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“Earring! Earring!” She moved her head with the sweater. Her hands, newly free, gripped his wrists. “Stop!”
He already had stopped. The moment she had cried out he froze.
She let go of him and dove her fingers beneath the loosened fabric to detangle her earrings.
“Okay,” she said, wincing in preparation for more pain.
But the pain was over.
The sweater came away and she took her first full breath in what felt like hours.
“Oh, thank you,” she said, finally getting a look at her rescuer.
Sleepy indigo eyes met hers, and the smile on his face crinkled the stem of the rose tattooed near his right eye.
Here was the thing about working with famous people and their kids, they were too often hypersensitive to people’s attention. She’d learned early on that most didn’t like to be stared at. And because they were hyper-aware of being watched, any kind of eye contact could feel like it was staring.
Rational?
No.
But she understood it enough that lookingaroundthem instead ofatthem was a safe option. At least until new expectations had been established.
So, it was very off-brand (again) for her to have full eye contact with a rock star.
She immediately looked down, but not before she’d clocked the dove tattoo near his hairline and the words “As Yourself” above his left eyebrow. Her gaze dropped to his neckline where a large black and gray tattoo of the sun on his throat was just barely visible from the collar of his gray hoodie.
Sunshine Capone.
So… not really a rock star.
But kind of.
Pop star?
He was more hip-hop, right?
Why was she trying to specify what kind of star he was?
A star was a star.
