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The four of us head out. Paxton still has his limo waiting for us. As we’re exiting the restaurant, we can see the crowd of paparazzi has grown and now there are about twenty of them, jostling and shoving to get the best shot.
This is what my sister’s life is like all the time now, I guess. And Mason’s, and Paxton’s. I feel a sudden surge of sympathy. Yes, Paxton gets paid very, very well for being who he is, but dealing with the press is a real pain in the ass, because as Rowan always tells me, they’re always going to try to provoke a reaction out of you.
Like tonight.
“Ruby, when’s the wedding? Are you expecting?” one guy shouts, and he leaps in front of me, almost making me trip.
“Hey! Back off! Not cool, dude!” Paxton barks at him.
Paxton steps in front of me and, barreling through the paparazzi, clears a path to the car, holding the door open. The old-fashioned gentleman thing is kind of nice, I guess.
I slide in, and Mason and Rowan take the seats next to us.
I actually had a pretty fun night, I have to admit.
The limo pulls away from the curb. I’m nestled up against Pax and it doesn’t feel terrible. He smells very nice. And I like the big, protective side of him. Even if this whole relationship is pretend, maybe we could go back to being friends again.
He pulls out his phone and taps in a text.
My phone trills with the three-beep text message sound I’ve assigned to Paxton.
“Did you just text me even though we’re so close we’re practically surgically fused?” I ask him with a laugh. Maybe he’s thinking what I am. Maybe he wants to lay down arms and declare a truce.
He flashes the sweetest smile at me and strokes a lock of hair out of my face. His touch sends pulses of desire shivering down my nerves. “Sure did, honey.”
“Aw, he calls her honey,” Rowan says to Mason, with a goofy smile on her face.
Mason leans in and kisses her cheek. “He’s got excellent taste,” he tells her. “There’s nobody better than the James women.”
I laugh again and pull out my phone.
The text says “If you forget to pick up my new suit on Tuesday, there will be penalties. If my new suit shows up smelling bad, there will be penalties. You will not like them. Now smile and pretend I said something hilarious.”
I fake-giggle as if he just sent me the wittiest text ever. I quickly type in a text reply with half a dozen emojis of a hand flipping him off, then shove my phone back in my purse.
He wants to play that way? Fine. Good. He just did me a favor. I was about to let my guard down, and I am thankful he reminded me that he’ll never be anything but a sterling-plated mother-pucker.
15
RUBY
Club Zero is industrial-style chic, painfully hip, with neon signs for décor. The music is good, it’s mostly 1990s nostalgia, but it’s not my scene, and I am starting to feel old at age 21. I’ve never been much of a nightclub girl. I like lounges and brewpubs better.
We’ve been here about ten minutes, and I promised Rowan we’d stay for an hour. “You look gorgeous. All the guys are checking you out. Can I go beat their asses?” Paxton asks as we lean against the bar. Near us, men and women writhe and swirl on the dance floor. Women are all over the Rovers team members, practically clawing to get at them.
“Aw, you can’t bear the thought of me with another man. How cute.”
He mutters something that sounds a lot like “I’ve had to, haven’t I?”
I lean in. “What? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Nothing. You’re done with your drink. Want another one?” He’s nursing a beer.
I’ve decided I’m going to work my way through their trendy martini menu. I’ve just had a chocolate martini, and now, looking up at their chalkboard menu, I think I’ll go for... “An almond joy martini.”
“Wow. As if Dick Fuckton wasn’t enough proof that you have terrible taste.” Paxton makes a face. “Okay, I’m paying for it, because I am your date and that is what dates do, but you’ve got to order that one yourself. I cannot ask for that. It’s not manly enough.”
“Nope. In fact, make it a slow comfortable screw up against a wall.” I grin and blink at him.
