Page 86 of Fame and Obsession

She looks up. “What sound?”

“You, giggling. It doesn’t happen nearly enough.”

Her smile fades. “Not much to giggle about, I guess.”

“Want to talk about it?”

As quickly as she opened up, the iron gate slams closed with a vengeance, the cords in her slender neck straining with tension. “I’d rather hear about the guns we’ll be shooting.”

Since we’re supposed to be concentrating on us, I let it go—for now. “You ever shoot before, princess?”

Her smile smile returns, curving one side of her mouth. “It is our second amendment right, isn’t it?”

“Mmmmm, evasive.” I slide my eyes down the length of her bare legs.

“So, Jagger, want to show me your gun?”

My head jerks up. “What?”

She tilts her chin toward the clubhouse. “Shooting, genius. The whole reason you brought me here for this strange ‘date’ of yours? Or did you forget?”

“Oh.” Forcing my mind out of the gutter, I crack a smirk of my own. “Of course I didn’t.” Holding my arm out, I gesture toward a clear path. “By all means, after you, your highness.”

She brushes past me, purposely rubbing against me. As she swings her hips back and forth, conflicting emotions rage within me. Although there’s been no texts, no letters, and no phantom photographers in days, the crude words written on my car weigh heavily on my mind

Watchful eyes are everywhere, which means I can never let my guard down.

Twenty-Four

Phoebe

I twist into a pretzel while trying to take my heels off without flashing the entire range. The only thing making this bearable is mentally calculating the multiple ways I plan on getting back at him for making me wear this ridiculous outfit.

“Want to hold it?”

My head jerks up, and I meet his eyes. “What did you say?”

“The gun, Phoebe. Do you want to hold it before the traps start throwing targets?” Grinning, he hands me the shotgun, squinting one eye. “Why? What were you referring to?”

“The gun. What else?” I unbuckle my remaining heel and throw it on the ground. Standing, I take the gun from his offered hand and settle into position.

“I don’t know.” He smirks. “You looked at me like you thought I was talking about something else. What did you think that was, Phoebe? I’m curious.”

For the love of God… This man enjoys tormenting me like it’s his hobby. Gripping the gun, I level the barrel at his crotch. “Are you sure you want to go there?”

That cocky smirk fades pretty damn fast. “I guess not.”

“You’re a wise man, Jagger. No matter what the tabloids say.”

Julian stands with a snort, pulling a blue baseball cap over his unruly brown hair. “Don’t believe everything you read.” He’s quiet for a moment, then looks back at me. “What’s with the nickname?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t that what your friends call you?”

“You’re not my friend,” he says, his face serious. “They do it to be jackasses. It’s not complimentary.”

I bristle at his tone. “I didn’t mean to assume—”

“You’re more than a friend, Phoebe,” he adds, pinning me with a stare. “I think you know that.”

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