Page 14 of The Brave and the Reckless (Bravetown #1)

“Okay, cool. Pals. Amigos. Besties.” He gave us both a thumbs up and slipped back inside.

“Thank you,” Adriana mumbled, a rare heavy note in her voice. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know a thing or two about needing a fresh start,” I said. “I got you.”

“Shoo! Go, before I lose all my hard-earned goodwill by keeping you.”

I handed her phone back and headed over to where the real Ace Ryder and Kit Holliday were already posing.

A couple of lights and reflectors had been set up to create a brightly lit area outside a nondescript building.

A gray horse stood tied to one of the posts.

Barrels and crates were arranged for sitting, leaning, posing…

One of the photographer’s assistants guided me by the elbow to stand between Luke and Noah, and plucked the plastic coffee cup from my hands. Noah’s eyes narrowed at the stain on my skirt, and he scoffed. I stuck my tongue out at him in response.

“Very mature,” he uttered behind his bandana.

“Better immature than a jerk,” I replied.

“Okay, quiet, please,” the photographer yelled over while she fumbled with her camera.

A minute later, she was all over us. My bubble of glamorous photo shoots in costume burst instantly.

She moved us around like dolls, fixing my arm, nudging my shoulder and tilting my chin, even positioning Luke’s hand around my waist inch-perfectly.

The guys had to glare at each other. All I had to do was smile into the camera. Easy enough.

At least for a few minutes.

Then my cheeks started to twitch painfully from smiling.

And with the way my weight was all on one leg, the dull throbbing in my hips reminded me of too many hours in the saddle this week.

I hated this kind of pain. It lurked on your mind just enough for the discomfort to nag at your every thought.

Especially when you had nothing to do but stand still and look pretty.

“Okay, thank you!” the photographer called out, waving her hand at us. All three of us let out a sigh, muscles relaxing, shoulders sloping. Now that would have been a funny video to post.

Alas, my relief was short-lived. One of the assistants pulled Luke from the set and turned me by the shoulder to face Noah.

“Okay, okay, we’re trying to show that Annie is more than just a damsel in distress, okay?” The photographer gesticulated wildly. “Like he’s your kidnapper, but you’re not just all scared and helpless, okay?”

“What are we doing?” I asked. Judging by Noah’s raised brows, he was as clueless as me.

“Promotional pics, okay? New Pretty Annie Lou. New spunk. New spirit. Okay, so try crossing your arms, lifting your chin. Noah, you stay tall and menacing, okay? Just stare at each other.”

Could someone take the word okay away from this woman?

She got back in position, camera in front of her face, and I turned back to face Noah. Nope. Ace Ryder.

Something had shifted in him. It was more than just the black leather duster that accentuated his broad shoulders, or even the dark waistcoat and holster that lay tight over his chest. The costume was pure movie-villain magic, but something in his stance was different.

He was different. Just like the shift in his voice.

He wasn’t just dressing up. Somehow, he was less Noah .

My stomach tightened. I suddenly understood the fanfiction.

Before I could even muster up the will to cross my arms and glare at him, I snorted a giggle. Fuck.

The photographer cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped. Avoiding the visual confusion of Noah-as-Ace, I focused on my feet while I knotted my arms and squared my shoulders. The second I glanced up again, Ace’s cold eyes stared back, burrowing through me. I giggled. Shit. “I’m sorry. I’m not a good enough actress for this.”

“Get your shit together, princess,” Noah said, the words low and rumbling, caught halfway between his own voice and his character voice.

It sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

He leaned down, far enough for the corner of the bandana to feather over my neck.

Voice even lower, so only I could hear him, he said, “Touch my stuff in the kitchen again, and I’ll tell Renee the show would be better if Annie fled on horseback and Ace stole the sheriff’s horse to chase her. ”

He was threatening me. In the middle of this damn photo shoot, when I was trying to concentrate, he had to bring up his stupid peanut butter.

He knew the one thing I would not be able to do was keep myself on that damn horse.

And fuck. That chase would actually make for a more interesting scene than me running off for ten seconds with my skirts in my hands.

Had to give him credit for creativity, even if it was working against me.

“I never wanted to touch your stuff in the first place,” I hissed. “Besides, you’re the one who got his hands all over my underwear when you folded it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he chuckled and leaned back. “Others needed the laundry room. I told you to get your clothes out on time. And it was one ratty pair of men’s boxers.”

“You even memorized my underwear? That’s sick.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “Bite me.”

“I neither want to touch , nor bite your stuff , Young.”

“Okay, that’s great. Awesome. Got it,” the photographer called out before Noah could retort. “Can I get Annie Lou alone, please? Okay, Noah, you’re done for today.”

I blinked at the woman with the camera, and when I turned back, Noah had pulled down the mask and held his hat in his hands. He was back to being all Noah.

“You played me,” I gasped as the realization hit me. “You made me angry at you.”

“I’m getting the job done,” he replied and turned without another glance in my direction.

Once again, I wasn’t even given the chance to do something myself. Nope, Noah just had to swoop in– in the name of efficiency– and do things the rudest way possible.

Un-fucking-believable.

It took me twenty minutes to put on a smile the photographer deemed sweet enough for Annie’s portrait. Noah Young was making me scowl so hard, I’d end up calling my mom’s Botox guy before even turning twenty-four. Ugh. Stupid, annoying, grumpy cowboy.