So Trashy (Bad Boy Next Door Book 2) (13 page)

“You need to listen to me. You’re not used to mobs and how
the paparazzi work. They’ll eat you for lunch.”

I lean in to him and whisper, “As opposed to being eaten for
breakfast
?”

He breaks out with a loud laugh. “You’re something else,
Lou.”

I cross my arms. “I can handle a few cameras and fans who
don’t give even a half a shit about who I am.”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “That’s the thing. You’ve
been seen with me, so now they
do
care who you are. They want to know
every last detail of your life.”

A rock sinks into my gut.

Every last detail?

Great.

* * *

Mrs. Trumball always did dote on Buck. Today is no
different.

I sit on the folding chair in the corner. The Rec Center
staff, some having long ago retired or moved on from their positions, all showed
up today to gather at the feet of the now famous Buck Wylder. They act as
though they’ve always known Buck would make good.

In reality, none of them liked him or me much back then,
except Mrs. Trumball. Of course, she knew him better than she knew me. He did a
lot of work around her house for her in the summers.

She shuffles over, pushing her walker. Back in the day, she
was in better health. Her lavender hair reflects the fluorescent lights as Buck
pulls a chair out for her. He leans in, dropping a sweet kiss on the back of her
blue-veined hand. She pats his cheek and says something that makes the crew and
all those loitering around laugh.

Her rheumy eyes glisten as she looks up at Buck, a smile
playing at her thin lips. She takes a bit of Buck’s shirt, pulling him down,
speaking into his ear. His gaze finds me and he nods. When he straightens and
heads my way, one of the camera men follows.

As he approaches, he holds out his hand—not in a requesting
sort of way. No, that hand is firm and, without saying a word, he conveys his
demand that I join him and participate in whatever it is Mrs. Trumball wants.

I let out a slow sigh and place my fingers into his upturned
palm.

Buck, having his best manners in place for the cameras,
pulls out a chair for me next to the little old lady who was one of the few
adults who took time for either of us when we were kids. However, I always got
the impression her friendliness toward me was simply an extension of the
affection she felt for Buck. Or it seemed that way to the eleven year old me.

Though, there was that one time when she paid for me to go
on a field trip the Rec Center set up. Maybe she did like me.

The group takes turns talking to the camera about what kind
of kid Buck was. Most of them recall a different version than the Buck I
remember. Their stories have a lot of scrapping with the other boys, a lot of
phone calls to his Pops, a whole lot of reasons why they thought he was the way
he was, most of it to do with his parents’ exit from his life, and a lot of
knowing
someday, even though he had a rough start, Buck was destined for big things.

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?

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.”

Ah, shit.

I nod and do my best to dance around the subject. “Yes, it’s
been a while since I’ve seen her.”

“She thinks you’ve changed your number on her.”

Fuck.

I shake my head. “No, sir. Same number.”

He clamps his hand over my shoulder. “You know, my little
girl—she’s a handful, but she’s going to make someone a fine wife one day.”

My mouth goes dry as I try to swallow. I cough.

“Yes, I’m sure she will, sir. I’m sure she will.” Just not
me.

Luckily, other people crowd around and the subject changes
to that of industry business before I say something that gets me black-balled.

Lou drifts past, behind the crowd, and my heart stutters.

I hold my hand out to McDowell. “Sir. It was great to see
you.”

He shakes my hand and nods, but is still talking to some
director or other, so I slip away.

I take a couple of glasses of champagne as I pass by a
waiter and catch up to Lou. “You want to ditch this party?”

“I thought you had to be here.” She takes her drink and
sips, making a face. “Not the best stuff, is it?”

“Not really my favorite, but it’s expected, so…”

“So you pretend. You pretend a lot don’t you?” She sets her
almost full glass on a small, marble-topped table filled with an over large urn
of fresh flowers.

I shrug and back her against the wall in the alcove hidden
by a small potted tree. “I’m an actor. I act.”

