Page 142 of Tangled Like Us
A Canon is inches from smacking me in the eye. Pissed, I knock it back with my wrist. The cameraman looks like I assaulted his child.
I growl, “You take my eye out, I’m going to put you on the ground.”
“Dude, back up!” Another pap yells at him. They do that a lot. Dissociate from the shitbags like they’re not also here blocking our path.
“Jane! What flavor of fro-yo did you get?!” The question comes from my four. Can’t see who.
“Strawberry,” Jane answers like it’s second nature. She doesn’t sound rattled from the amount of people. Though this is twice the size of the crowds she normally gets.
“Thatcher! What about you?! What’s your favorite flavor?!”
My instinct is to not reply. Ignore. But then I remember my security meeting, where my superiors basically said,give the media what they want.Be compliant. Answer their questions as long as they’re respectful.
So to not be chewed out later, I say, “Vanilla.” My voice is stringent. No-nonsense. Still on-duty.
“Is that also your kink preference?!” someone shouts.
“Highly rude!” Jane yells back.
I squeeze her hip. She doesn’t need to defend me. Also, I don’t want her in a fucking fight. I will kill anyone who tries to lay a hand on her.
“So your relationship is nothing like Rose and Connor Cobalt?! You don’t doanybondage?” a pap asks.
I narrow my eyes. “That’s inappropriate.” I’m one second away from smashing his camera. I’m also one minute from the car. I can see it across the street. But we have to stop at a red light and wait for the pedestrian walk signal. Would have had a temp pull the car up to let us in at the curb, but the crowds are too amassed for that.
“Is that yes or a no?” the same pap asks.
“Shut up, man!” a young fan yells at him. “She already said it was rude!”
“Yeah!” a few people yell in agreement.
“Thatcher! Which of Jane’s cats is your favorite?!”
Innocent. Respectful.Engage.
“I love them all,” I reply.
I can’t see it, but I can practically feel Jane’s radiant smile.
The walk sign appears. We’re on the move again.
“Ugly bitch!” That scream comes from the sidewalk we’re approaching. A group of young teenage guys ride electric scooters and pop wheelies near her car.
“Spoiled cunt!”
That one tries to stealallof my attention. But I’m alert and focused and some mouthy teenager isn’t going to distract me. I grit my molars down, holding back a harshfuck you.
She tucks her head into my back, and I take out the keys to her car. The crowds grow louder, more aggressive. Some shouting at Jane. Others shouting at the scooter-riding teenagers. Adrenaline pumps into my veins, fueling me along with my purpose.
When I unlock the door, fingers tightening around the handle, the tempo of the crowds suddenly change.
“Jaaaane! Don’t go!” someone screams.
“Jane! You didn’t sign my photo!” an older guy yells angrily.
“Jane! JANE!!! I just want a selfie!!”
I know Jane wants to accommodate them, but I have to make the call. There are too many people here. Not enough temp guards. And by the time she finishes signing everything, it’ll be well past dark. People will be pissed, no matter which way you spin it.
