Page 22 of The Oscar Escape
“You think I’m a liar?” Justin snarled into the microphone. “That’s rich coming from someone who’s been lying to herself from the minute she signed her first recording contract.”
“Lying to myself? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Aria shot back, but her words had taken on a deflated quality.
Her momentary flash of weakness appeared to embolden Justin. He puffed up like an overfed peacock. “You think you’re some fresh voice in music, AriaPaige-Grant?” the guy continued, stressing the syllables in her last name. “You’re a plate of Heartthrob Warfare leftovers trying to pass yourself off as the main course. You’re the day-old version of your aunt. If your last name wasn’t Paige-Grant, nobody would give a damn about you, especially since you write music like a toddler with a box of crayons. You’re pathetic,” the guy finished and tapped the corner of her notebook.
This fucker.
Aria set the microphone on the neon table and rolled her head from side to side like a prize fighter preparing for . . .
Don’t do it, Aria. Don’t do it.
But he knew what was coming, and he had to get to her. The situation played out in slow motion. Seconds felt like hours. He moved toward Aria and Justin like he was wading through molasses. She curled her delicate hand into a fist, one finger at a time. With the grace of a drunk gazelle, she pulled back her arm.
No, no, no.
Life went from slow motion to triple fast-forward as if a switch had flipped. Aria’s punch exploded—a punch headed straight for Justin’s smarmy camera-ready smirk.
Chapter5
OSCAR
If there was ever a time for Oscar to move like the wind, this was it. Dropping the box, he propelled himself into the Aria-Justin melee. With his heart hammering, he caught Aria’s fist mere inches from Mr. Boy Band’s chin. Thank Christ, he’d stopped her from assaulting the guy in front of God knows how many people filming her.
Aria stared at her clenched fist engulfed in his hand, and she trembled beneath his touch. His breath hitched at her response. Could adrenaline have caused her reaction? Maybe. Did she shiver thanks to whatever substance had caused her to behave like a raving lunatic? It was a possibility. Or could this be her reaction to him? He hadn’t touched her—physically touched her—since the night he’d kissed her on his birthday almost four years ago.
Her gaze moved from her hand, and she studied his face. Beneath bursts of light, frustration and anguish flashed in her eyes. He’d seen this look before, and it had damn near killed him. Without giving it a second thought, he stroked his thumb across her knuckles. She relaxed her fist and threaded her fingers with his like they’d been holding hands for a lifetime. Her pained expression melted away as a spark of self-assurance took its place.
There she was. There was the girl he’d known nearly his entire life.
“Nice hoodie,” she remarked, her words taking on a dreamlike quality.
She wasn’t alone. It felt like he’d entered another dimension. Caught in the center of a hurricane with her hand in his, his entire world stilled. He blocked out the paparazzi. He ignored her douchebag crooner boyfriend and wrote off the throngs of gawking club-goers. Nothing existed but the two of them. He pictured the girl in braids, ready to kick the ever-lovin’ shit out of a bully on the first day of second grade.
He glanced at the gray fabric that encased his torso. “Hoodies come in handy this time of year,” he replied casually, like they’d met up for coffee to discuss the functionality of athleisure and weren’t in the middle of a media shitstorm.
She gifted him with a grin that could crack a ray of sunshine through the darkest clouds. A smile almost powerful enough to make him forget she could only be hisfriend—a friend he’d forced himself to keep at arm’s length for the past handful of years. And that’s how it had to stay. Except now she was in trouble, and he was the only one who could do what had to be done.
He looked her over. Even in the darkened club, he could tell that mischief had replaced the turmoil in her eyes. Or perhaps he knew her so well that he could sense her state of mind. Whatever it was, he was under Aria Paige-Grant’s spell and unable to focus on anything else. He drank her in. Every asshole on the planet seemed to be going on about her makeup. That’s not what he saw when he looked at her. She was breathtaking. It wasn’t just her beauty. It was her spirit. The dogged, fierce spirit of a woman who didn’t know how to give any less than one hundred and ten percent.
“I’d appreciate it if you stepped aside so I could punch Justin. He’s a real . . .” She tapped her foot five times.
He tightened his hold on her hand. “I get it. He’ll get what’s coming to him. But I can’t letyouhit him.”
The sweetness in her expression soured. She’d read his mind. “No way,” she growled, blinking like she was trying to focus. “I’m warning you. Do not pull a second-grade switcheroo on me. Promise me you won’t.”
At that charged moment, Justin Jamison, the lip-syncing wonder, clapped him on the shoulder. Oscar didn’t have a second to answer Aria, which was good. She’d asked him to make a promise he couldn’t keep.
He met the butthole douche nozzle’s eye. “Do you need something?”
The boy band bro flashed his mega-watt pearly whites. “Thanks for giving us a hand. I’ve got to apologize for my girlfriend. Aria can be a real head case. You know, a total diva who loves the spotlight.” Justin scrunched up his face and leaned in. “Have we met, man?”
Holy hell!Oscar figured this guy would know who he was. Maybe it was the lighting and the hoodie. Maybe Aria hadn’t mentioned him to her loser boyfriend. Whatever the reason, it worked in his favor.
“I’ll take it from here,” Justin continued, then eyed the crowd. “Not that I needed any help dealing with this Aria train wreck, but I appreciate you lending a hand. You can contact my fan club. They can hook you up with a T-shirt for your trouble.”
A fan club T-shirt?
Oscar sized up the man. Justin Jamison was the worst of the worst. What kind of ass nugget called his girlfriend a train wreck? How could he not see she was a breath away from a breakdown?
