Free Modern Girl's Guide to Friends With Benefits by Gina Drayer Page A

book club won't believe this. We love your books."
    Fan or no fan, she didn't take pictures. Sometimes people recognized her without her wig and writer guise, but that didn't mean she was going to start broadcasting her real identity. "I don't do photos outside of conferences. Sorry. But I'd be happy to sign something for you."
    Sarah lowered her phone and nodded somberly. "I understand. The paper mentioned that you were a senator's daughter. That's high profile. I had no idea." Then like a flash, a smile broke out across her face. "Oh my God, I bet you know all that FBI stuff from firsthand experience." The woman looked around quickly and whispered, "Do you have a bodyguard?"
    She was so serious, Megan almost laughed. "No, I don't. The closest thing I ever had to a bodyguard was a nanny with a sour disposition."
    "Was your first book about you? The main character was a diplomat's daughter. What about Trevor? Is he based on someone you know? Please tell me he is."
    Megan started casually backing toward the exit. She loved her fans, but sometimes they couldn't separate reality from fantasy. She never based any of her books on real-life events, and the only FBI agent she'd ever met was via the internet, during research. Trevor, on the other hand, her first hard-body hunk, might have been fashioned after Peter. But now that she had firsthand experience with him, Megan realized she'd undersold his sex appeal by a lot.
    "It was nice meeting you, but I have to get going," Megan said, hoping to detach herself from her fan. She handed her a business card. "Please go to my website and send me a message. I'll be sure you get an advanced copy of my next book."
    "I can't wait to tell the girls. My friends are going to be so jealous."
    Sarah looked down at her phone and started texting. Megan took that as her cue to escape. Hopefully, the woman would forget all about meeting her, but most likely, she'd have to bribe her with free book and swag to keep her from blabbing on the internet.
     

     
    After Megan hung up, Peter couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He had called hoping to get some indication that the night in Vail hadn't ruined their friendship, so he should have been relieved after getting off the phone with her. She'd acted perfectly normal, and that was the problem. Maybe it was his caveman brain, but it pissed him off that Megan was acting like the whole hot sex on the sofa never happened.
    He should have insisted on dinner or at least a coffee. They needed to talk, and the last thing he wanted was for things to be awkward between them during Christmas dinner with his family. If his mom didn't pick up on it, one of his sisters sure would, and they wouldn't let it go.
    Peter thought about calling her, but each time he stopped himself. She would be spending Christmas Eve with her father, and while Meg might be grateful for the interruption, they needed to have this conversation in private. So he'd just have to wait until he saw her on Monday.
    When he pulled up to his parents' house to see her impractical sports car sitting in the driveway, Peter relaxed a little. The evening might be awkward, but at least he didn't have to drive across town and fetch her. He collected the mound of presents stacked in the back of his SUV and headed inside.
    Despite his father's success, his parents refused to buy a new house. Instead, they kept the cramped five-bedroom ranch he'd grown up in. The seventies architecture and signs of wear made the little house look dated, but he was glad they still lived here. There were a lot of memories packed inside. Coming home was always the best part of the holidays. The small suburban house not only reminded him of his roots, but there was nothing like the sense of belonging you got walking into the loving home you grew up in.
    The first thing that hit him when he entered was the spicy smell of his Mamá's tamales. The next thing was sixty pounds of pink taffeta with sticky fingers.
    "Uncle