Blerdy (Black + nerdy) fangirl Layla Bennett is excited to meet her favorite comic book writer. She’s looking forward to getting his autograph, shaking his hand, and getting a photo with him while dressed in cosplay. At least that’s how she felt before meeting him and turning to mush under the gaze of his sexy blue eyes. Comic book writer and New York Times best selling author Vic Williams is as sexy as the superheroes he writes about. His affable charm has Layla under his spell, at least until the end of the weekend.
After their convention meet cute Layla goes home with a fun story about meeting her idol, knowing nothing will come from her fangirl blubbering. When Vic connects with Layla online, their friendship quickly evolves into a long distance relationship, complete with anime, ramen, and with comic book store trips with a comic book writer.
Layla is smitten with her real life superhero, but much like comic book lore things aren’t always what they seem. Under the bright lights of the comic con floor hidden truths come to the surface. Through the harsh reality of the fandom world can Layla and Vic find their way back together?
“Putting you out of your misery and replying to the man… anddd done!” she shoved my phone back into my hand.
I stared down at the screen and sure enough she had replied.
Layla: I’d really like that. When are you coming into town?
My breath caught in my throat. Before I could recover my equilibrium, my phone buzzed.
Vic: In about 2 weeks. I’ve got a business meeting. I’ll send you my travel plans, and we can set up a time to meet.
My heart fluttered in my chest. It was happening. I was seeing him again.
“Did he respond?” Alex asked.
“…He said he’ll send me his travel plans and we’ll decide when to meet up.”
“See! Easy peasy.”
I shrugged, “I guess.”
“Oh my god! That’s why you made such a big deal about this! You like him!” Alex pointed a spatula at me.
“No, I don’t!” I shouted, the heat in my cheeks betrayed me.
“Yes, you do! Your voice does this weird ass high pitch wail when you lie. It just did it. You like him! You like him!” she sang.
“Okay, okay… You’re right I like him. I mean but it’s wrong. I shouldn’t like him. I’m a fangirl nothing more.”
“You’re saying fangirl like it’s a damn swear word. What’s wrong with being a fangirl?”
“It’s a geek thing.”
“So normal people like me wouldn’t understand is what you’re saying?” Alex huffed.
“No! That’s not what I meant!”
She rolled her eyes, “What do you mean?”
“I mean like it makes me a total creep. Like what happened with one of my online friends she liked this TV writer she met at a con. They fooled around a few times then word got out and everyone was calling her a star fucker.”
“I hardly call a TV writer a star,” Alex raised an eyebrow.
I shrugged, “A star in the world of conventions.”
“For such outcasts you nerds always be shittin’ on each other.”
Quiana Glide considers herself a Jill of all nerdy trades but master of none. Pro wrestling, cartoons, books, and 80s music are her jams. Quiana has had a lifelong love of writing and has been a featured writer in HuffPost and CafeMom. She lives in Southwest Michigan with her charmingly goofy husband and her chaotic toddler daughter.
Enter to win one of two ebook copies of Cosplay Worthy or a mailed prize pack including a signed book, art print of my characters, and a copy of one of my favorite comic books!
USA Today bestselling author Michelle McLean turns the Duke trope on its head with a witty, laugh-out-loud Regency perfect for fans of Eloisa James and Sarah MacLean.
Michelle McLean is a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl who is addicted to chocolate and Goldfish crackers and spent most of her formative years with her nose in a book. She has degrees in history and English and is thrilled that she sort of gets to use them. Her novel Truly, Madly, Sweetly, written as Kira Archer, was adapted as a Hallmark Original movie in 2018.
When Michelle’s not working, reading, or chasing her kids around, she can usually be found baking, diamond painting, or trying to find free wall space upon which to hang her diamond paintings. She resides in PA with her husband and two teens, the world’s most spoiled dog, and a cat who absolutely rules the house. She also writes contemporary romance as USA Today bestselling author Kira Archer.
For more info on Michelle and her work, please visit her website at michellemcleanbooks.com.
It’s something I’m not accustomed to, not anymore. Not since my father took me from the slums and brought me to his billionaire mansion. He told me it was all mine and that I needed to buck up and be the son I was destined to be.
He might have lost a son, but he didn’t gain one back.
The car slows as I approach Woodview Estate. It gives me the fucking shivers. I’m not afraid; it’s more of an old memory, like a fire burning in my mind. One I extinguish as I park my new BMW along the curb. The grass is dead, the orange earth is dry, and the pitiful shrubbery is wilted. This place is devoid of life. Like nothing is worth growing here. This is Ireland, so it rains all the time, but this place is forsaken. Even the rain doesn’t bother to piss on the landscape. As I stare around me and study a little closer, I start to notice signs of life.
