So Trashy (Bad Boy Next Door Book 2)(35)

Yeah, right. Whatever.

Buck wasn’t destined for anything. He made it happen. Like he made it happen that even though I didn’t want to get involved with him again, here I am, in a room full of people, with his hand on my knee under the table and his chair so close to mine that his heat seeps into my skin, right through to my soul.

After everyone else has told their stories, it’s time for Mrs. Trumball to talk.

She winks at him before she turns to the camera. “It makes my heart happy to see Buck again. Unlike most everyone else at this table, I had no inkling Buck would be famous and go on to do great things, but I always knew he had a great love in his heart.”

Everyone looks to Buck, silence converging on the room.

After a few seriously uncomfortable moments, he clears his throat, and his dimples deepen for just a second.

Mrs. Trumball lays her unsteady hand atop mine. “You know, Loula Mae, he mowed my grass for an entire month so you could go to the zoo with all the other kids? Do you remember when I paid your way for the field trip? That’s how he paid me back.”

I try to swallow the tightening ring forming around my throat.

Buck’s hand leaves my leg only to come to the top of the table where he laces his fingers with mine. Right here, for everyone to see. This isn’t just him protecting me from crazy Wylder fans, or dragging me to join a group of people. This is him declaring something to the world. Something that isn’t true.

Or is it?





SIXTEEN





Lou turns to me, her fingers twisted in her lap. “What if I trip and fall? These heels are almost as bad as the ones that about broke my fucking ankle.”

I pat her knee. “You’ll do fine. Just hold onto my arm, look adoringly into my eyes and smile for the cameras.”

“What if I say something embarrassing?” Her knee jumps beneath my hand.

I lace my fingers with hers. “I’ll be surprised if they ask you anything. Hell, they may not even ask me anything. I’m just a supporting actor. Who knows?”

“Couldn’t I just stay in the car? I mean, really, I don’t have to be there, do I?”

My grip tightens. “I already told you: you’re with me. So that means you’re with me.”

Lou pulls out of my hold. “This is a mistake. It’s going to send the wrong signal. This is a temporary situation. Attending the premiere of your latest film with you seems like it’s saying we’re something we aren’t.”

It’s saying exactly what I want to say. But Lou can’t see it. She’s still too guarded to get it. That’s fine. I can wait.

“It’s just a movie. We’re just going to the theater. Relax. It’s gonna be fun.”





Fun?

Barely controlled chaos is more like it.

I take Thurman’s hand and step from the limo onto the red carpet. The flashing lights blind me. And they double when Buck gets out of the car.

He tucks my hand into the crook of his tuxedo-clad arm, smiling and waving to the masses vying for his attention. People hold mics across the barricade calling out as we stop and pose every few feet in front of the logo-covered backdrop.

About halfway down the red carpet, still cameras give way to video. Questions are thrown at Buck. Fur covered boom mics hang over our heads, held by unseen hands stationed behind the gaggle of cameramen and reporters.

Buck answers questions; most of the time I haven’t the slightest idea what he’s saying. The commotion distracts and almost overwhelms me.

Then someone asks, “Ms. Fontaine isn’t your usual type. Why the departure from blondes?”

My teeth clench tight, but Buck doesn’t miss a beat.

“The blondes were the departure. Ms. Fontaine has been my type all along.” His hand closes over mine, squeezing lightly.

My cheeks hurt from smiling before we get past the videographers to the print reporters, who are waiting for Buck to stop and chat with them for a moment.

“What’s your relationship status?” Someone calls over the horde as Buck’s people herd us past the group.

Buck winks. “Complicated.”





The premiere went off without a hitch. Lou’s as graceful as any of the plastic people I deal with all the time, only she’s more real.

At the after-party, Lou excuses herself for the ladies’ room, just as a booming voice calls out. “Wylder.”

I turn, holding out my hand to Norman McDowell. His smile is a good sign. The fact that he’s sought me out, even better.

He gives my hand a firm squeeze as he takes off walking toward the center of the room. “Walk with me. How are you, Buck?”

“Fine, thanks. You?”

“I’m good. You know, my Arianne’s been looking for you.”