Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
King told me he wouldn’t be able to get away even before we talked in the car again, but it didn’t mean I didn’t stop hoping for a miracle to see my Alpha. Somewhere along the way my loosely phrased prayer got skewed sideways.
I never expected to meet another Alpha capable of igniting the same spark of interest like I felt when meeting King. But here I am, distracted by an Alpha who scents like juicy, sun-ripened blackberries.
Between our first meeting outside and now, his whole demeanour has changed. Before he reminded me of a yo-yo—his mood and emotion going up and down so fast, my security and I were wondering how he was going to react. Since he planted his butt in the seat though, he’s metamorphosed in front of my eyes. And not just in terms of looks.
As a man, Maverick is beautiful there’s no doubt about that. He has a strong masculinity to his pretty features which should not work but it does. Even in the reflection of the mirror it’s plain to see but it’s his eyes and mouth that keep stealing my focus. God, if ever a man had lips for kissing it would be his. And his hazel green eyes are captivating. Somehow, they contain all the colours of an autumn forest at sunset made even more intense with flecks of warm molten gold making them shimmer.
As an Alpha, being in the same room as him, I literally feel his presence pushing against my skin like soft silk while his blackberry scent wraps around me effortlessly, like a cuddle I never knew I needed.
He’s got it all. Even the personality and charisma by the looks. He talks with his hands flying everywhere and he’s got Big Tom listening in which is a feat in itself. I could deal with those two bonding but not the rest of the models or the makeup team clamouring for his attention. I swear to God, none of them have stopped giggling or making those stupid flirty noises since Maverick sat his butt in the seat.
It takes a whole lot of self-control not to leap out of my chair and start hissing and scratching the lot of them before climbing into his lap and begging him to talk to me like that.
“Keep your eyes shut, Tris. Just so you know, you’re totally glaring, and you’ve smudged the crap out of the liquid eyeliner,” Lou, my favourite make-up artist says. And then she drops down in whispers in my ear. “The quicker you let me do this, the sooner you can be outside with the hot Alpha you keep creeping on. I heard it’s just you and him sitting on a bike so nice and close that everyone else is a prop.”
I shut my eyes at her request, trying to relax into the seat but it’s hard. “I’m being that obvious?”
“And you’re being a bit of a bitch,” she says against my ear again and before I can ask if he’s watching, she’s back doing her work. Lou swipes a cool wet pad over my eyes and she restarts with the eyeliner.
Ignoring me, she explains to her assistant what she’s doing, and I try to act normal. Maverick’s got me all freaked out for a million reasons, some about me, a lot about King. It’s exhausting trying to keep up with the direction of some of my thoughts. Seriously I really wonder if I’m normal sometimes or does everyone think so chaotically.
“Right, you can go over to see wardrobe now.” Lou interrupts my moment of inner reflection.
Climbing out of her chair, there’s a wall of assistants and models getting dressed separating me from seeing Maverick. I’m not sure if it’s intentional but it’s a good way of keeping me focused.
Starting in the fashion industry you are not afforded the luxury of privacy. You get stripped bare, and people view your body or face as nothing but a billboard, a place to endorse their product. You get used to being mostly naked around each other.
As you build more of a name for yourself you get perks and privileges, like curtained off dress rooms. When you make it big time you get a whole half a trailer, which is where I am hiding now. The only people in here are the two dressers who do exactly what their title implies: dress me.
Both Ben and Harry are absolute darlings. As soon as we met, we clicked. They’re good at what they do, and they don’t say a mean word about anyone. Although that doesn’t mean we don’t gossip—today we barely get a word out before we’re getting knocks on the door from the director to hurry us along.
“Turn around,” Harry says quietly once Ben has tightened the belt around my waist.
I comply, twisting around to see what the issue is. The both of them are staring distastefully at the jeans. I mean, I’ve done this long enough to know it’s not me they’re questioning.
Ben chews his lips before grabbing a pair of scissors. “Bend over and don’t move.”
Holding on to my ankles, I’m just about to ask what the problem is but before I can he starts cutting up the legs of the jeans I’ve been dressed in.
“The shoes need your booty-patootie to sing,” he promises as he snips away. Each time he cuts, the cool press of the scissors creeps higher and higher. He’s definitely following the outline of my butt cheeks.
