Page 2 of The Viper
“Lots of military around here,” Hannah said, glancing up from her screen. “My driver talked about it on the way over. Bases all over the Lowcountry.”
“I noticed.” I thought of the men I’d seen earlier at the airport—a cluster of them in civilian clothes, but unmistakable. Strong, quiet, built like they could take a punch and not blink. “They’re everywhere.”
“Not exactly your usual crowd.”
“That’s the point,” I said, smiling. “Maybe while we’re here, I’ll finally branch out. Try something different.”
She snorted. “Different how?”
“I don’t know. A fling. A normal man. Someone who doesn’t readVarietyor know which angle makes my jawline look best.”
Her stylus froze mid-tap. “Lexi.”
“What?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“You’re not serious.”
“Why not? I’m twenty-eight, single, and not dead.” I crossed my arms, watching her expression shift from disbelief to concern. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just … a reminder that I’m still human.”
Hannah sighed, setting the tablet down. “You know that’s not how it works for you.”
“Because of the fame thing?”
“Because of the stalker thing,” she said bluntly. “And the paparazzi thing. And the every-move-you-make-becomes-a-headline thing. You can’t just sneak out and find some random guy at a bar.”
“Maybe not alone.” I gave her a teasing smile. “But with your help, maybe I could.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on. You could sneak me out. We could pick a spot that’s not trendy or touristy. Somewhere local. I could wear a wig.”
“A wig.”
“A brunette one. Maybe with bangs.”
“You’d still look like you. You have a very … identifiable face.”
“Thanks?”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” she muttered, then leaned on the counter. “You want a fling, fine. Call Marty Hollander. He’s safe, he’s discreet, and he’s still clearly into you.”
“Marty?” I laughed. “That ship sailed.”
“He’d come running if you texted. You know he would.”
“That’s exactly the problem.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not trying to rekindle something. I’m trying to feel normal again.”
Hannah gave me the kind of look only sisters can pull off—equal parts affection and exasperation. “Normal people don’t have security teams, Lexi.”
“Yeah, well, I’d give anything to be normal for five minutes.”
Her expression softened. “You would. But you’re not.”
Touché.
I turned away from the argument and wandered toward the back doors, stepping onto the wide deck. The wood was warm beneath my feet, the breeze carrying the sound of water lapping against the pilings.
Los Angeles was noisy in a different way—metal and motion and wanting. This was quieter. But it still moved, still breathed.
