Chapter 17 Olive #2
I tried, I really did, but I know when there’s nothing else to say. Or in Avery Jones’ case, nothing more he wants to say, so I don’t push it.
Not this time, anyway.
My hand finds the gold chain on my neck, and we sit out the rest of the drive in a nice, comfortable silence.
***
Shit.
I’m anxious.
My neck is doing that thing again where it sends pulsing sensations down my limbs and across every inch of my body.
The best way of describing it would be this: It’s like having tiny little hearts scattered on top of my skin, each beating at their own pace, and never in sync with each other.
I hate it.
I never use that word lightly. But it’s just genuinely such an uncomfortable feeling. If I catch people staring at me, it makes me feel like those pulses are creating flickers against my skin, and somehow visible to the naked eye.
That people can see the way my body is betraying me, and in this flimsy little dress, there’s nowhere for me to hide.
Cameras flash around us everywhere, way more than what I’m used to.
All eyes are on me for reasons I’m not familiar with. One I’ve made sure I never had to worry about until now: Being on the arm of a man, or woman, as their date.
In this case, a man.
A very, very attractive man, might I add, who I may or may not have tricked into zipping my dress up for me earlier just to see how he reacted.
I mean, I had an entire team there with me not long before we met in the kitchen. They had zipped me up right before they left, but I managed to reach behind myself and tug it down.
I wanted to see if he would help me, maybe see if I could make him squirm.
And while we were back to chest, I could still feel the light tremor in his hands as he slowly pulled the zip all the way up.
I thought I’d done well, catching him off guard the way that I did.
But then he had to spring the necklace on me, his hand resting gently around my neck, and my body betrayed me in a different way.
Goosebumps rose along my skin, plain as day. I know he saw them. I had to make a dash for the door before things got out of hand.
But now, I’m so far out of my element, and my body is telling me to slow down. To go back home and rest, but I can’t do that, no matter how badly I want to.
"Olive!" I’ve been hearing my name since I stepped foot out of my hotel room, but this voice? It's tiny. Not that of an aggressive man behind a camera trying to get my attention.
It belongs to someone younger, much more delicate, and my eyes automatically search the crowd for the owner of that voice. When she calls out to me again, I find her, her long blonde hair, huge blue eyes, and her sparkly tutu.
Letting go of Avery’s hand, I move in the direction of the girl through a sea of people.
"Hi," I say, crouching down to her eye level, and ignoring the swarm of cameras that followed me in her direction. "Did you want me to take a quick photo before I go inside?" I ask as I take the notebook and Sharpie from her hands, signing a blank piece of paper before handing them back to her.
She nods, her smile wide. I look to the woman standing beside her to ask if it’s okay, but she opens her camera app on her phone before I get the chance.
Mouthing the words ‘thank you,’ she snaps the photo of who I assume is her daughter and me, right as we’re overrun, people flocking and invading my space.
I can’t move.
Not even a single step. There’s simply nowhere for me to go.
Pens, notebooks, cameras, and microphones are all shoved in my face, and I can’t escape it.
Nowhere for me to hide.
I allowed a moment for one little girl, and people took that as an invitation.
If this were the crowd at one of my shows, I wouldn’t feel so afraid, so vulnerable.
But here I am, at an event honoring athletes, on the arm of the most hated player.
So, when the words ‘What did Jones pay you to be his date?’ and ‘You know he’s using you, right?’ leave their mouths, fear creeps up my spine, and settles in my core.
It feels like I could be in real, immediate danger, being around these people. Crushed, with my ability to breathe compromised, along with my willingness to move.
Logically, I know I’m alright. Know that I’m just panicking and overwhelmed at the closeness of all these men. But it feels invasive.
"I said, get the fuck out of her way!"
I hear Avery's familiar voice, but I can’t see him.
The face it belongs to is trapped in the fog, still clinging to my brain, and I’m clawing my way out of it.
I'm jolted. Someone yanking my wrist, dragging me away. But it’s not his hand wrapped around me, but a stranger.
Then I see him.
Avery shoves the man gripping my arm, sending him sprawling to the ground and breaking his hold on me.
Murmurs ripple around us, echoes of the same words I’ve heard too many times, always aimed at Avery.
"That temper’s going to end his career."
"He doesn’t belong here."
"She must be just as reckless if she’s with him."
I block them out, focus on staying upright, and ignore the burn in my heels.
"Are you okay?" he asks, pulling me so close that my chest collides with his.
My vision clears, and all I see is the tall, broody, concerned face of Avery Jones, coming to my rescue.
Again.
Only this time, it’s welcomed.
His soft brown skin, his sapphire blue eyes, and his full lips. I just want him to whisk me away like a knight in shining armour.
My hand rests firmly on his rock-hard chest, his haunting eyes looking deep into mine, and everything around me goes silent.
Still.
Like there’s nobody else in the vicinity, and I just want him to take away the fear.
"Are you okay?" he asks again, his voice coarse and desperate for an answer. I nod, and he lowers his forehead against mine. "Good. Don’t let go of my hand again tonight. Not around these people. When you’re with me, you’re setting yourself up for—"
"I’m alright, Avery. I promise." Dragging my hand down his chest, I make sure to feel every single rise and fall of sculpted muscle in his stomach, before threading my fingers through his. "I won’t let go."
"Good," he whispers, lifting his forehead off mine before turning back to where we were only moments ago.
I’m not an idiot. I heard the camera’s clicking just as much as I saw the lights flashing behind the haze. I know he’s doing whatever that was to make this thing look real to everybody else, but it still feels nice to be protected in a way that I’ve never needed before.
"Jones! Olive! Over here," the voices call our names again, but with my hand locked firmly in his, I know the panic trying to climb its way out of my throat isn’t necessary. Still, I move closer as he leads the way down from the red carpet.
There is not one face I recognize tonight. Nobody at all that is familiar to me, but I do my best to smile, put on a front, and let the photographers do their jobs.
They snap pictures of a happy, loved-up Olive Herring and Avery Jones.
We’ve been on this red carpet, posing for pictures for the last twenty minutes, and if it felt like my feet were going to fall off before, now it feels like they no longer exist.
My head is pounding, my eyes feel like they’re being clawed out of their sockets, and the pulses are hovering over every inch of me.
It’s almost suffocating.
You’re doing this for your career.
He dips his head to my neck, his voice a quiet whisper in my ear. "You okay?"
The same question he had asked me before, only this time with a different meaning.
"Just a little anxious," I reply as honestly, and as confidently as I can, but I fear even though he doesn’t know me, he can see right through the facade.
His eyes search mine for a long moment, then every inch of my face, before eventually trailing over my trembling body. He squeezes my hand a little tighter.
"Eyes on me, okay? I’ve got you." And that’s all he has to say to get me to trust him. To believe, without a shadow of a doubt that tonight, he’ll give me a reason to not feel nervous or stressed, anxious or overwhelmed, or fucking terrified for my life.
Is that a lot of pressure to put on a complete stranger?
Absolutely.
But I’m doing it anyway.
I have no choice.