Ben does a triumphant harumph when a whole jean leg falls away. I stay still as he starts cutting the other to match. Harry helps me up and the two of them twist the clothes this way and that until they’re both chuckling in agreement and looking smug as hell.
“Go, Tris,” Ben says quickly, pretty much pushing me out of the door while at the same time still adjusting what I’m wearing, which is considerably less than before.
You also get quickly used to not seeing what you look like when you’re on a job which is a weird concept because you’d think all models do is look at themselves, but how I feel about how I look is kind of irrelevant. If the client is happy, my manager is happy and that’s how you distinguish a good day from a bad one.
Walking down the stairs, Big Tom waits at the bottom and clearly by the stony look on his face he’s got something to say.
“Spit it out.” I shoulder bump him when he goes to look away.
“How the hell do you know I got something to say?” he says softly, a rare smile on his face. But that disappears before my next blink.
I roll my eyes but then wait for him to spill.
“Look, not my business but at the same time, if my woman put her ass on another man’s bike I’d be mighty pissed.”
“What?” I ask, pulling him to a stop. Big Tom stares straight ahead and I follow his gaze and discover for myself what the issue is. And it is an issue because Maverick’s spread out looking like a fucking dish on a bike that looks eerily similar to King’s. Not the same by any manner or means, but there’s obvious similarity.
“Is Maverick patched?” I ask, trying to keep my voice down but at the mention of his name his attention snaps my way.
My relationship with King has been a deep dive in pleasure and the shady, overly complicated yet brutally simple world of MC. Irrespective of both of those things it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out if Big Tom is alluding to shit, we’ve got issues because the other thing about my relationship with King is that only three people know about it: Joker, Big Tom, and my other guard Tonka. A quick glance over towards Tonka and I can see he’s got a phone glued to his ear with his eyes locked on Maverick.
Before either of us can say another word, I’m rushed out of Big Tom’s space by one of the assistants and steered towards Maverick who continues to look like a dirty fucking hooker in his tight black shirt and ripped jeans. He is most definitely the sort of Alpha you’d want to see on your Hen’s night. He oozes sex appeal and a wicked smile spreads on those criminal lips of his the closer I get to him.
I pull to a stop. “So slight problem, I’ve got an allergy to bad boys on bikes,” I mutter to the director while looking at the devil himself who keeps taunting me by simply looking at me.
Where I stop gives Maverick a better view. Perhaps he does know how he affects me because he gives a slow and very intentional sweep up my legs, taking in the extra high cut of my shorts.
“You want to take a photo? It’ll last longer,” bursts out of my mouth, at pretty much the same time my hip pops to the side.
He doesn’t say a word, instead he answers with a dirty suck of his lips before he locks his eyes on mine. In them I read exactly what he wants to do and it has nothing to do with taking photos.
And yes, I’m a fucking hussy, responding to him, scenting up a storm making the photographer and the director both swing around to look at me.
“Set the fucking shot up,” Maverick growls, silencing and spooking them into action as he swings his leg over his bike, storming my way.
He shocks the crap out of me though as he all but shields me from the rush of people. His obvious step is not missed by anyone, and the gossiping models all stop talking to watch.
“Don’t make a scene, and keep your hands to yourself,” I warn, throwing my hands up. And it’s more for his sake than mine because the way he’s getting a little territorial on my behalf is inviting trouble from my team.
“Bit fucking hard since we’re working together which means I get paid to touch you. Jesus, everyone needs to settle down.” His words flow fast out of his pretty lips.
His eyes are dancing all over the place before they stop moving and start glaring behind me. But I already knew Big Tom and Tonka would be closing in and fast.
Up this close I could count his eyelashes. I seriously don’t know how he hasn’t been snapped up by some big cosmetic brand already, but I’m glad he hasn’t because I’d be full of feminine rage if anyone else saw what I was seeing; he’s a right fucking honey.
“And what was it you said about a photo lasting longer a second ago,” he teases as he leans down to whisper into the space between us before he turns to face my bodyguards. “What’s the issue?”
His question is aimed at Big Tom.
“Who you patched to?” Big Tom answers with a question of his own, delivered with an expectant flick of his chin. There’s no way to mistake the lingering threat on Big Tom’s face: he won’t be waiting too long for a response.
“No one,” Maverick bites back just as impatiently, rolling his shoulders. The tension in our huddle skyrockets.
