while strolling the sidewalk. If he had a boyfriend. Which he didn’t because high stress and eighty-hour workweeks weren’t exactly conducive to romance.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Adam said once they’d ordered their drinks and he’d gotten over his irritation at being carded by the new server. Again. Adam might be approaching thirty, but with youthful good looks, shaggy hair, and big brown eyes, he could pass for a fresh-faced eighteen. It had been the bane of his existence for years, having caused him countless issues as he built up his photography business and struggled to be taken seriously by his peers.
Mark consulted the list of ideas cycling through his brain. “I was thinking of maybe a signing weekend. I’ve had a couple in the past, but the problem is the indie authors don’t draw in much of a crowd, and booking a bigger name from out of state is a pipe dream. We don’t get enough business to make it worth their while.” He took a fortifying sip of his chocolate stout. “There’s only one local author who has a large enough readership to actually make a difference, but he never does signings. At least not that I’ve heard.”
“Oh no.” Adam arched his brows. “You don’t mean Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Grumpy?”
“One and the same.” Mark kept his tone casual, but just the thought of his last encounter with Shepherd Knight made his cheeks heat with residual embarrassment. Hard to believe a year had already passed when the humiliation still made him want to melt into the carpet and die.
“So you’re going to poke the sleeping dragon.”
Mark trailed his fingertip along the rim of his glass. “It’s not like I have a lot of choices right now.”
If he did, he wouldn’t even contemplate contacting Shepherd. He’d known his favorite urban fantasy author lived in Illinois. Shepherd’s biography had told him as much. But Mark had never seen a picture or suspected Shepherd Knight might be a resident of Heartsville.
Then, a year and a half ago, a new customer walked into Bookmarked and quickly became a regular fixture. Several times a week, he’d show up and settle at one of the tables on the upper level, where he worked on a laptop until close. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and with his height and dark features, the guy immediately caught Mark’s attention. It wasn’t that he was particularly good-looking. In fact, he was almost too severe, his grim expression warning people off as effectively as a raised middle finger. Mark never saw him smile. And yet there was something —something magnetic and sensual and hot that made Mark’s pulse race whenever their gazes locked.
For six months, Mark flirted. They didn’t speak often, save for when the guy came to the register to make a purchase, but Mark made a habit of stopping at his table to gather and restock the books other customers had left behind. And every time those dark eyes captured his—which was often; whenever Mark looked, the guy seemed to be looking back—Mark felt a stab of heat, a sharp throb of lust that made him want to lay out on the tabletop, drop open his thighs, and offer his ass for the taking.
One night, as he passed the guy’s chair, Mark happened to catch a glimpse of his computer screen. He spotted a name on the open document and gasped, nearly tripping over his own feet in his shock.
Shepherd Knight.
“ The Shepherd Knight?” he choked out. The guy’s head jerked toward him. “Oh my God! You write The Drake Chronicles . I’m a huge fan! I always say Jack Drake should be on television. He’s a total badass. Clever, sarcastic, but sympathetic too. I can think of a few actors who might do him justice. And, man, Thaine. So perfect. The way he—” Mark broke off with a sheepish smile. “Well, they’re your characters, right? I’m sure I don’t have to describe them to you.”
Mark laughed self-consciously. He’d been following The Drake Chronicles for years. The series had almost
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Adam said once they’d ordered their drinks and he’d gotten over his irritation at being carded by the new server. Again. Adam might be approaching thirty, but with youthful good looks, shaggy hair, and big brown eyes, he could pass for a fresh-faced eighteen. It had been the bane of his existence for years, having caused him countless issues as he built up his photography business and struggled to be taken seriously by his peers.
Mark consulted the list of ideas cycling through his brain. “I was thinking of maybe a signing weekend. I’ve had a couple in the past, but the problem is the indie authors don’t draw in much of a crowd, and booking a bigger name from out of state is a pipe dream. We don’t get enough business to make it worth their while.” He took a fortifying sip of his chocolate stout. “There’s only one local author who has a large enough readership to actually make a difference, but he never does signings. At least not that I’ve heard.”
“Oh no.” Adam arched his brows. “You don’t mean Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Grumpy?”
“One and the same.” Mark kept his tone casual, but just the thought of his last encounter with Shepherd Knight made his cheeks heat with residual embarrassment. Hard to believe a year had already passed when the humiliation still made him want to melt into the carpet and die.
“So you’re going to poke the sleeping dragon.”
Mark trailed his fingertip along the rim of his glass. “It’s not like I have a lot of choices right now.”
If he did, he wouldn’t even contemplate contacting Shepherd. He’d known his favorite urban fantasy author lived in Illinois. Shepherd’s biography had told him as much. But Mark had never seen a picture or suspected Shepherd Knight might be a resident of Heartsville.
Then, a year and a half ago, a new customer walked into Bookmarked and quickly became a regular fixture. Several times a week, he’d show up and settle at one of the tables on the upper level, where he worked on a laptop until close. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and with his height and dark features, the guy immediately caught Mark’s attention. It wasn’t that he was particularly good-looking. In fact, he was almost too severe, his grim expression warning people off as effectively as a raised middle finger. Mark never saw him smile. And yet there was something —something magnetic and sensual and hot that made Mark’s pulse race whenever their gazes locked.
For six months, Mark flirted. They didn’t speak often, save for when the guy came to the register to make a purchase, but Mark made a habit of stopping at his table to gather and restock the books other customers had left behind. And every time those dark eyes captured his—which was often; whenever Mark looked, the guy seemed to be looking back—Mark felt a stab of heat, a sharp throb of lust that made him want to lay out on the tabletop, drop open his thighs, and offer his ass for the taking.
One night, as he passed the guy’s chair, Mark happened to catch a glimpse of his computer screen. He spotted a name on the open document and gasped, nearly tripping over his own feet in his shock.
Shepherd Knight.
“ The Shepherd Knight?” he choked out. The guy’s head jerked toward him. “Oh my God! You write The Drake Chronicles . I’m a huge fan! I always say Jack Drake should be on television. He’s a total badass. Clever, sarcastic, but sympathetic too. I can think of a few actors who might do him justice. And, man, Thaine. So perfect. The way he—” Mark broke off with a sheepish smile. “Well, they’re your characters, right? I’m sure I don’t have to describe them to you.”
Mark laughed self-consciously. He’d been following The Drake Chronicles for years. The series had almost
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