She laughs. I’m not sure if she’s laughing with me, or
laughing
at
me. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s both.

“It’s kinda weird. You spend all your time pretending to be
something you aren’t, only to end up doing a reality show to prove to the
public who you really are.” She quirks one eyebrow.

My face heats for a moment. “Busted. That’s exactly what
happened. But don’t we all run around acting like something we aren’t most of
the time? Don’t you?”

Her back goes rigid under my hand. “I guess I do. After all,
I’ve spent the last five years trying to outrun who I am and where I came from,
only to find myself right back in the same situation doing what the whole town
always expected of me anyway.”

Her words loop through my mind as I tug on my suddenly over-tight
collar and bowtie. “That’s not what I meant, Lou. Really. I just meant—”

She lays her hand on my arm. “It’s fine, Buck. It is what it
is. And I’m fine with it as long as it stays between you and me.”

I slide my hand along the bare skin of her back where her
gown dips low, pulling her close and leaning near her ear. “No one knows a
thing. To the world, you’re just my new girlfriend.”

She pushes past me out of our hiding spot.

She grabs another glass of champagne from a passing waiter
and downs it. “Yeah, that kinda makes me nervous.”

I drop a kiss on Lou’s forehead before she climbs into her car.
“Hey, I forgot to tell you: the crew’s going down to the French Quarter to get
some stock footage and shots of me walking around, having a drink, whatever. I
want you to go with us.”

She rolls her eyes, expelling a frustrated sigh. “This gig
is getting old, just so you know. We’ve been back from LA for ten days. I’ve
spent most of that time running here and there, for this and for that on the
show, and most of it they won’t even use. Do I have to?”

I pull a wad of bills from my wallet, shoving them through
the window. “These say you do.”

She frowns at the money. “You’re screwed once I get the last
few things fixed up at Aunt Delores’s place. You know that, right?”

I lean in and slide my fingers to the back of her neck.

I pull her to me, kissing her hard on the mouth. “Well, I
guess I’d better figure out some other reason to keep you coming around to
spend time with me. Won’t I?”

She snatches the cash from my hand and stuffs it into her purse.
“Whatever. I can’t imagine what would be able to do that. I have other shit to
do than dance to your tune.”

“Two o’clock.”

“I’ll meet you down there.”

She takes off out of the hotel parking lot like her ass is
on fire.

That
is
one hot piece of ass. I can’t help but smile.

The sun glints off something at the edge of the tree line,
pulling my attention from the tail end of Lou’s car. I squint. A man jumps up
from behind the tall grass and thrashes through the greenery.

Fucking photographers.

I don’t even bother chasing them anymore. They’re
everywhere. He probably got tipped off by the stupid hotel clerk. People will
do anything for an extra dollar in their pocket.

* * *

I pull up at Nan and Pops’ place. A red Corvette is situated
across the lawn like someone doesn’t know that you shouldn’t park on people’s grass.

Thug Two steps out of the RV, his shades hovering over the
hard line of his mouth. “Boss, we can’t do our jobs when you sneak off like
that all the fucking time.”

“Some things a guy wants to do without an escort.”

He tips his hat and takes up his post at the bottom step to
the porch.

I grab the front door handle, but it opens before I turn it.
Arianne stands inside, dressed like she’s just crawled out of a magazine.

I step back. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Oh, Buck. I’ve missed you so much.” She plunges out the
door, throwing herself against me, her lips finding mine before I can dodge
her.

I take her shoulders, putting her away from me. “What the
fuck are you doing, Arianne?”

She pouts. “I came to see you, Darling. I thought it was
about time I met your family.”

“Meet my
family
? Why the hell would you need to meet
my family? We aren’t together anymore, Arianne. Surely you got that from our
last few conversations.”

She pokes out her bottom lip, looking up at me through her
lashes. “Aw, Buck. Don’t be like that.”

I push past her into the house. Nan stands in the entry,
wringing a dishtowel in her hands, her expression distressed.