The photographer, maybe not oblivious but probably more accurately ambivalent to the fact, interrupts our tense stand-off. “Tristan, we’re wasting light. Let’s go. I want you sitting in front of the bike, boots on display, make it look like you’ve been working for it. Maverick you can be walking away behind the scene. Everyone else in the background is walking. Shot is set up people, and we’re not waiting for you lot to play catch ups.”
Big Tom takes a step forward, but I stop him by putting my hand out while turning to Maverick, “It’s not an issue if you are patched, but it would be an issue if you said you weren’t then they found out you were.”
“Got it. Still not patched,” he hisses back towards Big Tom before he drops his focus to me. His eyes begging me to believe him but speaking from experience, lying is easy.
“Tris?” Big Tom asks since in his eyes, and King’s, I am the only thing that matters.
“I promise,” Maverick whispers quietly.
“Guess we have to trust he’s a man of his word.” I look right at Maverick when I speak and he nods slowly confirming what I’m saying.
It must sink in too, because the stress in his posture changes and a tease of his yummy blackberry scent fills the space between us.
And then I hustle because there comes a point you do have to trust people. If Maverick says he’s not patched, he’s not patched. If Big Tom was worried about my safety, he’d rush me out but right now nothing is stopping me from working.
I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am and I’m not about to ruin my career over a man. But Maverick is a delicious-smelling Alpha, and I am a liar.
I’m on set and in work mode before he can utter another word. Of course we work well together. He’s one of those models that can read the scene but more importantly can feel the intention of the photographer.
“Can I touch you yet?” He purrs in my ear when he gets told to stand by. The both of us watch as one of the other models gets sent off set for some unknown reason.
“Are you going to be good?” I laugh before pushing out of where we’re standing waiting, to sit on a bench seat of a worn-out picnic table.
The stylist flicks my hair to one side, curling it loosely before tugging the edge of the neck of my shirt open. Behind me a team of people rush around with armfuls of props and different shoes, getting the entire cast ready for the next shot.
The director stands around before he calls over to Maverick.
“I want you sitting on the table facing forward. Tristan, stay where you are, but lounge back against his legs, arms over his legs.”
I stop listening at that point and focus on watching the way Maverick moves. It’s almost slinky, like a jaguar prowling, and much like the jungle cat I can easily see the purposeful and hidden strength in each considered step he takes.
Some people know they look good, and he’s one of those people but he’s not overly cocky about it. Or maybe he is, and I’m just glossing over the way everything about him works. Besides his pretty eyes and deliciously long eyelashes, he’s also got great hair—deep brown and so glossy it would have to feel like velvet if you ran your fingers through it. The best part is no matter who brushes it or how many times he runs his fingers through it, there’s a long lock that refuses to stay put, so it keeps flopping forward. But it works. Jesus how it works.
“You’re staring again,” he says when he’s close enough for him to talk quietly.
“Righto.” I laugh loudly, half destroying the suggested intimacy in the way he was speaking. “Come on, pretty boy, sit your ass down and let’s sell these boots.”
“You know I’m not just a pretty face, right?” he teases.
“Hey?” I swing around looking up at him. The director calls out hold, and in the space we share I can read his interest plain as day, and it only adds to mine.
As soon as we get told to move, he leans in close, “Are you gonna Google my name later?”
I laugh, wiping absolutely nothing off my lip, they’re all tingly and shit, but I have to touch my lips before I look at him again.“Are you going to do that to mine?”
“Fuck yes. I’m going to download every image I can of you like a creeper too.”
I laugh because his enthusiasm is sweet. He makes me swallow my laughter when he stares into my eyes. “I hope you’re into Alphas who fight.”
“Excuse me?” I squeak, my mind instantly full of images of Maverick half undressed, covered in sweat. “Like, fight fight or…”
“There is only MMA, Tristan.” He rolls his eyes for extra emphasis before his lips twist into a killer smirk again. “Everything else is for the weak.”
And my heart races while I get completely distracted by images of him fighting, in tight silky shorts showcasing his strong thighs in my head.
“Tristan, will you stop moving?” the director yells out and I freeze like a rabbit in the lights.
Maverick adds to my first impression of him being a right bloody tease too when he barely moves his lips, talking while holding a killer smile. “You thinking of how I’d look? Because it kind of looks like it.” He takes a deep inhale, “And scents like it too.”
