Bree’s hand squeezes mine, and I look back to see her crinkle her nose at me in her signature cute smile. It’s her Can you even believe it? look. My heart bursts. It’s wide open, completely hers for the taking. Always has been.
“Nathan! Over here!”
“Nathan!! Bree!”
The paparazzi are loud and the flashes are bright, but I barely register them as Bree and I come to a stop in front of the backdrop with Pro Sports Magazine’s logo printed all over it. Because it’s time to kiss Bree.
I let go of her hand to wrap mine around her hip and angle myself a little more toward her, making sure to keep the majority of our bodies facing the photographers. Suddenly, I hate that this has to be our first kiss. It’s the worst. It feels stiff. Calculated. So far from romantic we might as well be in a garbage dump with a rotten banana peel laying over my head. There’s no way this is going to make her knees weak, and I don’t want to settle for anything less.
I feel Bree take in a deep breath as she angles her smile up toward me. More photographers are shouting. One yells, “Give us a kiss!” Bree widens her eyes in a Go ahead look. And now that’s what they are all chanting. Nicole was right—everyone is dying for this. I’m dying for this. I just want it in the privacy of my own home where I can give Bree the attention she deserves. Where I can pin her against the wall. Where I can worship her mouth like I’ve been dreaming about for years.
This is my one shot, and I’m going to ruin it. Should I just take her lips in a harsh kiss? Should I let it roll low and slow? Should it be a peck? Damn. I can’t. Now my heart is pounding painfully, my hands are sweating, and we’ve been in this spot too long. The woman with a clipboard and a walkie-talkie is telling us we need to keep moving. We’re monopolizing the red carpet and she wants us to get lost so the next SUV that just pulled up can unload. But I can’t move. My hands are feeling pinchy and tingly, and my face is hot. The flashing lights are painful and the abrasive shouts are closing in around me. What’s happening? It’s the same sensation I felt in the tunnel before the last game. I think I’m going to pass out.
Bree’s smile slips for only a second. She must see somethin
g in my face that I don’t mean to be showing. Her delicate hand comes up to my jaw, and she smiles for real. It’s soft. A blanket. A Bree and Nathan smile.
“You still with me?” she asks quietly, making me focus on only her. I let myself drown in her, and my pulse calms a little.
I nod and swallow. She rises up on her tiptoes and places a soft, quick kiss on my lips. I squeeze her hip, wanting to keep her here, wanting to soak up every moment of her mouth pressed against mine, but all too quickly, she pulls away. She faces the photographers again and angles her face in two more directions like she’s been doing this her whole life. Apparently satisfied with the amount of photos taken, she crosses in front of me, takes my hand, and pulls me along behind her, smiling like a seductive queen back at me. Everyone should bow down to her as she passes. I follow along, her lost puppy. She squeezes my fingers a few times as we walk like I did for her on the way in. I’m still in a daze, not quite registering everything around us, but I’m sure that later when I’m alone, I’m going to kick myself for ruining our first kiss.
I get Nathan into the tent and pull him off to the side quickly. He is not the kind of man that’s easy to hide though. I’m basically sneaking a hulking bear into a tea party. Here, grizzly, wear this cute little hat and no one will notice! Everyone still notices. Heads everywhere are turning as we walk in, which means we have about thirty seconds before someone decides they need to be obnoxious and monopolize his time. So many people are already gathered here, professional athletes and celebrities galore. It’s an all-you-can-eat-buffet of people I like to stalk on social media. Can’t focus on that now though.
I link my arm through Nathan’s and guide him ten steps to the side of the tent entrance before pivoting us so his back is to the crowd and his chest is facing me. I’m hoping I’ll be able to give him at least a few seconds away from prying eyes. His gaze still looks sort of glassy, and those dark circles I noticed the other day have worsened. I can’t help but feel like we shouldn’t be here tonight. Nathan is exhausted.
