Celeb Crush (26 page)

When I’m sure I’m not being chased anymore, I check my phone.  Damn, it’s dead.  Luke will be pissed.  I never caught a glimpse of him while I was circulating the party with my trays.  Maybe he didn’t even notice I was gone.  Maybe he was too busy practicing lines with Kat.  And by practicing lines, I mean doing her.

I’m so busy imagining the worst case scenarios and fuming about them that I don’t notice Jackson Frazier and his entourage until they’re practically on top of me.

I don’t like this kid.  Well, I say “kid,” but I think he’s around the same age as me, maybe older.  He’s such a scrawny little fuckboy, though.  I could forgive him his questionable fashion choices (skintight jeans and t-shirts with obscene sayings) and his stupid poufy hairstyle—but he acts like he owns the world.  I’ve seen him in action, and unlike Luke, he cares nothing about his fans, and treats them like shit.

“You’re the bitch that came with Greyson.”  Jackson smirks at me, slowly looking me up and down in the most insulting way possible.

“And you’re the bitch whose ass he beat a few weeks ago,” I reply, returning his look.  Hm, he might be prettier than me.  He’s definitely wearing more makeup.

Instead of getting pissed and calling his gorillas on me, his smirk gets bigger, and he has the nerve to tug on my shirt collar, pulling me closer to him.  “You’re kinda hot,” he says, blowing bubble gum breath directly in my face.  “Take your shirt off, and I’ll autograph your tits.”

“No, thanks,” I say, and push him away by his forehead.

The next thing I know, it’s DEFCON 1.  Jackson is hustled to safety behind a solid wall of flesh. A huge guy with a shaved head and sporting royal purple track suit immediately grabs my arm, getting right in my face.

   “Hands off, bitch,” he growls while gripping my flesh with bone-crushing force.

“You first,
bitch
,” I say, trying to put some distance between our bodies while  I mentally review the dirty moves Luke taught me when going up against a much bigger and stronger opponent.

“Yo, teach that bitch a lesson, Jimmy!” Jackson cackles, hanging off the back of one of his hired goons like a creepy monkey.  “Introduce her to the Slap-a-Ho tribe!”

When I get out of the gorilla’s hold, I’m going to kick that little douche’s ass!  Speaking of the gorilla, is he really trying to break my arm?  He grins down at me, slowly exerting more pressure. I have no choice but to jab him in the throat with two stiff fingers.  He immediately chokes and gags, finally loosening his grip.

Before I can kick him in the crotch, an inked up gorilla comes to his rescue, raising a fist bigger than my head over me.  I brace myself for the blow, resigned to the fate of yet another head injury.

The blow never comes.  Suddenly, Luke is there, looking more pissed off and deadly than I’ve ever seen him.  Every single visible muscle is tensed and coiled as he unflinchingly faces down the massive fist meant for my face.

I’m shocked in a good way.  This is the first time I’ve been saved in the nick of time from being punched.  It never really happens—only in movies.  Though Luke is an actor, and this is the land of the rich and famous…so maybe that good ol’ Hollywood magic is working in favor for a change.

“Don’t.   Fucking.  Touch. Her,” Luke somehow enunciates very clearly through gritted teeth. 

The huge guy hesitates, clearly recognizing him.  He lowers his arm, but doesn’t want to back down.  I see him glance over at Jackson, who is still clinging to the back of one of his guards, smirking and hooting like a drunken idiot watching girls wrestling in the mud.

We’re standing in a tight group:  I’m slightly behind Luke, his body blocking me from the two gorillas who are continuing to posture, egged on by their tiny boss.  They are both huge dudes, but I wonder if they can actually fight.  I know Luke can—and he’s fast.  Also, that one guy I jabbed in the throat is still hurt.  Maybe we’ll come out of this okay—unless those other three guys jump in.

By this time, we’ve attracted a large crowd of gawkers; the avid look in their eyes makes me want to do something vulgar.  The only thing that stops me is the arrival of Nate, Eyan, and several other friends of Luke’s.  I also spot the men in dark suits hurriedly threading their way through the crowd.

