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Oops.
He catches me by the shoulders. “Easy there.”
I’ve never been this close to him and when I look up, I’m surprised to see his eyelashes are as red as his hair, and that he has the slightest spray of freckles across the top of his forehead.
And he smells good. Manly and spicy. Nothing like a smelly jock.
I hold my hand on the doorknob to keep whoever’s trying to get out, in. That’s when I remember there’s a photographer here to document the ‘pick up,’ as Vince put it. I slap on my best smile, even while I’m being a little shit.
“Hello. I’m good. Everything’s great,” I exclaim, putting my weight into holding the door closed.
Rake peers around me to see what’s going on. “Hey, someone inside the house wants to get out.”
No shit.
“It’s my mother, but, um, well, the doctor says she needs to stay inside today. It’s a constant battle, you know?”
Yeah, he thinks I’m crazy.
He rubs the back of his neck. “All right then. Let’s hit the road.” He gestures toward a black Range Rover double parked in the narrow street.
Backing up traffic.
There’s no faster way to piss off people in San Francisco than making our already-shitty traffic worse.
“We better go before you get a ticket or something,” I say, finally releasing the doorknob and dashing down the front steps to the car.
While Vince’s photographer clicks away, the front door fly opens behind us. With a backward glance, I see Mom’s irritation at being left out.
“See ya!” I call, waving.
I’m in the car, all buckled up before Rake even reaches the driver’s side. I look straight ahead, praying he puts the car in gear and gets us out of here, pronto. I don’t even need to look back at the house to know Lucy and Gilly are in the upstairs window, and that my mother is out front looking like she just sucked a lemon.
Rake puts the car in gear, but when he doesn’t move, I snap my gaze in his direction. He throws me a sympathetic smile, the most expression I’ve ever seen on his face, and nods toward my side window.
I turn and who’s standing there but the goddamn photographer, snapping at the two of us like we’re in a getaway car.
“It’s easier if you smile, Petal. Just throw one his way.”
I see Rake give the photographer a big, fake-ass grin. “Just a little one,” he says through gritted teeth.
Reluctantly, I crook up one side of my mouth and then the other, and tilt my head sweetly. If this gets the man off our backs, it’s worth it.
The photographer shoots us a thumbs up.
Thank God.
Rake starts driving. “Vince is obsessed with getting us to smile for the cameras he hired to chase after us. It’s the weirdest fucking thing.”
Guess I’m not the only one who thinks this shit is strange.
Rake takes a couple turns and in moments, we’re heading toward the 101 freeway.
“Where are we going? I thought we’d just have lunch or something.”
I was all ready to suggest Chinese. My favorite place is cheap and fast.
He nods while negotiating traffic. “We can do that. But I think I have a better idea.”
