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Keenan nods his agreement. “I was too addled by their taser guns to realize at the time, but you’re right. It was almost as if they were waiting around the corner for something to happen.”
We look at each other, but I can’t come up with an explanation.
Angel interrupts, “To answer the question of whether or not this has impacted your career, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’!” She dances, her feet gliding as she swishes about, her arms waving in the air. “Laz, you tell. I’m too excited to give her the news!”
Laz turns to me, beaming. “Zachery Wesselman’s office called. He saw the paparazzi footage of you being dragged out of the murder-mystery party in one shoe.” Excitement bubbles up so hard and fast, I can barely sort out his words, “He lost his lead actor for the project he’s working on and he wants you to come in for a screen test.”
“Oh my fucking god!” I screech, unable to keep it in any longer. I jump up and down, then turn and leap into Keenan’s arms. He catches me, his expression surprised, as I wrap my arms and legs around him and proceed to deafen him.
His expression goes from shocked to amused as he holds me to his chest while Angel twerks around us.
“It’s no guarantee!” Laz shouts over the noise.
“It’s my first screen test for an actual MOVIE!” I shout. “This is a VERY big deal!”
Chapter 7
Boogie Nights
KEENAN
My mate is drunk.
Very drunk.
She attempts to adjust a high heel, misses and plummets toward the pavement. I grab her arm and right her. She gives me a lopsided smile and uses my arm to steady herself as she reaches down to adjust her shoe.
She straightens and throws her long hair over her shoulder, catching me in the face. We’re surrounded by her loved ones. It took me a night of celebration to realize that these are the people who matter most to her in the world, which means they now matter to me.
Angel and Laz, of course, attended her dinner-turned-nightclub-hopping celebration and are currently staggering next to us. Pinky swooped in too. She’s wearing a short, frilly red gown that clashes horribly with her hair.
An adult film star named Toya and Timothy, an actor-waiter, have been along for the ride since it started. Cherise and Calvin from the IHOP joined us a while but left before the nightclub part of the evening.
“Girl, I’m done. These shoes are killing me,” says Toya, pointing at her very tall stick-like heels as she swipes her long black braids over her shoulder.
Laz’s agency represents both Toya and Timothy, alongside Vanessa. Timothy gave me pause, especially when he gave Vanessa an overly long hug and a kiss on the cheek. There’d been no increase in her heart rate, and she’d lost interest in talking to him once Pinky showed up. A relief. I hadn’t wanted to quietly drag away and eviscerate her friend. She might miss him.
“We’re out too,” Laz says with a yawn, looking down at his wife who is snoozing against his shoulder while standing. “Time to take my dancing queen home.”
I feel the tug of a smile, which is rare when it comes to people beyond my mate. I enjoy spending time with Vanessa’s friends. They’re a lively group, carefree and spirited. Their love for my mate reflects well and I’m inclined to think favourably toward them.
“Said like a true prince,” Vanessa slurs from next to me, wrapping her arms around my waist to keep herself upright.
I glance down at her, surprised. I hadn’t said anything out loud. Perhaps, in her drunken state, with a brain relaxed from alcohol, she’s more easily able to hear my thoughts.
I give into the urge to run my hand down the silken fall of hair that shines bright red under the streetlights. The soft tendrils sift through my fingers and a shudder goes through me.
The more Vanessa drinks, the more inclined she is to touch me. It started at our first nightclub where she pulled me onto the dance floor. I’ve never danced before and it showed. “Just move your feet and look confident, I’ll do the rest.” I felt stiff as I shuffled my feet, but she grinned at me like I was her favourite person, so I did the same thing at every night club she and her friends dragged me to.
At the second nightclub, Vanessa was recognized from the paparazzi video of our arrest. A group of curious partiers surrounded her, peppering her with questions.
“What movie are you working on, Vanessa?”
“Was the wolf really a prince?”
“Are you going to marry a shifter?”
She answered truthfully while I elbowed people from her vicinity. These aren’t friends and have no business interacting with her.
