All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(51)

He wanted her to accept him.

After a long, fraught minute, she exhaled slowly.

“Your instincts,” she said. “God help us both.”





16


POOR MARCUS. WHEN HE CLIMBED INTO LAUREN’S HYBRID that Friday morning, he had no idea what awaited him. But she did, and she didn’t envy the man.

On their way to Marcus’s house, Alex had shared his plan with her. “I can’t fucking take any more anguished puppy-dog eyes, Wren. And since he wants us to room together at the hotel during Con of the Gates, I’m giving him the Full Alexander Woodroe Treatment.”

She made her voice as arid as humanly possible. “I hesitate to ask.”

But he knew by now that she’d be curious, no matter how much she might deny it. So instead of badgering her, he merely turned up the Tom Petty song piping through her speakers and shouted along to “You Wreck Me” until she gave in.

She stabbed at the volume controls. “Fine. You’ve defeated me with your atonal wailing. Tell me what the Full Alexander Woodroe Treatment is.”

As obnoxious in victory as always, he pumped both fists in the air—accidentally hitting her roof, to her poorly hidden amusement—before explaining.

“Through my sparkling wit and cunning repartee, I intend to capture his attention and keep it from straying to his lovelorn state.” He’d rubbed his hands together, satisfaction with his plan radiating from every perfect pore on his stupidly handsome face. “Essentially, I won’t give him the time or mental space to be a wretched, blubbering heap of a human being.”

If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought him unsympathetic to Marcus, who’d sunk into abject misery after breaking up with his girlfriend. But she’d witnessed Alex rushing to his friend’s side at the slightest hint of trouble, and noted how he checked on Marcus’s mental state with nigh-alarming frequency via texts and FaceTime calls.

So yes, he was sympathetic. This was his way of helping, but doing so in the most annoying manner possible, because Alex was … Alex.

Thus far, he’d followed through on his plan, and it was a novelty not to have his barrage of words entirely directed at her, for once. Certainly, Lauren got her share along the way—as they drove to pick up Marcus at his home, and as the three of them headed to the airport, flew to San Francisco, and rode to the convention hotel—but Marcus received the bulk of the verbiage.

“—really pleased with the reception of my most recent fic,” Alex told his friend as they neared the hotel. “The one I wrote with Cupid as an actor, starring in a popular television show. You beta-read it for me a few weeks ago. Remember?”

Oh, crap. He should not be talking about this within earshot of a stranger.

From the front passenger seat, Lauren twisted around to tell him so, but Marcus was already on it.

“Alex—” Frantically, he jabbed a finger in the direction of the driver who’d picked them up at the airport. “Of course I remember, but you shouldn’t—”

Completely unfazed, Alex waved a hand toward Lauren and cheerily barreled on. “She probably doesn’t know, though. Anyway, Lauren, I made actor!Cupid miserable and angry because of his incompetent, overprivileged showrunners, who completely fucked up the final season of his show and glorified abusive relationships in their scripts. But then he meets a woman named Robin, who—”

“Yes, yes.” Lauren massaged her temples. “Pegs him until he’s a font of joy and light once more, albeit a font who can’t sit comfortably for a day or two. I read it.”

After Lauren had finished that fic, she’d found herself unable to stop staring at her own forearm for minutes afterward.

“You did?” He beamed at her. “Oh, good.”

Marcus groaned and scrubbed both hands over his face.

“Anyway, I already have over two hundred comments and a thousand kudos.” Alex buffed his fingernails against his really soft-looking gray-blue jacket, which he’d layered over a crisp white tee. “All exceedingly well deserved, if I do say so myself.”

When Marcus had climbed into her car that morning, his wretched mental state hadn’t been hard to spot. He was hollow-eyed and slumped, his mouth downturned despite all his attempts at politeness and good cheer.

Now he appeared slightly less despondent, but significantly more freaked out.

“And you do say so. Much too loudly,” he whispered. “Alex, shut the hell up before you get yourself fired, man.”

“I felt much better after writing that story.” Alex leaned back against his seat, hands folded behind his head, the picture of contentedness. “Now I know why people journal. Only I don’t think the writing would be as satisfying without the pegging.”

His head tilted as he considered the matter. “Then again, many people’s journals probably include pegging, and good for them.”

Then, thankfully, they were nearing the circular hotel entrance, and she braced herself. For fans, of course, but also for possible paparazzi. According to Sionna’s email that morning, the incident outside the salon yesterday had gone viral, and bloggers and media outlets were likely clamoring for Alex’s commentary on the matter.

To Lauren’s relief, she wasn’t yet part of the public story. They haven’t figured out you’re the woman that asshole fan insulted, Sionna had written, probably because she didn’t include the part of the film where you removed her groping hand. All the better to pretend she was the innocent victim in the confrontation.