I absolutely fucking die.
“Cut! Someone get some powder on her please… I’ve got shiny foreheads ruining my shot!”
“Maverick, let me work!” I admonish before bitching loudly about the near perfect weather, trying to lay the blame on the sun and not Maverick feeding my filthy mind.
Once make-up and hair deal with me, it’s all systems go.
Usually, the first few frames when you restart are all about getting the lighting and the models right, but the director waves his hand around, urging us to keep doing what we’re doing.
Maverick drops his arm over my shoulder and wraps a hand around the side of my face, resting his head on mine. It feels intimate because it is. Having said that without looking, you already know it’s going to be the million-dollar shot.
“See how good we are together?” He purrs into my ear. “Please tell me we’re swapping numbers. God, think of the things we could do together. And I definitely want to hear your breathing hitch when you see the clips of me online.”
“Hussy,” I tease through a tight smile before we both get busy and pose. I lean my head to his, taking a deep and slow inhale of his blackberry scent and it’s so freaking good. I don’t know how I manage not to shiver, though I can’t do a thing about the goosebumps that race to dot my arms and legs.
He chuckles quietly, rubbing them away. All in the name of a photo of course.
“You’re going to have to work harder than throwing videos at me if you’re still suggesting we go out.” I smile up at him and the both of us pause to hold the pose again.
“One more, then we can wrap it up,” the director shouts out before either of us can say another word.
Turning slightly, I look off into the distance and Maverick follows my lead. When the set goes quiet and the only thing you hear is the automatic shutter of the photographer’s camera, you get a sense of how good we look together.
The shoot wraps up quickly. It always does since we get paid by the hour. No one stands around chatting unless there’s a chance for more work.
Maverick gets stopped on his way to the trailer by the photographer which is probably good because he’s clearly got things he wants to say and I’m not sure if I want to listen.
Nabbing my bag and forgoing the time it takes to change, I’m sneaking out the rear doors within minutes. Tonka and Big Tom are already in their car waiting to follow me home, and like clockwork my phone rings. Without answering, I know it’s King, I flick the call straight over to handsfree and prop it on my dashboard.
“Did they tell you what I’m wearing too?” I tease, jumping in and starting my car and opening the windows. I need fresh air as opposed to the captivating blackberry air I’ve been inhaling for the past few hours.
My Bluetooth is slow to connect, making King’s voice sound far away as his voice comes at me like he’s down the end of a tunnel. “They said you were getting harassed, killer, do I need to come sort some pretty boy out?” King answers, and I can hear the smile in his voice as he teases me.
“I sorted him out myself,” I mumble, twisting around to double check my blind spot. Turning back to face the front I scream, coming face to face with Maverick and I have no choice but to inhale his sweetness again.
And there’s no denying I’m a sucker for his scent. It robs me of my morals, steals the logic right out of my mind. If he asked me for my soul, I’m pretty sure I’d give it to him in a heartbeat.
“You doing a runner on me before we can swap numbers? Or are you watching my fights already?” Maverick purrs as he leans inside my car so close those flipping lips of his are begging to be tasted.
He doesn’t shift out of my space; at the same time, I don’t ask him too either. Being so close again I get distracted by the colours in his eyes, they’re so vibrant and evoke a feeling of utter warmth like he is the blazing fire himself. And he might well be because a rush of warmth slowly flows through my body. I lean closer, of course I do, and the twinkle in his autumn-coloured eyes confirms he doesn’t miss it either.
“Tristan, pay attention,” he coos at me when I keep staring and not talking. Although I’ve got no real measure for the way he’s acting because I read everything he does as heated and lusty and aimed right at me.
“Like I said before, Maverick, I’m busy.” I shrug while trying to maintain the facade of cool and calm.
He searches my face for something before he loses a little of his charm and gains a seriousness to his eyes. “If you’re going to ignore our obvious connection, Tristan, just let me know.” He talks quietly, drawing me closer. “I won’t push something if it’s not what you want. I’m not like that. But at the same time, I need you to know, I think you’re my scent match.”
He literally drops a bomb in my lap while smiling at me sweetly. Maverick is so at ease with what he dropped on me too. I knew he was cocky, but this isn’t cocky, it’s self-assurance and that is vastly different. His deep-seated confidence has chased away his showy ego from before and this side of him is way more attractive.
