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“Noah! Noah!”
“NOAH!”
“MR. JENNINGS!”
“OVER HERE!”
“WHAT’S YOUR NAME, LADY?”
On and on, they shouted their questions while Noah ignored them, wrapping his arm around my waist, and navigating me toward the restaurant doors, where the Maître D’ held it open. The moment the heavy door closed behind us, their shouts muted to a dull hum of sound, where even the quiet piano music practically drowned them out.
Noah didn’t have to give his name or wait, and we were escorted to a table close to the front of the restaurant where the paparazzi could see us and zoom in with their telescopic lenses if they felt so inclined. I hoped they didn’t, but hope was a fickle thing. It was only the grace of tinted windows that meant the flashes didn’t blind me while I studied the menu.
“Do you think they have another table away from the windows?” I asked quietly so even the table next to us wouldn’t be able to hear my complaint.
“This is fine.”
I didn’t like the spotlight—I didn’t like being in the public eye—but one night wouldn’t kill me. I pretended they weren’t there, and after the first course of our meal, it became easy to forget their presence altogether. Something I hadn’t been sure I’d ever be capable of the first time I’d been out with Kenzie, and we’d been rushed at with cameras held high like weapons.
Noah and I didn’t talk about the movie again for the first half of dinner. Instead, he regaled me with stories about some of the celebrities we’d see at the party later. The discussion reminded me of the first night I’d met him, sitting on Todd’s bedroom balcony railing, watching the party going on below us. He spent hours pointing out one person after the other and giving comprehensive backgrounds on everyone. When I’d asked him how he’d known so much, his reply had been simple. It was a quote from General Sun Tzu.
Know thy enemies.
It was when we were eating the main meal that he threw a grenade in my lap.
“Strawberry, this isn’t going to be an easy ask, but I have a favor.”
“You realize that your delivery has made me skeptical?”
“I’m not good at this kind of shit, baby. I don’t like asking for favors. Especially ones I will probably never be able to pay back.”
“Okay.” I made a gesture for him to go on.
“There’s a possibility that Macie will want to, uh, fuck you. Maybe even us if she’s in the mood to watch.”
I felt the color drain from my face.
“You’re whoring me out?”
I set down my knife and fork before I threw them at him.
“It’s not set in stone.”
“Is that the reason for the buffing and waxing?” I asked, hands clenched on the surface of the table. I could feel my body leaning toward his, my voice a hiss of anger.
“No.” He smirked too playfully for the situation. “Thatwas for me. Your pussy is as sweet as a strawberry.”
I threw my napkin at him and narrowed my eyes, glancing at the tables closest to ours to see if anyone had heard him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing iswrongwith me. You asked if there was something you could do to help, and I figured maybe this could be the way you do it, but if you’re too uptight to—”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he asked, patting his mouth with his napkin.
“Make me feel like a prudish asshole for not throwing myself at someone becauseyouasked me to.” I was so mad I hadn’t even realized I was hovering over my seat and halfway over the table in my effort to confront him.
