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“Do you?” I ask again when she hasn’t answered, my voice low, my heart hammering. I think I’m allergic to photographers. I wouldn’t doubt for a moment that I’m about to break out in a full-on case of hives. This shit sucks.
I need Scarlett on my side, and I send her a look, one that hopefully communicates I need her help.
Actually, I need her cooperation.
I witness the realization dawning on her face. Her gaze softens, as do her lips, and she finally shakes her head.
“No. Of course not. This is supposed to be the best night of my life.” She hesitates for only a moment. “Um... I think I have an idea. How to make us look better in front of that guy’s camera.”
“You do?” I lift my brows, surprised she’s the one now doing the suggesting.
“Yes.” Her hand slips around the back of my neck, pulling my head down to hers. “Just... follow my lead.”
I realize she’s repeating my words back to me.
Right before her mouth lands on mine.
CHAPTER4
SCARLETT
What am I doing?
I have no idea. I don’t even know why I’m doing it. It’s like fifteen-year-old Scarlett took over my body and took advantage of the situation.
And now I’ve got my lips planted firmly on Tate Ramsey’s, and ohmygod, the man can definitely kiss.
He seemed so... desperate. As if the last thing he wants to deal with is a nosy paparazzo splashing a bogus argument between us all over the internet. In that moment, the pleading expression on his face, I felt bad for him.
Then I thought of Ian and how ridiculous he’s being and had the quick realization that maybe he needs a push. The possibility of him seeing me with someone else was too irresistible. Next thing I know...
I’m kissing him. Tate Ramsey.
And his lips? They’re soft and sweetly persistent. He takes over the moment completely, his arms tightening around me, his hand sliding up my back ever so slowly, his fingers encountering bare skin. A shiver steals over me when his fingertips glide over my spine, and I curl my fingers into the front of his shirt, my lips automatically parting for his tongue. It dances with mine, light and flickering, and I lean into him, my lips parting further, an unfamiliar sensation coasting through my body.
He pulls away before we can take it too far, and I battle with the disappointment flooding me. When I open my eyes, it’s to find him watching me with a concerned expression on his handsome face.
Did I mention that he’s so much more handsome than he ever was when he was in Five Car Pileup? He is all man now. Oh, the boyishly sweet smile from before was still there throughout his performance, as well as that charisma he always exuded back in the day when he was on top of the world. When you couldn’t go anywhere without hearing about Five Car Pileup and their tour. Their songs. Their influence on teenage girls worldwide.
But he’s different now. Older and quieter and possibly even... edgier?
Or maybe that’s my overactive imagination. I’m not sure.
“Get enough of us yet?”
I startle at the sound of Tate’s deep voice, the hostility in his tone, and I realize he’s not talking to me at all.
He’s talking to the photographer, who is still snapping photos of us with our arms wrapped around each other. I’m sure to him we look like a bona fide couple, and I’m tempted to pull away from Tate. Gain some distance from him.
But I remain in place, frozen. Trembling. He skims his fingers down my back once again, a reassuring gesture that has me dipping my head, suddenly shy.
Regret hits me. This probably wasn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made. I’m not an impulsive person, not even close, but what is Ian going to think if he sees these photos?
Hmmm. Considering I’m a nobody and Tate is a has-been, I don’t think we have much to worry about.
The photographer lowers his massive camera with the giant flash—how did I not notice him before?—and grins at us. “Always hoping for a little more from you, Tate. You know how it is. And let me just say that I think you two make a nice couple.”
Tate crowds me, which is almost impossible thanks to the size of my skirt, and shields me from the photographer with his body as best he can. “I’m sure you snapped plenty of photos of us. Now get the fuck out of here.”
