Page 148 of Lovers Like Us
Jane looks back to ensure we’re following. Maximoff nods, and her freckled cheeks pull in a smile at him, thenme.
We turn a corner, and everyone comes to a stop. Dressing room is in sight, but at the other end of the hall, Beckett, Charlie, and their bodyguards approach. And the additional guest: JackHighland.
They all took the east side entrance while we took therear.
We were thediversion.
“How’d it go?” Thatcher asksAkara.
I open the dressing room door, and we all spillinside.
“Only a few fans and one paparazzi,” Akara says. “You?” His head swings to me, and I give Akara a look likewe got fucked.On purpose. Being the diversion, Thatcher and I volunteered to be fucked in thisinstance.
Yet, I was hoping that the paparazzi would’ve given up their quest around Nevada, but the majority made it to Utah and subsequently to ourfaces.
“More than a few,” Thatcher answers while he surveys the dressing room: black leather couches, silver sofa chairs, a plastic foldout table, and two wooden vanities. We’ve assessed the room already, and no one is in here butus.
Tour crew hangs out in Dressing Room B, but assistants left individually wrapped sandwiches, drinks, chips, and baskets of cookies on our table. Most of us must be hungry because we go for thefood.
“Are you guys alright?” Sullivan asks and unscrews a bottle of Ziff. Her green eyes ping from Thatcher to me. Not hercousins.
I unwrap a sandwich. “I’m fine. It was nothing.” I peer beneath the sub bun: turkey, ham, lettuce, tomato, Monterey Jack. Eh, it’lldo.
Maximoff tosses me a mustardpacket.
My lips start to rise, but then the bane of my careerspeaks.
“It was manageable,” Thatcher agrees, but it won’t last long. He chugs his water and then turns to me. I take a seat on the couch’s armrest, biting into mysandwich.
Maximoff stays standing near me, but he’s in a conversation with Jack. Discussing the upcoming Q&A. The producer takes notes on a spiralpad.
Thatcher motions at me with his water bottle. “I heard someone mentionsuing.”
I lick mustard off my thumb. “You heard that, really?” I ask seriously. “I’m shocked you could hear anything over all the questions about whether you’vemodeled.”
“What happened?” Thatcher layers on a stern, ‘I am your superior’voice.
“Someone got in my way.” I take a large bite of sub sandwich and watch Thatcher wait for me to add more. I roll my eyes, chew, and swallow. “I gently pushed a guy aside, and he fell. Shithappens.”
“Farrow—”
“I haven’t even been sued yet,” I argue. “And even if he did sue me, we’ve all been there.” I gesture to Akara, Donnelly, and Oscar, all eating theirlunch.
Quinn is too new to have been slapped with alawsuit.
Thatcher is glaring, as though I’m not digesting the severity. And he’d be right; I don’t see the importance. Because there is none. Being sued has always been on the bottom of the security shit list. It’s not even considered amistake.
Everyone knowsthis.
I pick a tomato out of my sub and eat it. My nonchalance is pissing him off. To the point where he snaps, “Could you stop and look atme?”
“I am looking at you,” I say easily while stilleating.
Our exchange steals Maximoff’s attention. He quiets, watching with furrowedbrows.
Thatcher tightens the cap to his water bottle. “It’s not good timing for any of us to be in alawsuit.”
I’m in a no-win situation. It’s clear he’s just singling me out because I’mme.
