Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Damon: Fake husband?
Noah: We’re already acting like a married couple. Is he always this cranky?
Damon: Oh. Umm … Maddox says he’s not, but I’ve only known him to be surly.
Noah: Something you conveniently left out when you asked me to do this thing.
He responds with the angel emoji. Asshole.
“Where to now?” Matt asks.
With my instructions, we pull up to the terminal and drop the car off in long-term parking. Matt scoffs at my six-thousand-dollar Gucci suitcase as he pulls his no-name-brand duffel bag out of the trunk.
“Okay, what’s wrong with my luggage?” I ask.
He shakes his head as if the answer is obvious and stalks off.
Yup, Damon definitely owes me.
We follow the path like the rest of the cruise guests being herded toward the ship, but when I catch sight of the paparazzi lining the entrance, I freeze. We were told there’d be media, but it must be a slow news day, because this is insane. I count at least fifteen people holding obnoxiously large cameras.
Matt stops in his tracks. “I-I can’t … I can’t do this,” he says quietly.
People bump past us and glare for holding them up.
I’ve seen the articles online and, well, everywhere, but it’s not until I’m staring down the lens of a million cameras all wanting a photo of us that I realize it’s not just a matter of a photo. It’s the need for a story. The more scandalous the better. And right now, there is no bigger scandal than Matt.
I pretend I’m unaffected, but the truth is, it’s a whole lot more daunting being on this side of it.
“It’s easy. We walk through the crowd, say no comment every five seconds, and ignore everything else.”
Matt’s feet lock to the ground, his skin pales, and it looks like he could vomit. “I …”
“Matt,” I murmur. “We need to move. We’re standing in the middle of the walkway, and you can’t afford to freeze up right now.”
The media spots us, and they begin converging.
“Babe, I left something in the car,” I say loud enough for them to hear. I turn back and head toward the parking lot, weaving my way through a few more people heading for the terminal. I practically have to drag Matt who’s in shutdown mode.
A parking attendant stands by the boom gate of the garage, and I wave him over. “Is there anything you can do about the photographers over there?”
The dude’s eyes flit from Matt to me and back again. “Umm … I … I’m sorry, but are you Matt Jackson?”
“Yes. He is. So, can you see why we wouldn’t mind bypassing the swarming vultures?”
“Right. But, uh, there’s only one way onto that ship, so no matter what, you’re going to have to get past them.”
“Thanks for nothing,” I mumble and continue to drag Matt back to his car.
A quick look over my shoulder shows one or two ambitious assholes with cameras coming our way.
I pin Matt up against his car and lean in, speaking low. “Okay, you’re going to have to snap out of whatever panic attack you’re having, because we’re thirty seconds away from being photographed again, and you look like you’re about to shit a brick.”
Matt manages a nod, but I’m not convinced he’s not going to freak out again as soon as flashes start going off in his face.
But the photographers are on us, and I do the only thing I can think of to snap him out of his trance. I cradle his head and bring my mouth to his, all the while hoping his eyes haven’t grown to the size of saucers. That wouldn’t make for a great photo.
Matt tenses, his mouth not responding to mine. My lips are soft against the steel bars that have taken residence on his face. His overgrown facial hair has gotten past the scruffy stage and is soft against my smooth skin.
“Better do a better job than that,” I whisper against his lips so the paparazzi can’t hear.
“If it weren’t for the photographers, I’d kick your ass right now, Huntington.”
“Let’s not play the last name game, Jackson. I’m helping you here.”
“Seems like you’re tryin’ to get your time in the spotlight.”
I pull back but stay close. “Let’s have this conversation somewhere else. You ready to face them?”
“No.”
“Need me to kiss you again?”
He frowns. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Huh. He’d rather deal with the media than kiss me. Someone get me a crash cart, because my ego just flatlined.
Suddenly Matt has no issues with walking through a crowd full of photographers. It’s slow going, and I make sure to keep my face neutral as the flashes go off in my eyes.
Damon told me I’m supposed to sell this lie, but I’ll bet if I were to reach out and grab Matt’s hand, he’d swat it away. Or try to break my bones.