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sitting by himself at the bar and not currently soaking up attention at the party. Well, hel- lo changing luck.
    Our eyes meet, electricity jolting between us like in all the best books, and that’s a real thing it turns out and…oh my.
    Is he coming over here?
    I steady myself and pretend to check my phone while my tummy does a slow roll, but out of my periphery, I see him moving his drink down. Oh, hell yes, he’s coming over this way. Cha-ching .
    “Mind if I sit? It’s a little lonely down there.”
    “Sure.” I play it off like I’m not losing my shit internally and move my purse. “Everyone else must be at Entwined’s party right now.”
    “I needed a break from the crowds.”
    “Me, too!” I smile. “Though, I bet you get a lot more attention when you walk through a room with those guns and no permit.” Oh my god, I’m an idiot.
    He laughs, and it’s an easy-going sound that sets me at ease. It’s beautiful, just beautiful. And he doesn’t think that was the worst line ever. Score. “Yes and no. Most people just want you pose for a selfie. But it comes with the territory. Honestly, it’s a lot of fun.”
    “I bet!” I try not to gush. “I love conference weeks.”
    “Is that why you’re nursing two shots?”
    I flush a little but slide one over to him. “I was just waiting for the perfect person to share. Care to join me?” The perfect person? Jiminy Christmas. I am so off my game it’s no wonder I spend my evenings weeping over a keyboard and Pinteresting my favorite cat breeds.
    He sniffs it and smiles. “Chocolate cake. Very nice. Had a lot of these in college. The girls loved them.” Okay, maybe I’m not so sad.
    “Still do.” I clink glasses with him and take the shot. I beat him, which makes me feel good. Bow down to my alcoholic prowess! Actually, that may be a terrible thing for him to notice first. Maybe I should have let him win.
    He scoots his chair in closer and gives me a high five. “Way to take that like a champ! I’m impressed.”
    “It must not take much to impress you.”
    “Quite the contrary.” His beautiful brown eyes sparkle. “I’m very hard to impress. You’re just that good.”
    “I’m Miranda, by the way.” I am rather pleased with my voice for not quavering when Model McHottiePants tells me I’m good.
    “Joe McCoy.” He takes my hand and shakes it. It’s warm and big and completely engulfs mine. My heart flutters as his touch sends waves of omigod right through me. “So you’re a writer?”
    “I am!” I nod and sip my wine, trying to look seductive but effortless. It’s almost as difficult as using a ton of makeup to look natural. I just settle for not looking gawky at this point. “Is this your first conference?”
    “It is. Learning a lot. I’m fascinated by the entire process, you know? Writing is one thing, but all this marketing and brand building looks intense.” Sweet boy!
    “We were just talking about that!” I nod. This poor model is probably way over his head with all the talk thrown around here, but at least he’s making an effort to connect with writers. And he’s gorgeous, so there’s that. Realizing how out of his depth he is puts us on more even footing, I realize, and it gives me a shot of confidence that actually didn’t come mixed with vodka. And then genius strikes!
    “Actually! Would you do me a favor?”
    “Maybe?” His eyes sparkle and he smiles and he’s beautiful. Did I mention he’s beautiful?
    “My friends and I are trying to get into Periscope for marketing. I’m hoping to interview some hot guys for my fans. Would you mind?” I almost called him a model and then realized that may be objectifying. He has a brain, even if it is tiny and yoga-centric.
    “I’m flattered!” He grins and smooths his shirt. “Do I look okay?”
    “Are you kidding? You look freaking perfect,” I say and totally mean it. Maybe the wine is getting to my head, along with those shots, because I’m not usually so