one that suddenly felt very hard to bring forth.
They obviously didn’t hear me though, or didn’t care what I said or didn’t say, because their eyes remained directly focused on my crotch, and their hands continued to reach forward.
“Back off!” I yelled deeply, shielding myself with my hands and causing them to startle and halt. I saw several people in my peripheral vision stop and turn toward me.
I started walking for the exit again as the blond yelled after me, “What the hell? You fuck for a living and your dick’s suddenly off-limits? Whatever, asshole!”
Anger spiraled in my gut. I was not public property. I clenched my jaw but kept walking. They didn’t deserve a response. When I got out into the hall, I kicked a plant over, dirt spraying over the carpet.
I returned to my hotel room and slammed the door behind me, and then kicked it for good measure. I sat down on the corner of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. I was pissed, and I couldn’t seem to shake it off the way I usually did when fans got overly “friendly”. Those girls were bitches, but who fucking cared? Who cared what they thought? Who cared what anyone thought?