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I meet her gaze, feeling a pull deeper than I’m used to.
“We’re just friends,” I assure her, but her eyes linger for a heartbeat too long. “Would you prefer to wait? I’ll happily?—”
“No,” she replies, shaking her head with a quiet determination. “I’m trusting you, Weston. You know how to play this game. I only write about it. At least, I used to.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, knowing this is the right choice, one that will allow us freedom we don’t currently have. I want to travel with her and experience life.
“Positive,” she says, smiling back at me as we step into the unknown together.
The cool winter air is full of possibilities.
“Good girl,” I mutter against the shell of her ear as the doors slide open.
A flurry of cameras flashes, and the brightness is blinding.Carlee keeps her head down, and I gently guide her toward the car. A few people rush us, and a guy nearly knocks over Carlee.
I step forward, pushing him. “Watch where you’re fucking going,” I say.
I hold on to her, protecting her.
People scream my name. Several ask who’s with me.
She slides in the car first, and I settle in beside her. The door thuds shut with finality.
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect that many cameras,” I explain. The weight of the attention presses in on us. “This is a circus.”
“I’m not used to that,” she murmurs, watching me. “How do you deal with this?”
“I learned to drown it out like white noise. I pretend it’s a part of the scenery and try to act like they’re invisible until they cross the line.”
Her smile breaks through the tension. “I’m okay. You don’t want people to think you have anger issues. So many are waiting for you to fuck up, Wes.”
“If someone is rough with you and disrespects you, violence will be the answer. I have boundaries, and that’s one of them,” I state, my anger increasing. “Unacceptable. It makes me fucking feral.”
She turns to me, her red lips curving into an inviting smile. “That’s kinda hot.”
“I’m not kidding.”
The car lurches into motion.
“Oh, I know you’re not,” she says. “But we might as well protect your image while you’re playing puppet master with your life. Please do not become a PR nightmare with me by your side. Everyone will call me a bad influence,” she explains. “Tons of people are already not going to accept me.”
“Because you’re pretty, and they want to be you,” I say, and she tries to hold back a smile.
“That’s what you believe?” she asks.
“That’s what I know. Anyway, are you hungry? Because I haven’t eaten since brunch with Billie,” I confess, meeting her heated gaze and lowering my voice. “You don’t count.”
Her smile spreads, radiant and infectious. “I’m starving.”
My stomach growls, punctuating her words. It’s loud enough for her to hear. “Do you like pancakes?”
“Love them,” she replies, laughter escaping her lips, filling the limousine with ease. It’s so easy being with her like this. “Coffee is a requirement though.”
“I know the perfect spot,” I say, pulling out my phone to text the driver, shielded from the outside world for just a little longer.
As the car makes a turn, her phone buzzes. The light from the screen casts a glow across her face, and I glance at the contact. It’s Lexi.
“Sorry, I have to text her back, or she’ll send a search party,” she says, her voice tinged with amusement.