The Absolutely True Story of Us Read Online Free PDF Page A

hormones in play."
    One of Jack's more charming qualities is that he always believes he's right. Sometimes he actually is, but this isn't one of those situations. He never met Dean. He didn't see how things fell apart, the way Dean's eyes went empty, whatever light had drawn me to him in the first place slowly extinguishing.  
    "You could not be more wrong," I inform him.
    He just chuckles. "Mark my words, Warden."
    ***
    Before I knew my parents were planning a visit, I agreed to do a book signing downtown during the same week. Of course, they wanted to come and see all the excitement. I promised them it would be boring to hang out there for hours if they weren't actually interested in getting autographs from the signing authors. But they demurred and insisted, so here we are.  
    Dean acts as my assistant, but everyone knows why he's really here, and everybody wants to meet him. He plays the part so well, smiling and ducking his eyes down when people pay him ridiculous compliments. Most of them are just very sweet, but a few of them brush a little too close to flirting. I mean, I don't really care, but they don't know that. They think we're together. It twists in my stomach a little; how can people be so brazen?
    The longest line in the room is for Adrian Risinger's table. Of course. I can't see him very well from this side of the room, but I can see the six-foot-tall banner advertising his presence. He's always the celebrity at these things, one of the few male romance authors who's revealed his true identity:former CEO, current billionaire, and basically the only reason he comes to these things is pure ego. It's irritating on principle, even though all his book sales go to charity.
    But now that I see him interacting with his fans, how engaging and genuine he seems, and how they're all glowing when they walk away from his table - a grudging respect starts to form in the back of my mind.  
    There's a social hour for the authors after this, and I don't really expect Adrian to show up. I managed to get passes for my parents to attend, and my mom's sipping champagne and giggling to herself while my dad just surveys the room and tries to figure out what the hell is going on. I grope for my phone in my purse, hoping for some kind of distraction, and it's not until I hit the button a few times that I remember it died a few hours ago. I forgot to charge it last night.
    " All those people wanted to see you!" my mother marvels as Dad rolls his eyes.
    "She already told you how many thousands of copies she sold, how is this more impressive?" he grumbles.
    Mom shakes her head stubbornly. "I don't know. It's just different when you can actually see their faces." She beams at me. "How are you handling it, honey? I know you're not such a big fan of being social."
    "She's great with them," Dean cuts in, handing me something that I hope to God has a high alcohol content. I take a sip and make a face. Not high enough. But it'll do.
    "Very gracious, they absolutely love her," he goes on.
    "Not as much as they love you," I tell him, with a forced smile. "How does it feel to be a rockstar?"
    "Pretty damn good!" he says cheerfully. He's refusing to pick up on my subtext. Which is a positive thing if I'm mostly concerned about people buying the lie, but slightly less so if I'm trying not to kill him.
    There's a little murmur from one end of the room, attracting my parents' attention. At least that reduces the risk of them noticing the steam pouring out of my ears. A moment later, I realize what the cause of the commotion is.
    Adrian Risinger just walked in.
    I didn't get a good look at him before, but I certainly do now. He's a tall drink of water, with dirty-blond hair, expensively cut, and a neatly trimmed beard. He's slightly too handsome for real life, but only slightly . There's something about him that's sharp, I can't quite put my finger on it - not his clothes in particular, not his features really, but an overall quality that makes me