Page 23 of All Superheroes Need PR
“Ten.”
“Three.”
“Fifteen.”
My jaw drops. “Four.”
“Fine.” He grabs my hand, then pulls me to my feet so roughly, I tumble against his naked body. I cook from the inside out as he ducks his head, lips moving within striking distance of mine as he says in a low voice that tastes like smoke and chimes with victory. “Then get a room ready for me. I’m moving in with mygirlfriendtomorrow.”
Chapter SevenRoland
There are only two truths I’m sure of in this moment: I’m stupid obsessed with Vanessa fucking Theriot, and I’m absolutely going to kill something.
I weigh the two realities, calculating how my obsession will be affected by the murders I’m about to enact, and unfortunately, I don’t much care for the math. I need to keep them alive, keep them alive, keep them alive. Don’t kill the reporters.Not in public, anyway. They need to look like accidents. So I spiral, imagining a host of deaths, each one clandestine and utterly spectacular.
Standing on a raised platform, a sea of reporters staring up at me, I can handle. What I’m struggling to swallow are the nerves emanating from the woman standing to my left. She isn’t speaking yet, but she has agreed to, and she’s a nervous fucking wreck. We stand side by side watching the Margerie woman field questions from reporters like she’s dodging bullets—impressive—but Vanessa’s on next.
Vanessa. My girlfriend.
My cheeks heat at the thought and then, when I glance down at her, heat some more. Even if they are making her uncomfortable, the reporters have to live. Vanessa likes her job. I can’t fuck this up for her.
I clench my teeth so hard, I wonder how my jaw doesn’t crack, and of course Vanessa takes that moment to look up at me and meet my gaze, her pretty dark-chocolate eyes widening. I watch her pupils shrink and bite back a curse at the wild fear that flashes across her face. I’ve put fear in her eyes before, regardless of whether I meant to do it, and I do not like it. I need to get my shit together.
But I can’t.
Because—and see exhibits A and B—I’m obsessed with Vanessa fucking Theriot, and because she’s literally shaking next to me, I’m going to kill something.
Everything.
I force a smile to reassure her that I’m not pissed with her, but I can tell it doesn’t work when she quickly snaps her focus forward to Margerie, who continues fielding reporters’ questions about the COE’s newestChampion—the Wyvern. Me.
The reporters want to know about the contract’s worth (obscene) and how this affects the balance between good guys and bad (I’m the tipping vote, making the two sides even). I know that the COE bought me simply so the villains couldn’t have me, which pissed the villains the fuck off if the Marduk’s assault on the COE headquarters is any indication. Money didn’t have anything to do with why I took the contract, though.
I glance again at Vanessa and watch her shuffle her note cards in a way that keeps my fists flexing. I have to fight the desire to rip those stupid cards out of her hand and get her the fuck out of here.
Never thought twice about a human before I walked into that conference room and saw her standing there, looking so surprised to see me, it was as if she and I had already met. I literally never gave two shits about any of them. Didn’t care when I was with the SDD morons at their facilities. Didn’t care when they put me with a host family who tried to get me to celebrate Christmas. I don’t read their letters now. I’ve never sent a response. I’ve spent my entire life—that of it that I canremember, anyway—bored and unable to escape the feeling that I’m waiting for something ...
I think I might have found it. And I’m not letting her go until I’m sure.
They call meheronow, but I’m a bad fucking dude. I want to kidnap her. If she hadn’t agreed to let me move in with her, I might have had to.
Because there’s something about those cards and that perfectly neat, tiny handwriting and the way she wears her hair big enough to disappear into that gives me a fucking headache and fills my whole chest with this hollow ringing sound, a gong in an empty temple. I don’t know what to do with the feeling—haven’t known since I laid eyes on her. Freaked out, I’d tried to get rid of her. Hadn’t set us off on the right foot exactly, so right now I just shuffle mine and try to keep it together.
My fingers tap against my thigh, feeling the cold weight of my brand-spanking-new COE cell phone in my new sweats. I stick my hands into my pockets, feeling like a jackass as I’m caught off guard again, this time by an unfamiliar bout of self-awareness.
I knew I should have dressed up for this when I woke up this morning, but I didn’t even know where to start. I’ve never dressed up for anything before in my life. And now I’m out here in sweats representing my girlfriend and her business—her company, a company that’s worth millions and that sheowns—like a goddamn slob.
Fuck.
I haven’t shaved. Didn’t cut my hair. Meanwhile, hers is all glittery in the sunny day, big curls like clouds around her soft, slightly rounded cheeks, hiding her too-small ears, two clips on either side of her part. Lavender. Like her shirt. It’s a simple lavender button-up sweater paired with light-blue jeans. I don’t know which of them officially dressed her, but it was a ludicrous fucking choice.
It makes her lookyoung. I know she’s got to be over thirty, running her own firm and all, but she looks twelve, and I’m gonna look like a goddamn pervert standing next to her, staring down at her note cards, which are waytoo close to her tits. It’s gonna look like I’m staring down her shirt in the photos. It’s modest, but still, she’s got ... her tits, they’re ... proportional, I mean. They’re not so small that it would look like I was staring past them, is all that I mean. That’s all.
Fuck this, maybe I should just kidnap her,I think, rubbing my jaw.
She stiffens suddenly, and I flinch, worried I mighta said the thought out loud. When I look up though, I see Margerie gesturing for Vanessa to approach the podium studded with a dozen different microphones and swathed in plexiglass.Bulletproofplexiglass.
Vanessa leaves my side, and I glance out at the crowd, eyes narrowing, gaze assessing every single fucking person and then expanding out toward the security perimeter the COE has set up. The gong in my chest is ringing again softly, just enough to grab my attention and make me want to grab her and wrench her back against me.
