Lingus(9)

By: Mariana Zapata





We started walking again, but he kept chuckling. "You aren't a stalker or anything? I guess I probably should have thought about that before telling you my last name."



"Nah, I gave up my stalker days after the last time I got a restraining order against me." He gave me a crooked grin when he slightly turned his head to look at me. "My last name is King, if it makes you feel any better. You aren't a stalker either, right?"



I couldn't help but shrug at him, playing along. I kept telling myself not to think about how cute he was inside and out because he already admitted to me that he was here with a friend. What kind of friend, I didn't know, but there was one thing I did know— I was not a home wrecker. I pushed the thought out of my head because if he had a girlfriend and she was here, there would be no way in hell he would be walking around by himself.



"No, I'm not," I said to him.



There was a ringing sound that I recognized as robot noises coming from the front pocket of his hoodie. Tristan pulled his phone out and looked at the screen, frowning. He looked back up at me, but the light in the spot we were in was so dark, I could only see one side of his clear, smooth face. "I need to go meet up with someone," he sighed. It almost seemed like he was disappointed to get the phone call, but I didn't allow myself to dwell on his body language.



"Okay." I forced a smile onto my face.



Tristan took a step back. Standing back under the light, and despite the fact that the brim of his hat covered a good portion of him, I could tell he was grinning. "Put the bat signal up in case you get lost trying to find the restroom again and I'll come to the rescue, okay?"



"Okay," I repeated, a very real smile now taking the place of the one I forced out a split second before.



He took another step back, still facing me. "Bye, Kat," he practically purred out before turning and heading back in a different direction.



Who knows how long I stood in the middle of the aisle, looking in the direction he walked. I couldn't even process my thoughts at the moment until a stinging sensation at the back of my head pulled me out of the parallel universe I was just visiting. This parallel universe consisted exclusively of Tristan and I, not an entire convention dedicated to porn.



"What the hell took so long? You get diarrhea again?" Nicole's all too familiar voice asked from behind while the she-demon tugged at my ponytail again.



"Oooh, I hate it when I get the runs in public places," Zoey winced as she stepped in front of me.



"I don't have diarrhea," I whispered loudly, so much so that it really couldn't be considered a whisper.



Nicole rolled her eyes as she grabbed my wrist. "C'mon then, we still have a few more hours left here, and Zoey is done being a porn star for the day."



I looked down at my watch to see what time it was, and realized we hadn't even been there for two hours yet.



Something told me this is going to be the longest day of my life.





Chapter 5

I almost shitted my pants when I saw Sarah Love, an old friend from high school, signing autographs at a booth we had passed.



When we were in school, Sarah was one of those girls who really kept to herself. While I certainly wasn't one of the popular kids, I did have a handful of friends that I hung out with regularly, while Sarah's shyness and quiet nature kept her circle of acquaintances much smaller than mine. She was a sweet girl and the last time I had seen her, which was at graduation, she had told me she was heading to UCLA for college.



Interesting.



"Close your mouth before someone shoves a dildo in there," Nicole laughed from my side.



Instinctively, I shut my trap, noticing that my mouth was, indeed, hanging wide open while I looked at my old classmate. "We went to high school together," I whispered to her, and she nodded.



"She's probably making more money now than we do," Nikki waggled her eyebrows and Zoey, who was on the other side of Nikki, snorted.



It was a well known fact in our small square of friends, which consisted of us three and Josh, that Zoey made a killing in her "profession," as she called it. Our Zoey was a modest little thing who never bragged about how much money she made, or even mentioned when she got a new job. In fact, the first time she got paid more than twelve hundred dollars for a scene, you would have figured she won the lottery by her screams.

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