Page 40 of Wicked Dance
Blitz waves at the waiter and pushes the spoiled crème brûlée away. “Bring us another,” he says.
I press my hand to my belly. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”
“Are you kidding?” Blitz asks. “You are perfect.” He turns to the waiter. “Bring all three desserts out.”
The man nods and walks away.
Blitz drags me close to him. “I don’t want you schooled in the Hollywood game. I don’t want you skipping simple pleasures because somebody tries to shame you. I don’t want you listening to anything but your heart.”
“But you have to get back there,” I say. “You’ll be in LA again.”
“We’ll find out what they have in store for us tomorrow,” Blitz says. “We’ve got a secret back exit out of here. A top-notch bodyguard who knows how to useinconspicuousin a sentence. And we have each other.”
He leans in to kiss me. I know he’s right. Giselle might blow up Twitter and get a chanting crowd to fill the sidewalks outside. But we have workarounds. And people on our side.
And we definitely have impenetrable, unbreakable us.