Just when I think the situation’s about to be defused, Jackson opens up his stupid bitch mouth.

“Control your slut, Sam Langelier!” he jeers—and Luke, previously locked in a death glare with Gorilla Number Two, whips his head around to glare at him.  The little bastard continues, “She was all up on my junk ‘til my boys pulled her off me.”

I don’t know who starts it.  It might have been me.  Chaos erupts, and I’m right in the middle of it.  Luke tries to push me out harm’s way, but a fist comes flying at his head, and he has no choice but to dodge it.  I hunker down and kick out someone’s knee.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nate diving into the melee with a happy grin on his face.  Taking advantage of the confusion, I’m able to make my way over to Jackson Frazier.  He sees me coming, and has the nerve to reach out and pinch my boob.  I badly want to punch him in the face, but I know that if I do, I’ll never stop.  So I settle for kneeing him in the crotch.  He emits a wheezing scream, doubling over.  A wad of gum falls out of his mouth and lands on someone’s shiny black dress shoe.

What happens next is also like something out of a movie.  A stray elbow slams into my cheek, and I go flying backwards, landing on my ass just out of the fray.  A nearby server carrying a platter of what looks to be chocolate-raspberry tarts (because there
must
be food with the entertainment) suddenly trips (I swear one of the Bikini Twins stuck a long tanned leg out at that opportune moment), and his tray flips over and lands on me, facedown.

A deafening silence seems to have fallen as I lift the platter up to find the bloody remains of the raspberry tarts smashed all over my white blouse, and frankly, in my bra.  There’s a scary roaring sound in my head as I feebly brush chocolate wafer crumbs off my clothes.  I can sense all eyes on me, malicious and deriding. 

My ears burn as I scramble to my feet.  Guess what? I am capable of feeling shame—it only takes being humiliated in front of Hollywood’s elite.  My gaze suddenly locks on Luke like he’s a homing beacon.  His gold-green eyes burn into mine, and he starts to shove bodies out of the way to get to me.

I don’t want him to look at me like this.  They’re all laughing and pointing at me!  I start to feel dizzy with mortification.  I’m turning as red as the raspberries stuck to my neck.  I need to get out of here.  I whirl around wildly, looking for a way to escape.

But before I go, I scoop two handfuls of sticky melting vanilla ice cream and raspberry sauce off myself, and rub it down the fronts of the Bikini Twins’ beautiful dresses.  They hiss and recoil in horror, staring down at their now stained clothes.

“Price
Pride
!” I bark at them before I plunge into the crowd.

I can hear Luke calling my name, but I don’t stop.  I push my way through the expensive-smelling bodies, and head straight for the kitchen where I grab a black apron on my way out the service entrance.  I put it on as I hurry past the catering vans parked outside.  A security guard sees me coming and opens the side gate for me.  I roll right on through, and past the paparazzi and fans gathered outside.  No one takes notice of me in my caterer’s outfit.  I walk at a steady pace for a while, and then I break into a frantic run like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight. 

Only instead of a glass slipper, I leave behind a trail of raspberries in my wake. 

Chapter 22

Whenever my thoughts feel like they’re about to burst out of my head and attack me, I go to my special place:  the zoo.  Specifically, the chimpanzee exhibit.  They fascinate me, and I can watch them forever as long as I breathe through my mouth.

The chimps are sitting in a row on top of their rock cave, their backs facing me.  They look like council members in a silent meeting, with their asses hanging out.  They’ve been so quiet since I got here.  I wonder what they’re deliberating on.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here for when I sense someone sitting next to me on my bench.  I don’t have to look to know who it is.

“How did you find me?” I ask, keeping my voice devoid of emotion.

“This is your place, like the beach is mine.”

I turn to face him.  He’s wearing his Yankees cap and dark sunglasses so I can’t read his expression.  “How do you know that?”

Luke gives a little shrug.  “Remember when we were in Taos?  It was your turn to jump and you were freaking out, so I told you to think of your happy place.  You started babbling about the chimpanzee exhibit at the zoo.  You said that it was your favorite place to go to think.”

I raise an eyebrow skeptically.  “You remember that?  That was forever ago.”