I have to put a bit of space between us because there is a crap tonne to unpack in his honesty.
“Call me. Or better yet come watch me fight and we can stay in after,” he offers again when it’s obvious I’m still at a loss as to how to answer because I don’t miss his innuendo at staying in and getting down and dirty. We move at the same time, though he also makes our hands touch. I go to pull away, but he holds my hand loosely in his. “We can go fast or slow, it really is up to you. Everything we do is up to you, and always will be.”
Without another word, he turns and walks away, and I’m left with a racing pulse and a wave of confusion threatening to derail my happiness. I drop my head to the steering wheel, wondering what the hell is going on.
“Killer, you good?” King’s voice is both soothing and soul destroying because I know he just heard what happened.
Since the moment we met, he’s had this ability to reach through to me on an intimate level. I swear even through our phone calls I can physically feel him next to me, even somehow breathing in his bourbon scent when I need to.
Much like Maverick, King doesn’t push for an instant response, but I give it to him anyway. “I don’t know what the fudge is going on actually. Give me a second, at least, until I remember how to breathe again.”
I feel like I’m shaking, and I have to double check my hands to make sure they’re not. Taking a drink of water to try to settle my anxiety, I focus on things I can control: putting on my sunglasses, reversing the car and driving away. King’s voice keeps me company, he talks to someone else while I pull myself together.
King waits for me to come back to him. I think he always will too, which adds to the sense I’m drowning. Having two scent matched Alphas is too much, but not enough at the same time. I’d be devastated, torn in half, if I did anything to ruin what I have with King.
Thinking of him, I miss him so much I ache all over. I’d give anything to be able to curl up in my stash of King’s stolen hoodies which weirdly is what I use as motivation to get home as fast as possible. I focus on listening to King talking to other people. The traffic is light, meaning I don’t have to concentrate too hard which is a good thing, I’d be a ball of emotion if anyone beeped me.
At some point King stops talking. Doors open and close and then King’s silence is more pronounced. Bottles clink, a door slides open, then I hear him sinking into a chair and my stomach bottoms out as he takes a quick breath before he talks.
“Tristan, I always knew you’d find your pack. I don’t want you to feel like shit because you met an Alpha that smelt good.”
“How can you say that?” I bite back before he even finishes speaking. My hackles are up high as I get ready to fight.
He makes a noise that sounds like a chuckle before he takes a sip of a drink. “Settle down, killer. I fucking knew this day would come, okay?”
King’s not pissed off at all. And probably because he’s coming across almost clinical, I explode in a fiery ball like any half normal person would. “So, you’re saying we’re over? Our time together has meant nothing to you?”
“Right,” he answers and it’s cold and distant.
“And what the hell was that with Nolan?”
“You shouldn’t be fucking surprised. I told you he’d pay. Each and every time he tries to set himself back up, he’ll fucking pay again. End of story.”
The light changes and I drive like an asshole to match my sudden mood swing.
King chuckles again and it’s weirdly comforting because in it I know he’s not laughing at me per se, more he’s laughing with me, although I’m not laughing. Once he stops chuckling away, he breaks my fucking heart. “This thing between me and you is never going to be over. Listen carefully, killer, if ten fucking Alphas showed up and claimed you’re theirs, I would tell you to pack, but you bet your sweet fucking ass I will be there too.”
My foot drops off the accelerator as he speaks. “What do you mean?” I ask, needing to understand where he’s going with his huge heart stopping statement.
“If you pack, you pack. But I will always be your Alpha.” His words are drenched in everything King is to me: uncompromising honesty, inflexible reliability, and raw possessiveness and power.
“But I won’t be a part of your pack? Is that what you’re saying?” I smart back, instantly wishing the bitchy side of me would shut the hell up and disappear already.
I can hear the resignation in his voice. “I got a pack here, Tris. This isn’t the life for you.”
Then he stops talking, and I start spiralling.
No matter how hard I try to stop my head going straight back to when I was a kid, I’m there. In the space of seconds, I’m assessing every interaction I’ve had with King. I’m wondering if the connection I thought we shared is imagined or real or did I exaggerate everything between us.
“Thanks.” Is all I manage.
