Page 29 of The Last Kind of Kiss
“Tomayto tomahto.”
By some miracle, we both make it to the end of the catwalk without disaster, and we all pose for a brigade of cameras and ecstatic paparazzi. That familiarly unfamiliar chill returns, but this time, my gut-instinct is to turn to Bristol. And when I do, he’s looking right back at me like I’m his only lifeline in the middle of a tempestuous ocean.
“So,tell me, who wears the pants in this relationship?” one of the reporters asks in an overly friendly tone, as if he has no trouble overstepping any boundaries.
Bristol and I speak at the same time.
“Me,” I answer.
“Lila,” he says.
The reporter—who’s a balding man in his mid-forties—pumps his fist in the air. “Yes, love that! Women empowerment, am I right? Say, Bristol, is she this dominant in the?—”
“You two weren’t dancing with each other at the gala,” a different interrogator interjects, looking far more unimpressed than the majority of the flock we’ve garnered. She’s wearing an ironed blazer, smells like sadness and baby powder, and looks about two fucks away from quitting her job altogether.
“Oh, uh…” Bristol scratches the back of his neck.
“We were just having a bit of an argument,” I explainnonchalantly, clinging onto his arm and giving it way too tight of a squeeze. “But we’re better now. Isn’t that right, pookie bear?”
A strangled choking noise ekes out of him, but he quickly amends his discomposure. “That’s right, my darling cinnamon bun.”
What the fuck?
The reporter looks both of us up and down, her mouth flattens into a grimace, and then she decides to lower her assault microphone. I internally blow out a breath of relief, but it’s unfortunately short-lived when yet another tabloid-hungry journalist shoves their way to the front.
“It looked like there was a little bit of a disagreement with a stranger at the gala. Care to comment, Bristol?” they ask.
Oh, no. I do hate to say it, but Bristol’s a smart guy. That whole confrontation with Glifford was out of character for him, and it seems like the paparazzi definitely didn’t forget it. I fear that we might have another…incident…on our hands by the way Bristol’s scowling at the journalist.
Bristol inhales deeply, though it doesn’t seem to help him. “I should’ve de-escalated the situation, but another man’s hands were onmygirl. I couldn’t just let that go.”
He’s just saying that for the cameras. It doesn’t mean anything…right? Bristol doesn’t get jealous.
“Is this true, Lila?” the reporter inquires.
Calm thoughts, Lila. Calm thoughts. Go to your happy place—you, in silk sheets with McDreamy, sharing a Burrito Supreme Lady-and-the-Tramp-style.
“Yep,” I mutter through clenched teeth, trying my best not to crush his arm out of purebred fury. Bristol has no right to lay claim to me when he was the one who threw me aside like some one-use, hole-abused sex doll.
Bristol winces when I sink my claws into his forearm. “Couples get into little tiffs here and there. It’s a part of life. But we’rebetter than ever. Actually, our third-month anniversary just passed the other day. I took her out to her favorite lookout spot near Yosemite. Totally surprised her. She usually hates surprises. Always catches onto me before the big gesture, isn’t that right, sugar snaps?”
I nod because I don’t think what I want to say is news appropriate.
Bristol rests his other hand on mine, and I’m not sure where these sudden acting skills come from, but he gets this dreamy glaze over his eyes, and a sickeningly lovey-dovey smile unfolds over his lips. “Best decision of my life asking her to be my girlfriend.”
Barf.
Everyone instantly glances at me for a reaction, a confirmation, anything—and my cheeks bristle with a condescending smile.
“Oh, yeah. Bristol’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s sooo romantic. A real Casanova. I can’t get enough of this man.” I defuse the tension with a weak chuckle, forcing myself to nuzzle my head against his chest, and I practically inhale a mouthful of his cheap cologne. This is what rock bottom looks like, people.
“Well, it’s no wonder the internet’s in love with you two. I can feel the love from here. Say, will we be getting a proposal in the near future at all?”
Again, Bristol and I answer at the same time, with two clearly headbutting opinions.
“No.”
“Absolutely.”
