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It still seems crazy to me that this is the first time I’ve met Rhett and Anson. I’ve talked to Kye a few times over FaceTime or Zoom but only met him in person once, and that was years ago, right after we had graduated from high school and they were headed to training. It feels like I’ve known all of them for a lot longer, and I know that that’s because Gates has told me so much about each of them.
They seemed to know about me too, and I know that Gates must have told them about me too. I wonder if that’s a good sign or if it’s just because we’re friends.
“We’ll have to grab lunch or coffee again soon. Maybe this week, if you’re free,” Aria says, and I smile.
“I’d love that.”
She digs her phone out of her purse, and I grab mine.
“Here, I’ll switch you,” I say, passing her my phone so that she can enter her phone number.
I really like Aria, Quinn, and Lottie. They were all so welcoming, and I could see being close friends with them.
“Can I get your numbers too?” I ask Lottie and Quinn, and they nod, taking my phone from Aria.
Lottie is pregnant, and I know she mentioned she might have to be on bedrest soon, so I’m not sure she’ll be up for coffee or going out until after she’s given birth. Still, we could go visit her at home. That would give me something to do while Gates is at work.
I tuck my phone back in my purse and look up, locking eyes with a group of guys at a nearby table. My stomach drops, and I know instantly that they recognize me. They look like college frat jerks, and I shift closer to Gates. I’m hoping that if they see me so close to such a big, tough-looking guy they’ll be intimidated and leave me alone.
Gates glances down at me, frowning slightly when he sees the wary look that I’m sure is on my face. He picks up on my change in mood and glances over at the guys’ table as one of them, the leader, I’m guessing, stands and heads my way.
“Dammit,” I whisper, and Gates leans closer.
“What? Do you know him?” He asks.
I peek over at him. He seems agitated, his fists clenched on his thighs as he glares at the table of boys and then looks over at the one headed our way.
“No, but I know the type,” I whisper.
“What type is that? Asshole? Frat house prick?” Gates asks through clenched teeth.
I giggle, agreeing with him. The guy does look like that. Right down to the backward ballcap and popped polo collar.
My laugh cuts off when I look back to Gates, though.
He’s tensing even more with each step the guy takes our way, and I don’t know how to ease that tension.
“He’s a fan. Probably jerked off to my pictures when he was younger,” I say, eyeing the guy. “Or like last week.”
The guy looks like he’s barely twenty. Gates growls, and I glance at him in surprise.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I don’t like the thought of guys jerking off to you,” he says, and he’s grinding his teeth together so hard that I’m worried he might break them.
“Happens. Comes with the territory, I guess,” I say, hoping to calm him down.
My words seem to have the opposite effect, though.
Before I can try to say something else, the fan is standing next to my chair.
“Hey, I just had to come over and ask. Are you Dillon Rhodes? The model? I’d love to get a picture with you,” he says, already leaning down over me with his phone in his hand. “The guys are never going to believe that I met you.”
I tense, trying to lean away from him as he places his hand on my shoulder. He lets it drape down, trying to grope my breast, and I open my mouth to tell him to get the hell off of me, but Gates beats me to it.
He’s on his feet, twisting the man’s hand behind his back and shoving him away from me in the blink of an eye.
“Keep your hands to your fucking self. No one touches her. Now, apologize and get the fuck out of here,” Gates snarls at him.
