Fine. I don’t want them looking at me anyway. The amount of noise I made last night—and this morning—is appalling.
We slide into the SUV.
Buck pushes his arm behind me, yanking me to the middle of the backseat, buckling me in right next to him. “You sit by me.”
I frown and cross my arms.
“Thurman, we need to meet the crew at the Rec Center down town.”
“Got it, Boss.” The window between the front and back rolls up, blocking Thurman from our view, or maybe vice versa.
“Thurman?” I ask.
“Well, I don’t call them Thug One and Thug Two all the time. I do know their names. Thurman and Roy.”
His hand slides up my leg, his pinky snuggling next to the seam that runs over my pussy.
“I need to go home. Can you just have him drop you, and then Thurman or Roy can drive me to the house?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?” I cast him a wilting glance—at least, it’s supposed to wilt him. It does nothing.
He just grins at me. “You’re with me. As much as possible.”
“With you?”
“Yes, as in with me.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, my fingers drumming on my upper arm as I look out the window past Buck.
Fine. With him.
What’s the worst that can happen?
The crew and that little twat waffle Trudi stare as Buck herds me to the back bedroom of his RV.
He closes us in.
I cross my arms. “I don’t like it. You can’t ask me to do this.”
He runs his hands down my shoulders. “It’s not that big of a deal, Lou. You just sign the papers, whatever footage they get of you they can use. It’s not saying you have to be on every single episode.”
I focus on the ceiling, my chest tightening with every breath. “You don’t understand. We aren’t in fucking California. This is home. Here. You know, the place that was so unkind to me as a child. The last thing I want is to be on national television, surrounded by people who’ve always had the lowest opinion of me and where I come from.”
“But you aren’t where you come from, Lou. You’re so much more than that. And you’ve been around the fucking world, served your country, and that counts for something.”
“Not here it won’t.”
He should know this without me telling him.
“Well then, fuck here. Look, this would be really good for my career. I’m up for this huge part in a major motion picture, and I need this break. Can’t you just help a guy out? Please.”
“Why do I have to be on the show for you to get the big part?”
“Trudi knows we’re together now. She’s already sold the powers-that-be on the idea of you. You as my girlfriend. Everyday girl gets the Hollywood star. They think this will be a great angle. It will help me and—”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “I still don’t see how my being your girlfriend on this reality show helps you land a part in a movie.”
“Hollywood is a closely connected place. Everyone knows somebody, and if this is what the producer, Barry, wants, then this is what Barry gets. Or he might just mention how uncooperative things were with me and my people, and word gets out, and it snowballs into a fucking nightmare for me.”
His turquoise eyes are worse than any puppy’s.
“God. I hate your face right now.” My grip on what I want to do and what I don’t want to do is slipping. First, I’m his fucking whore, and now I’m this damned show’s bitch.
The wrinkle between his brows deepens. “What? Why?”
“Because, you give me that look, the one that always got you whatever you wanted, especially from me—and I know I’m going to give it to you, because I can’t seem to tell you fucking no. Even when I should. Because I should.”
That grin—the one I used to love, but hate right this minute—pushes his dimples deeper.
* * *
I’ve been wrangled by one perky, little producer, Trudi Parks, and one handsome devil of a Hollywood bad boy into signing the release forms for them to use footage of me on their ridiculous reality television show, Celebrity Fuck-Cuming or some shit.
I scrawl my name across the dotted line, my gut wrenching into a ball of stress and frustration.
Trudi snatches them from my hand before the ink is even dry. I’d like to ram these papers down her scrawny throat, but Buck catches my eye and shakes his head. His brow wrinkles just enough to tell me he knows what I’m thinking.
He’s always known what I was thinking. Fucker.
* * *
Trudi insists on me allowing her to tame my hair and paint me up with freaking make-up. She even went out and bought some more appropriate attire, so I look like someone Buck would date. Because I’m not at all like the girls he’s usually seen with.