“S.J.!” he exclaims, standing to embrace me in a bear hug. He crushes me so hard against his pecs that I can barely breathe. My face is smooshed against the same navy sweater from earlier today, and I suddenly feel silly for worrying about my own outfit.

I awkwardly pat his very broad back until he lets me go and I can breathe again. “Good to see you again, Charles.” I have to wonder how he greets really good friends if that’s how he says hello to someone he met hours ago. But instead of asking that, I dip my chin to the drink on the bar. “Am I late?”

“What? Oh, no. I was in the area, so I figured I’d just wait for you at the bar. Ended up having a conversation with my agent about my little meeting today. She doesn’t seem to think it’s a good move to switch to a smaller imprint, but I think the writing is on the wall, know what I’m saying? Anyway, you know how agents are. What’re you drinking?”

Maybe I’m out of practice when it comes to having an actual conversation, but he spews out so much information all at once, I’m not exactly sure where to start. He must take the pause as me being starstruck again, because he claps me on the back good-naturedly. It causes me to cough, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Wine? You look like a wine gal. Maybe sangria? They have a great sangria here,” he blabbers as he pulls out the barstool for me to sit down.

“Oh, I don’t really drink—”

“Red or white?”

“Neither,” I say with more conviction this time. My meds don’t mix well with alcohol, though I’m starting to wish I could drink just to make this guy more tolerable. The idea that anyone would consider this a date is already laughable. I’ve only been here a few minutes, and I can’t get a word in.

“You’re not one of those sober girls, are you?” He pulls a face. “Is it a health thing, or did you get into some trouble with the law? I know a few great lawyers if you need.”

“I’ll bet you do,” I mutter under my breath. Fuck, this is going to be a long evening. Clearing my throat, I speak louder this time. “I just…don’t drink. It’s not that deep.”

Charles nods pensively, studying me as if he’s trying to tell if I’m lying or not. I’m not ashamed of taking medication to help with my depressive episodes, but I have a sudden feeling that the less he knows about me, the better. I’m happy to let him talk as if he’s important for an hour or so and then be on my merry way.