In front of me is a large row of houses, and at the corner of the end house, shadows of movement catch my eye. Behind drawn curtains, light seeps through the small cracks. I’m sure some watch me from the windows. My presence here has not gone unnoticed. get out of the car and lock the doors. Shadows creep closer. Most of the men have their faces camouflaged inside hoodies. Three houses are in front of me, and I wander toward number six. I’m apprehensive of the guys at my back, circling closer to my car. The moment I push open the gate to number six, they murmur.
Their whispers reach my ears. “He’s with Chester. We’d better scram.”
Like rats, they scurry. Chester must be the man I’m seeking. Warren only gave me an address, no name. I knock on the door three times before someone answers. The guy who opens it isn’t looking at me, so I’m faced with his profile. Tribal tats rise from the collar of his jersey and wrap around his neck.
He draws a drag of a cigarette, side-eyeing me. His hands are coated in tattoos too.
“What do you want?”
“I’m looking for Chester.”
This fucker is a wolf, but I’m no lamb. He faces me, flings the cigarette past my shoulder, and grins. “What for?”
“Can I come in?” I ask, and I take a step closer to him.
His grin transforms into a sneer, but he steps back. “Sure.”
I don’t like that he’s at my back, but I continue to keep a relaxed posture as I walk into the dingy entrance. The smell of smoke and something stronger clings to everything.
“I didn’t pick up what you wanted.” He passes me while lighting up another cigarette. He shoulders a door to our left open, and we step into a sitting room that’s full of guys who are sporting tats just like his. I unquestionably have the right house. He plops down between two other men on the couch. All eyes are on me.
“I didn’t say what I wanted.” I point at the empty armchair to my left. The guy, who I assume is Chester, nods, and I sit down, opening my jacket.
R&B music plays in the background. A fog of smoke floats close to the ceiling.
A guy close to me offers me a rolled-up cigarette. It doesn’t smell like smoke, and I decline before facing Chester. “Could we talk somewhere private?”
He glances at the other men, who laugh, before he faces me. “No. If you have something to say, say it.”
I‘m not telling him shit in front of everyone. They all move when I reach into my pocket. I raise one hand as I slowly withdraw the envelope of cash with the other. “Three grand for a word in private, Chester.”
He jerks his chin, and I toss the envelope to him. He catches the cash, shreds it open, and starts counting. Once he’s satisfied, he passes the stash of cash to the guy beside him before standing.
“You’ve bought yourself five minutes.”
My five minutes are in the entrance hall. I assumed it would be someplace more private, but I take the time I’m offered.
“I need a gun.”
“What makes you think I can get you one?”
“Warren O’Reagan gave me your address,” I explain. Something shifts in Chester’s stance. “You don’t look like a friend of Warren’s.”
I smirk. “Neither do you.”
Chester jerks his chin again. “It will cost you.”
“Name your price.”
He thinks about it. “Ten grand.”
For a fucking gun? “I want it wiped.”
“It will be untraceable. But it will take time.”
“How long?”
He takes a drag of his cigarette before stepping to the front door. Opening it, he flicks the cigarette outside. He pauses before looking back at me. “Is that your car?”
“Yeah.” I stride toward him.
He lets out a whistle. “Touch it and you die.” He issues the warning to the group outside and closes the door. “I should have asked for more money since you’re driving a car like that.” He grins.
I don’t smile. “I’ll give you five grand tomorrow and the other five grand when I have the gun.”
He nods, and I hold out my hand. Chester hesitates before he grips my fingers. “We have a deal.”
I’m ready to go when he asks a question he shouldn’t. “What do you want it for?”
I glare at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Just asking, brother. You know it won’t end all your problems.” He holds up his thumb and forefinger, mimicking a gun. “It might end one,” I say before I take off. My car is still unscathed. Driving out of the estate doesn’t make the memories evaporate; instead, I’m yanked right back to my childhood. The very reason I want a gun.
Everything comes full circle. My father once said, “What’s meant for you won’t go by you. Justice will be served in this life or another.”
I say, fuck that. If Justice isn’t served the way it should be, then I’ll take matters into my own hands and deliver my kind of justice.
Once I do this, my life will be my own again. I’ll finally be able to live.
When Vi Carter isn’t writing dark romance books, that feature the mafia, are filled with suspense, and take you on a fast paced ride, you can find her reading her favorite authors, baking, taking photos or watching Netflix.
Married with three children, Vi divides her time between motherhood and all the other hats she wears as an Author.
She has declared herself a coffee & chocolate addict! Do not judge.
