Page 39 of Forced Proximity

‘Relax.’ He slams the rest of his water. ‘It’s gonna be some people from the studio, a few friends and we’ll be in the VIP area surrounded by security. It’ll be fine.’

Today, I’m going to shake off the comment. He’s not trying to downplay the importance of my job, but he still doesn’t understand the danger. I feel like if his team told him what’s going on, he’d be more apprehensive.

He pats Zane on the shoulder. ‘I need a shower after whooping Doc’s butt on the court.’

‘Three points. You won by three!’ I yell after him.

Being at a public event can get dicey. It’s not lost on me how lucky I am that Justin’s a homebody. Nightclubs are unpredictable and potentially dangerous. As competent as I am, no single person can control a crowd if something happens.

‘Hey, Doc?’ Zane says, their tone is sheepish.

Oh no. ‘What’s up?’

Zane taps their fingers against the island and inhales. ‘I’m going to say this with all the love, okay? The whole point of this feminine operative thing y’all have going on is to not draw undue attention to Justin rolling with security, while also drawing out his stalker, right?’

I cock a brow. ‘Yeah?’

‘Then I just need to say this.’ They hesitate, biting the inside of their cheek.

‘Jesus, Zane, what is it?’

‘Um.’ Zane releases a breath. ‘You’re gonna need to wear a dress.’

Hell. No.

Chapter 18

Justin

I bounce down the stairs like a kid ready to open presents on Christmas. Do I know Doc’s my bodyguard? Yes, of course. Has she given me any indication she’s into me? Not even a little. Am I excited as fuck about going out with her tonight? Definitely.

This will make me sound like an arrogant ass but hear me out. I know I could get most women I want. I’m an actor for God’s sake. I’ve modeled. I work out like I’m a hostage and gym time’s the only condition of my release. I’m hit on, slipped numbers, someone else slips me numbers of their friends, I’ve been propositioned for blow jobs in the studio, on set, in bathrooms. I get it. I’m not unique in this business. It’s just reality.

But I rarely act on it. Sure, if you believe everything you see online, it looks like I’ve been attached to half of Hollywood. But here’s a news flash – most of the time it’s fake. The ‘relationships’ are usually a PR stunt to garner publicity for whatever we’re filming.

So, I’m damn near elated that I’m going out tonight with a woman I’ve spent almost two months with, five days a week, twelve hours a day, and finally get to see her out of her element – at a club, socializing, surrounded by music and low lights. Not in a stuffy studio, a grocery store, or my house.

Once I reach the bottom of the stairs, Doc’s serious furrowed brow as she types into the laptop is clear from across the room. I breathe out my excitement for tonight and try to keep my voice casual. ‘What are you doing?’

Her frown disappears when she sees me. ‘Double-checking various routes to the club, reviewing alternative courses and planning an exit strategy. It’s the same methodology I use working with high-profile principals.’

I swallow back my sarcasm. I’m not making light of the situation, and am growing to love Doc being here, but this is overkill. Every actor in the world who’s made a few films has intense fans. I’m not any different. ‘You’re officially making me feel special. It’s hitting me right here.’ I tap my heart.

She groans and closes her laptop. ‘Here’s a dirty little secret – sometimes my job is boring as hell. Planning routes, thinking of worst-case scenarios and scoping out the club’s blueprints is the lifeline I need so I don’t keel over.’

I think she just insulted me, but she smiled when she spoke, so basically she can get away with anything. Because that smile … my God, she doesn’t do it often. But when she does, it makes me think things I should not be thinking.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. When I pull it out and see my mom’s name attached to a message on the screen, my smile drops.

Mom: I am growing very tired of you not responding to my messages. I’d hate to create a scene to get my own son to pay attention to me.

‘Justin?’

I glance up to Doc’s stern, creased eyes and shove my phone back in my pocket.

‘You are totally allowed to have a private life and talk to whomever you want,’ she says. ‘But if you’re getting harassing phone calls or messages, you know you need to tell me, right?’

Does getting harassed by my mother count? Her calls, messages and emails are increasing. And although I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t do anything too crazy, part of me can’t help wondering how far she’ll go to get me to respond.