Page 16 of Book Bae

“Right.”

“I know what I want and who I want. I’m thirty-six, and if I never meet the man of my dreams, and if I never get married, I want that special night with someone who is equally special.”

I knew where she was going, and though I should have stopped her, I didn’t—I couldn’t. I felt a connection with this woman that I didn’t want to let slip away. The other part was that she didn’t seem to know who I was, and she was still drawn to me. I used a logo for both of my pen names, but as Mike Jamison, I had made a few public appearances. I just didn’t allow my photo to be used. As MJ Stone, I had never made an appearance. Unless she attended one of the conferences I was in as Mike Jamison, I didn’t expect for her to recognize me. Besides my three marriages, women tended to be drawn to me for the wrong reasons, and I didn’t want or need a gold-digger or a woman looking for connections.

“I feel a connection with you that I have never felt with anyone before. I mean, I don’t want to die a virgin.”

“There could be worse things,” I remarked with a wink.

“Name one.”

I smirked, and she threw a pillow at me before she stood and grabbed her purse. I caught it in the air. “What was that for?”

“Because you couldn’t come up with a single response to that.” She giggled.

I shrugged. “Well, I might tell you a story, but I won’t tell you a lie. Let me at least walk you to the elevators.”

“Okay. And thank you for the advice,” she replied as she walked to the door.

I grabbed my key card and followed her out. “Anytime. You just need to figure out what you’re going to do about not dying as a virgin, and everything else in the world should be all right.”

Her phone buzzed as we reached the elevator doors, and she glanced at it. “That’s Symone looking for me. I’ve got the all-clear. Oh, about that—I know what I want to do.”

“What?” I asked as she stepped onto the elevator.

“You.”

“You just gonna drop that li’l ticking time bomb like that and walk your sexy ass away?”

She giggled, pressed the button for her floor, and then held the door open. “Can we meet tomorrow evening for a mental health check-in on the rooftop?”

“Sure, ’cause I gotta be crazy to let your ass walk away after a comment like that.”

She pushed the door closed button on me and laughed, leaving me standing there with a hard dick and a mind full of thoughts—all about the lovely, sexy brown woman who blew my mind.

I had fun today at the panels I attended. There were plenty of discussions about authors who chose to be a faceless brand to focus on the art versus the authors who showed up at the conferences and workshops. They discussed the advantages of anonymity, such as privacy and creative freedom, versus the challenges of marketing and logistics.

The authors on the panel who showed up discussed being able to build their brand and connect with readers versus loss of privacy and vulnerability. When they asked which authors we wished wouldn’t remain anonymous, there were a few names mentioned, including the one I loved most, MJ Stone. She was an amazing writer with an authentic voice, and we all wanted to connect with her on some level, but she refused to identify herself.

That led to much speculation as to whether she was a Black woman or another race, old or young, someone we already knew, or if she had some sort of handicap or scars that prevented her from going public.

Although I had fun, I couldn’t wait to meet up with Micaiah. At the end of the evening, I raced back to my room, showered, and headed for the rooftop.

I smelled the unique, sweet aroma of the blunt before I saw him. I followed my nose around the little corner until I saw him on a lounge. He was hunched forward wearing a red hoodie and black denim shorts.

The weather was as odd as his choice of clothing. It had been a warm seventy degrees, but the nighttime temperatures dropped to around fifty or just below that. It was the month of February, but we were also in L.A.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I declared.

He laughed. “Come sit next to me and talk to me about what’s good.”

I took the spot that he patted, which was extremely close to him, but I wasn’t complaining. Once I settled on my butt, he set the blunt aside and wiggled his fingers at my feet.

I lifted them and watched as he removed my ballet slippers. “Do you have a foot fetish or something?” I asked when he finished removing my shoes.

“Or something,” he replied with a smirk.

I nudged him with my shoulder. It was interesting that I felt so close to the man, and I barely knew him. “You have no qualms about touching my feet, and you don’t really know me.”