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“And if the plan goes south,” I continued, my gaze meaningful, “you may as well kiss your legal team goodbye.”
She sighed, then turned and stared out the window. “My mom texted me during class. Apparently, she miraculously got a call from one of the country’s top lawyers wanting to meet with her about representation on a pro bono basis as a part of their community outreach program or some BS like that.” She glanced at her jeans and picked at a piece of imaginary lint. “She sounded super excited.”
Her gaze met mine, and she searched my face before she glanced back out at the valet, waiting patiently to take my keys, and nodded. “Fine. I’ll go in. But I’m texting Penelope to tell her exactly where I am so that if I don’t come out alive or if something happens, she knows who to blame and where to find me.”
“Got it.”
“And no funny stuff,” she added, poking a finger into my chest. “Just because we’re doing this, doesn’t mean we’re doing this. You catch my drift?”
I swallowed down my laughter. “You know I’m not desperate, right?” She narrowed her eyes on my face, and I added, “Not that I would need to be desperate to—”
“Save it,” she snapped with a roll of the eyes. “I realize most girls throw themselves at your feet or at your bed or whatever else.” She screwed up her face like the mere suggestion was deplorable.
“And women,” I added.
She arched a brow, like she didn’t catch my meaning, so I elaborated, “You’re forgetting about the women who throw themselves at me. I’m talking much older. The ones in their mid-thirties and forties. The ones whose teenage daughters have posters of me plastered on their walls. They’re actually the worst of all.”
“Ew. I don’t think I want to hear about this.”
I cocked my head and offered her a sly smile. “Actually, some of them are pretty hot.”
“You’re disgusting, you know that?”
“Maybe. But I’myourboyfriend, so . . .”
I winked at her, and she groaned.
“Don’t remind me.”
“Are we ever going to get out and let Tim take my car?” I asked.
“Tim?” she said, opening her door.
I followed, rounding the car and meeting her on the sidewalk. “Yeah, the valet,” I said, tossing him the keys.
“Did you see that game Saturday?” Tim asked with a grin.
“Virginia Tech slaughtered.”
“I told you it’d be a good one.”
“You were right,” I said pointing to him before turning back to Scarlett, whose eyes were narrowed on me.
“You know him by name?”
“Who, Tim?” I frowned. “Sure. How else am I supposed to address him?”
She stared at me a moment with a strange look on her face, then followed as I made my way toward the entrance when three men armed with cameras appeared out of nowhere and started snapping away. My first instinct was to shield her with my arm and usher her inside. But on second thought, I simply grabbed her hand, pulled her into me. Then I dipped my head and whispered, “Just relax, and let me handle it.”
The moment I straightened, the questions started.
“How long have you been together?” one shouted.
“Is she your girlfriend?” another one called out.
Someone crammed a mic in my face. “Is it serious? What’s her name?”
“Her name is Scarlett Rees,” I answered, only to have them blast us with more questions.
