In my wake, people whispered and laughed. I even got a few menacing glares. I knew of this phenomenon. I’d studied fan behavior for years. This was how they reacted to the significant other. Either they wanted to talk you, or step on you.
I’d be bug juice if I wasn’t careful.
And seriously, there was nothing to worry about. Not that I could convince them of that. My hip buzzed. I checked my phone—Lila Shawcross. I let the call go to voicemail. No way did I have an answer about what happened.
I tucked my hair around my ear and caught his scent on my skin. I made a beeline for the bathrooms. I would just freshen up and be ready for the next part of the night. A professional photographer was on hand to take the photos for the newsletters. Also, a promo download code would be given to people from the fan club, and some photos would be used for fan keepsakes.
I pushed open the door, breathing a sigh of relief. Alone at last. I closed myself in a stall and took a few cleansing breaths. There hadn’t been enough time to put the car crash of emotions away. There’d been kissing—all of the kissing. Dear diary, I want to swoon kisses, for God’s sake.
Before I could even assimilate the details there’d been cameras to document my spectacular lack of judgment, and then Dex.
I curled my fingers around the lock. I needed to do damage control, not hide in the freaking ladies’ room.
“Can you believe that girl with him?”
I froze at the voices.
“Imagine all six-feet-three of him swooping down to kiss you like that?”
“I do. Every night. And in my dream, there’s no skank.” Yet another voice.
Skank? Really?
“In your dreams, there’s no clothes,” the first woman said in a 1-900 voice.
“Damn right. And it’s my mouth wrapped around that massive cock.”
My eyebrows shot up. Wow. Truly? My cheeks heated, and my fingers fumbled on the lock. It jangled, but the women didn’t seem to notice.
“I went on the Manaconda Alert site. There’s already like ten videos,” 1-900 said.
The what? I dug out my phone and typed in “Manaconda Alert”. A Tumblr and Instagram site came up. I clicked on the Tumblr and had to physically hold back a shriek. It seemed to be a fan site dedicated to all things Hunter. In depth discussions about the size and shape of his…manaconda, as well as sightings, girlfriends, and any picture on the internet of him with a woman—ever.
Including me.
A lot of me.
Oh, God.
The girls from outside the bathroom stall moved on. Now that they’d laid their little information bomb on me, I couldn’t stop looking at the blog. Tumblr was known mostly for small clips caught from videos—and the most incriminating ones at that.
One kept coming up again and again.
It was the one that had seared itself in my memory. However, my memory was much different. It was way more disconcerting to actually see us completely lost in the moment. Him holding me so tight there wasn’t even room for air, let alone breath.
My phone rang again, obliterating the image of me and Hunter. The name on the display snapped me out of my hormonally-induced fugue state.
Lila Shawcross. Again.
I dropped the phone into my bag, opened the door and strode out to the sinks. The damn thing kept buzzing, but I didn’t want to force the call to voicemail again. It was better if she thought I just couldn’t get to it because of the show. A pair of women were at the sinks, another three coming in. I didn’t look at them. Didn’t need to. It was silent as a church, and I was definitely the sinner everyone was staring at.
At least that’s what it felt like.
I didn’t have the balls to look up until after I washed my hands. I lifted my chin, gave my winning smile and waltzed out. Somehow I didn’t fall, didn’t break an ankle, didn’t walk into a wall. When I got back outside, I forced myself to set a steady pace through the lobby to the theater. People were lined up for the meet and greet, and there was a pulse to the room.
Obviously the band had arrived.
I made my way up the stairs to the balcony, nodding at Patrick as he stood sentinel at one end of the ridiculously grand table the band sat behind. It was as ornate as the theater itself, with embellishments and filagreed scrollwork dripping off the corners.
Indie and one of her minions was herding people through, but I was happy to see she actually gave everyone time to actually spit out stammered hellos. It wasn’t just a factory line. Keys was the most hands on—literally. She leaned forward and listened to every person. Even going so far as holding hands with some that were really upset or too excited.
Hunter was last in line and Patrick was paying close attention to everyone that moved up to him. Hunter’s smile was wide and friendly for albums, memorabilia, or pictures, but his demeanor changed for the magazine cover. His shoulders stiffened, and the shine left his unusual gray-green eyes.