“I know,” is all he says.  Then he gently turns my face, and I know he’s studying the bruise beginning to form along the top of my right cheek.  His jaw clenches in anger.

I wince slightly when he lightly trails a thumb over the swelling area.  “It’s not that bad,” I say.  “You know I’ve had worse.”

Luke abruptly angles away from me.  He yanks his cap off and leans forward, resting his forearms on the top of his knees.  “I’m so sorry, baby,” he says softly, his voice full of self-recrimination. 

“It’s not your fault.”

He jerks his head irritably, turning back to me.  “Are you kidding me?  Yeah, it is.  I promised you that I’d never let you get hurt, and now look at you!”

“It isn’t a big deal.  You know I love a good fight.”  I try to smile, but my facial muscles just won’t cooperate.  I give up and go back to my resting bitch face.  

“What the hell happened, anyway?”

I tell him, and watch as his hands ball into fists.  He looks pissed enough to murder someone.  I wisely decide to leave out the part where the asshole pinched my boob.

“I’m going to kill that little fucker,” Luke growls, glaring off into the distance.

“Don’t worry; I got him back.  I kneed him in the junk hard enough that future generations of little punk Fraziers felt it, too.”  I smirk weakly.

“You did, huh?”  A boyish grin fights its way onto Luke’s face as he shakes his head in amusement.  “That’s my girl.”

A pleasant warmth fills my chest and rises up to encompass my face, and all the way up to my tingling scalp.  I’m enraptured by his praise; it’s almost enough to make me forget my public humiliation.

Almost.

“So…”  I stare down at the crushed popcorn beneath my shoes.  “Did I destroy your career?”

There is a significant pause.  “Of course not.  Why would you think that?” Luke asks, honestly bewildered.

I give him a sarcastic look.  “Oh, no reason.  I only single-handedly ruined your friend’s party, and made a fool of myself in front of—like, everyone.  I—”

I bite my lip in shame, swinging my foot aimlessly.  I hate feeling like this.  I would probably try to make another run for it if my feet weren’t so swollen from walking in these stupid heels.

“Hey,” Luke says softly, scooting closer to me on the bench, and putting an arm around me.  “You didn’t ruin anything.  There’s nothing better those vultures like than some good old fashioned drama.  People kept coming up to me to tell me how badass they think you are.  You were a hit, Tiger.”

“Really?”  I raise my eyes to meet his.  I nervously scratch at a sticky spot on my jaw.  Dried ice cream.  “I don’t think the Bikini Twins like me much.”

His brow wrinkles in confusion.  “The…who?”

“The swimsuit models you had that threesome with?” I remind him politely.

“Oh, them.”  Luke rubs his jaw and avoids my gaze.  “That was a long time ago, Andi.  I have no intention of seeing them again.  You see, I have this beautiful badass of a girlfriend who makes me forget the names and faces of every woman I’ve ever been with.”

I crack a smile at his innocent expression.  “Nice save, hot shot.”

Luke flashes his stunning grin at me.  “You know, they’re not going to forget
your
name.  Those were one-of-a-kind designer dresses you used as napkins back there.  They’re sending me the bill for them.”

“Oops?”

He starts chuckling; bringing me flush against his side so I’m snuggled against his delicious warmth.  “You’re the best, kid.”

“Thanks.  Luke?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re squishing the raspberries in my bra.”

His chuckles turn into full blown laughter.  He places a warm palm on the back of my neck, gently pushing me forward until our heads touch.  “I fucking love you, Anderson Kelly,” he declares.  “One day soon, you’re going to make me the happiest guy alive and admit you love me, too.”

I stay quiet.  That is what I’m afraid of.

We return to the condo and the atmosphere instantly become tense and awkward.  It’s just the two of us for the first time in a while.  We’ve been using Nate as a safeguard—much to his disgust—and without him here, I honestly don’t know how I’ll be able to control my raging hormones.  Just look at Luke standing there with his shirt lightly molded to the muscled perfection of his chest and abs.  His light slightly spicy cologne is driving me crazy.  I want to lick it off of him.