Seven Days in June by Tia Williams
Chapter 7
You First
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, THE ATTENDEES WERE STILL CROWDING AROUND THEpanelists—chatting them up, asking Belinda and Khalil to sign the beat-up paperbacks they’d carried in their bags. No one had brought any Cursed books for Eva to sign, but she was suddenly hit with an influx of people itching to hear more about her “feminist fantasy” series. Meanwhile, the delightful Cursed fan in the hat was acting as Eva’s one-man street team, hopping from group to group, spreading the gospel according to Sebastian and Gia.
It was everything Eva had hoped would happen. She was suddenly on the radar of a whole new demo of the book-buying population. Literary types. And they would tweet and Snap and Instagram about her, and buzz would grow, and (fingers crossed) she’d ascend from popular niche author to a major voice in the book world. A thought leader! Someone whose interspecies sex movie you’d pay to see!
But at that moment, she couldn’t feel it.
Both Belinda and Cece had tried several times to corner her, with a ravenous, gossipy gleam in their eyes. But Eva had conveniently found herself entangled in a new conversation each time. She couldn’t face them. Not yet. Where would she even start?
Heart pounding, she glanced over at Shane from across the room. Visibly uncomfortable with the crowd of fans surrounding him, he’d somehow escaped to a back corner. (The Shane of 2019 was more comfortable around people than the Shane of 2004, but still no social butterfly.) He was pretending to talk on his phone. Eva knew he was pretending, because he had the phone to his ear but wasn’t saying anything. And she knew this because she was staring.
And he’d been stealing glances at her, too. Here and there, and then as though he couldn’t help himself…a lot. It was making her dizzy. Everything was making her dizzy. The dull throb in her temples. The impossible heels. The sexpot dress. It had gotten tighter somehow, sucking at her like Saran Wrap. She kept shifting it around her hips. It was a sample-size 2, which was really a 0, and Eva was a size 4 but a PMS 6. Between all of that and her past so rudely colliding with her present, she hadn’t breathed in hours.
Her phone dinged with an incoming flurry of texts from Audre, berating her for forgetting to shop for her “feminist icon” art final:
Today, 7:35 PMMy Baby
mommy u forgot to get me the supplies for my portrait of grandma lizette! It’s due friday! I can’t finish till i have feathers for her hair but no its cool keep compromising my artistic creativity ttyl xoxo
For once, she chose to ignore her daughter. She was also pushing aside the shame she felt about raising Audre to believe that her grandmother was a feminist icon. Revisionist history at best. Outright lie at worst.
Her phone dinged again, a new post notification from the top Cursed Facebook fan group. The moderator was a high-energy Vermont housewife whose wealthy Christmas-tree-distributor husband had funded her visits to every tour stop Eva had ever had. @GagaForGia was her biggest fan. And the most resourceful.
The Cursed Crew Group
Gossip incoming from some author thing at the Brooklyn Museum. Our own Eva (plus randos) spoke on a panel about racism or something. Sources say that ONE OF US was on stage! He’s a Famous Author™ named Shane Hall? And he RAVED about Cursed. Also, you know how Eva has Sebastian’s signature branded on her wrist? The zig-zag “S”?
This Shane guy has a “G” signature branded on his wrist. SAME PLACE, SAME ZIG-ZAG SCRIPT. G is for Gia, obviously. He’s obsesseddd.
But the plot thickens, friends. We all know that Gia doesn’t write using the Phoenician alphabet. And her signature is never even mentioned in Cursed.
And there’s more. Shane Hall has BRONZE EYES. Like Sebastian.
As always, leave your Book 15 plot predictions in the comments. And #staycursed.
Eva’s stomach hit the ground.
In a mere forty-five minutes, her deeply private life had become a public soap opera.
Eva had no idea why Shane had roared into her life on a Monday evening, but she knew one thing: he had to go. Not just now, but right now.
The urgency wasn’t really about Shane at all. Eva was scared of who she’d been with him: out of control. Irresponsible. One big, raging impulse. It had taken everything she had to bury that troubled teenager. And now he was here, digging that girl up.
Two years after Shane, she had landed in New York with a new book, new money, and a new name. Genevieve Mercier had seamlessly become Eva Mercy. And Eva Mercy had devoted herself to building a life that was as safe as a Disney movie. She’d married the most uncomplicated man in the land and then had the friendliest divorce. She lived in the most family-oriented hood in Brooklyn. The Cursed series was smut, sure, but her refusal to try writing something new? Peak safety.
But. She did think of him sometimes. Lying alone in a hospital bed at 2:00 a.m., or during bouts of writer’s block. He’d appear on the fringes of her thoughts—no face, just a feeling. His warm, minty-vanilla scent. The rough softness of his skin, like velvet caressed against the grain.
They’d stayed out of each other’s way for fifteen years. Eva had to find out why he was here now. She was also prepared to offer her own Amex points to help book his outgoing flight. She needed Shane gone.
Eva felt his eyes on her again. With a vague tilt of his chin, he beckoned her to his corner of the room. Frowning, she gestured for him to come to her instead. This situation was stressful enough without having to hobble across the room on stilts.
Shane nodded. Hesitated. Then he shoved his fists in his pockets and headed over to her.
Eva slipped her phone into her clutch. When she looked back up, there was Shane. Right in front of her.
The room had been clanging with chatter. But to Eva, it suddenly simmered down to a muted hum. God, had he gotten taller? He was so at ease in his bones now. So broad-shouldered, so…much. Too much.
She reminded herself to breathe. She wasn’t going to do this now. Take him in like this, in public. After their little performance onstage, they had an audience.
“Hello, stranger,” she said, and full-body cringed.
“Hi.”
Shane’s eyes locked in on hers. Her stomach seized.
You’re fine. Just say what you need to say and get out fast. Do it now…
“Can you meet…”
“Do you wanna…”
“Sorry, you go.”
“No, you.”
Eva refocused, threw her shoulders back, and started again. This was excruciating.
“Can you meet me at the Kosciusko Café, just down Eastern Parkway? Tomorrow morning, ten a.m.?”
Shane rarely did what he was told. But to this, he nodded vigorously.
“Yeah, let’s do that.”
“Good,” said Eva, and then she began stress-babbling. “I’d…uh…meet up now, but I…I need to pick up something for my daughter’s art project. Feathers. Hashtag mom life! Also, I gotta get out of this dress.”
Then she thrust a wad of paper into his hand. It was her number, scrawled on a Hale and Hearty receipt from her purse. “In case you need it…”
Shane tucked it into his jeans pocket and then paused a beat. “Hey. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Not now.”
“Honestly, you weren’t listed on the invite. I’d never just show up…”
“Not now.”
Eva was supposed to walk away then. But she couldn’t move. She just stood there, temples thumping, heart thudding. People were pouring out of the auditorium, making plans for the rest of the night, snapping pics. Giggling. Everything normal. And Shane and Eva were in the middle of it. Being anything but.
Acting on an impulsiveness Eva had thought she’d lost forever, she boldly leaned closer to Shane, narrowing the space between them. They were close. Too close.
“One thing,” she whispered, her lips by his jaw. She didn’t want anyone to overhear. “Before I forget.”
“What’s that?”
“Stop writing about me.”
Only Eva could’ve noticed the change in his expression. She saw the flinch. The slow, satisfied curl of his lip. His bronzy-amber eyes flashing. It was like he’d been waiting years to hear those words. Like the girl whose pigtails he’d been yanking during recess all year had finally shoved him back. He looked gratified.
In a voice both raspy and low, and so, so familiar, Shane said, “You first.”