Before I even shut my lips, King is speaking and without realising, slaying demons that I thought were long gone. The whooshing noise in my ears makes it nearly impossible to hear anything, while grey spots fill my eyes as I fight through awful thoughts, wondering if I got King wrong.
“You think I don’t want you by my fucking side? You’re wrong. If you get linked with me, Tris, you get linked with the Fallen and everything you’ve worked your ass off for is gone. All the doors open in front of you will get slammed in your face. All the pretty shit you love will disappear in a flash. And I won’t let that happen. Not to you.”
He inadvertently plugs the hole back up in my bleak memories, but I lash out, still hurt. “And Raney?”
“What does she have to do with us?” he barks, and I can hear him standing up, his footsteps a dead giveaway to his pacing.
“Then why haven’t you told her yet? We’ve been doing this a while now and it hasn’t happened yet, maybe it never will. I’ll be your secret side piece until I wither up and die.”
“Fuck, Tristan!” he says, frustrated, but he keeps his volume down. “I get you’re thrown but think for a minute.”
“It’s the same every time we talk about this!”
“It is, isn’t it? Because some fucker keeps threatening you after me and you catch up. And I’ve still got the vision of the time you got hurt seared into my fucking retinas!”
“So, some faceless person is going to ruin us?”
“Come on, Tris, don’t you start doubting how good we are now. Until we find out who’s threatening us, I won’t risk you. Or my daughter.”
He takes the bitchy wind out of my sails in a handful of words. Because I do know we’re playing for keeps, but sometimes my doubts make me focus on things and people that don’t matter.
“Tris,” he says gruffly. “We good?”
“Yeah,” I answer as my eyes lock on a gas station turn off as my day and all its revelations leave me feeling exhausted. I don’t talk again until I’m driving past the gas station and pulling into the park next to it.
“Hang on, King, I’m parking.”
“What’s going on?” he asks impatiently.
“I’m having a moment and just need to let it happen. My head is full of crap and I can’t think past any of it. I miss you. I want to call Maverick. I want to stop lying. But I know that’s a lie. I’m tired and need some chocolate. Or sex.” My words and thoughts pretty much erupt out before I get the chance to vet or even put them in any logical order.
“I’ll call Big Tom.”
“Why?” I ask despite already knowing the answer.
“You need me.”
“No, I’m good. Like I said I need sugar. Everything you said is right and I know that. I think I just got the wobbles is all. Pretty sure that happens to everyone. I’ll be right as rain in like an hour or so, and once I think about it properly, I’ll see for myself that I’m being a fruit-loop and having a panic for no reason.”
“I got the sugar you need,” he growls under his breath, but it’s not full of frustration or irritation. It really is King being worried and nothing else. “A ride will be good. Joker wants to show me something over in the next county anyway. We can check in with a few things on the way.”
“Really?”
“I’ll give you what you need, killer. I’ll bend you over my bike and give you exactly what you need.” Our call is interrupted by King getting an incoming call. “Raney’s calling.”
“Take it.” My voice cracks, and I check the car park in case I missed her or Koz, but the service station is only full of truckers and mom and dad travellers.
“Don’t brush me off. I’ll call her back. You’re important too, Tristan.”
“I never said I wasn’t,” I hiss back. And as soon as the words leave my lips, I feel like a dick again. Thankfully, there’s a vacant parking space directly in front of me, and I pull right into it before the reality of the day really hits home. I squeeze my eyes shut and start reciting the alphabet backwards, anything to stop the swirl of emotions pulling me towards a void of darkness. “Sorry,” I squeeze past my biting jaw once I make it to R.
“Tristan,” he growls down the phone and I let myself sink into the comforting noise he makes. Without exaggeration, hearing his voice or being near him is settling. He has the ability or it might be a strength that I sometimes need to borrow which I think is what finding your compatible life partner is all about. “Give yourself a break. You had a day but don’t read shit into it. I’m on your side and you bet your sweet ass sometimes that means you come before everything and everyone. Today is one of those days.”
He waits for an answer. He’d wait all day too. I know from past experience he can be as stubbornly determined as I can. In spite of that, the thought of seeing him for a couple of hours is exactly what I need. “You’re right.” He chuckles, and I feel lighter.
“I always am, killer,” he says, “I’ll be reminding you of how fucking amazing you are real soon, huh?”