“Hey.” I step closer and rest my hand on his chest so everyone knows this is an intimate conversation they shouldn’t interrupt. And also because, hello, I like touching him. He feels so solid beneath my touch. “Are you okay? Should we go home? It’s okay if you say yes.”
His eyes drop to my palm pressing against his firm chest, and he covers it with his hand. The contact is a jolt through my veins. It reminds me that I just kissed him. On the red carpet. In front of everyone.
It was so brief and full of onlookers that I barely registered it. And then, the second I pulled away, I felt disappointed. Not because it lacked sparks, but because I didn’t get a chance to pay attention to the sparks. I was too worried about the panic attack I think Nathan was having out there and focused on getting us off that red carpet before every photo in tomorrow’s gossip magazines showed Nathan looking like a deer in headlights. The tabloids would have had a field day coming up with lies to explain his expression: Nathan Donelson losing the fight against narcotic pills!
He breathes deep, and I feel his chest expand against my palm. “Sorry about that back there. I’m okay now.”
It’s so like Nathan to breeze over this. “Are you sure? It looked like you were having a panic attack.”
He grimaces and looks left, the sharp, strong corner of his jaw emphasized. “Nah—I don’t get those.”
I laugh because the man is dead serious. Like he’s some super breed of human that just doesn’t have mental health issues from time to time. Look out, science, we’ve found a man who never feels stressed!
“You don’t have to have an anxiety disorder to get a panic attack. Sometimes they can come on from too much stress, or overextending yourself, or—”
“Bree, I’m telling you, I’m fine.” Nathan cuts me off with a pleading voice. He really does not want to talk about this right now, and judging by the way his face has gone pink, I think he’s embarrassed. “C’mon. Let’s go have a good time.”
I nod, taking pity on him and his embarrassment. We can talk about all of this later when we’re in private. “Okay, let’s do this thing.”
Nathan takes my hand and turns us toward the room. That’s when I really look at the crowd for the first time, and now it’s my turn to freeze. This glitzy, glamorous party tent is stuffed with important famous people. Athletes from every sport. Actors and singers. I doubt there is a single normal person here. Correction: There is exactly ONE normal person, and it’s me.
“Changed my mind, I want to go home.” I let go of Nathan’s arm and take five retreating steps backward right into a giant standing poster.
I wish I could say I just bump it lightly and everything is okay. But no. It happens in slow motion. I feel the thin paper at my back, but my high heel gets stuck on the stand that’s propping it up. I feel myself falling backward and see Nathan’s eyes go wide and his mouth forms my name. His hands shoot out to grab me, but he’s not fast enough. I careen backward right though the poster and hear it rip right down the middle. On the bright side, I don’t fall to the ground. I somehow manage to stumble on my feet. On the dark side, I now stand in the middle of a nine-foot-tall ripped poster, and every eye in the event is on me.
Yep, I’m going to throw up. I turn around to quickly grab each side of the torn poster and stick it back together. And now I realize belatedly that this poster I have torn is a Goliath-sized image of a naked Nathan Donelson, and my hands are directly holding his hands…aka his hands that are holding the football that’s perfectly positioned in front of him to keep this photo PG-13. Realization dawns on me as I look around and find many similar posters of other athletes, all featuring one of their photos from the form issue. I then see a photo op station in the corner with a backdrop that reads “FORM ISSUE’S 10TH BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION!” There are fake illustrated muscles you can use as props. Cute.
Right. I’m face to thighs with Nathan’s blown-up naked form, looking like the biggest pervert in the room. Time speeds back up. I yelp and drop the poster. Naked Nathan floats in the wind as he separates and falls limply open, showing how I’ve completely ruined what was probably a couple-hundred-dollar poster. I hear several laughs behind me and a few oh nos, but mainly it’s heavy silence. My face is so hot it’s going to melt off my bones.
Nathan steps up beside me, wraps his hand around my bicep, and presses his chest to my back so he can lean down and whisper, “Are you okay?”
I shake my head in a few quick movements. “How quickly can you get me to a new continent?”