Chapter Seven #2
“Holy shit. I’m going to have to tell my dad.
He’s going to die. He’s a big fan,” I blurt with a laugh.
A laugh that dies when I’m reminded that this guy, this very popular guy who has celebs lining up at his doors wanting their cars done up by him and his team, witnessed my demise this morning.
“Oh my God, no. Lubegate was witnessed by the Baxter Marshall. Now I’m going to die. ”
I groan before pulling off when the light turns green, ignoring Baxter’s laughter while I think about everything in my life that led to that moment.
I decide that I’m going to have to plot the downfalls of my best friends so thoroughly that they know they ruined my life the moment they cannonballed into it.
Those fuckers are the cause of this whole disaster, and I won’t believe anything else.
A disaster that’s made a whole lot worse when Baxter dutifully informs me, “Pretty sure you’re going to die again when I explain what the others do for a living.”
“Please, for the love of my fleeing dignity, tell me they aren’t well-known mechanics, too,” I plead, gripping my steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white.
“They aren’t well-known mechanics,” he answers instantly, though there’s a gleam in his eyes that screams trouble.
“Rayne’s a celebrity tattoo artist, though.
Almost had his own show but had the good sense to turn that shit down.
Ryan is pretty high up in the business world, trading and stocks and shit, and Caiden owns several high-end gyms throughout the country.
Pretty sure he said his PR rep has been trying to book you for promotional photos. ”
My mouth is hanging open so wide that you could likely fit at least four cocks in there all at once. No joke. My jaw is practically resting on my lap, my mind reeling a mile a minute.
“You didn’t know any of that?” Baxter wonders, a bemused smile teasing those full lips.
Shaking my head slowly, I answer as though I’m on autopilot.
“Nope. I don’t keep up with celebs and such.
I found that the world of the stars is a shallow place to be.
Learned the hard way that people will use you to get what they want or get to where they want to be on the social ladder.
Decided not to immerse myself any more than necessary.
Meaning, I only know a few celebs, those who reach out for work, and a couple of friends.
I only know of you because of my dad. And now I’m thinking I actually remember Freya mentioning a sports-related shoot she wanted me to put in my calendar… Fuck my day.”
Bax snorts, and I send him a sheepish smile, feeling my cheeks warm knowing that this morning was witnessed by celebs in their own right. If I could curl up and die, I would. I so absolutely would.
“Don’t worry about it. For real, that was the funniest morning I think we’ve all had in a long time,” Baxter assures, reaching over to pat my thigh, setting off a flurry of butterflies in my belly and fireworks in my mind.
Rolling my eyes at myself and the butterflies swarming my stomach, I huff, “Glad my misery amuses you.”
The remainder of the drive goes by with chitchat that takes my mind off the chaos that rained down on me this morning.
I learn that my new neighbors are putting down roots in New York, which means my dream of never seeing them again sprouts legs and sprints straight into traffic.
They’re here for the foreseeable future, meaning I’m going to have to see them every day if I’m not careful about it. I’m going to be painfully careful.
I also learn that despite each of their statuses, all but Caiden despise the limelight.
Not to say that it sounds like Caiden loves the limelight, but from what I gather, it seems he’s far more confident in front of a camera.
Something that will come in handy during the session he’s apparently booked with me.
It is nice to know that the four of them aren’t into status and notoriety, though, because the thought of paparazzi and intrusions into my life sends me into hives.
I’ve suffered enough of that shit to last me a lifetime, even though Mom and Dad try to save me from most of it.
But hell, I guess that’s the reason it takes a whole lot to embarrass me.
Lubegate was just something else entirely.
By the time we reach The Arena, I’m still cussing out my besties and woman-balls deep in a plot to fuck up their days. I don’t know when I’ll get to it, but it’ll happen, come hell or high water.
“You’re thinking real hard over there,” Baxter notes, his beautiful lips twitching.
I nod dutifully. “Ruining a day takes a lot of thinking. I have three days to plot.”
I’m climbing out of the car the next moment, Baxter’s butterfly-forming laughter following me. I retrieve my skates and round the car, Baxter already waiting for me. Offering him a smile, I jerk my head to the entrance and tell him, “So, are you gonna wait around for the team to arrive or…?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’m just waiting on the one player, since I have his keys, but I have my cell, so I can get some shit done on that,” he answers with a smile of his own. Pretty sure that smile could send me into cardiac arrest, because my heart stalls for much too long.
Clearing my throat, I jerk my finger over my shoulder and say, “Okay. Well, I’m gonna go skate this morning right out of my system.
The coffee bar should be open, so hit that up if you’re craving it.
If you tell Casey that I sent you up for a caramel brownie frappe, you can get a coffee for free.
On me. For the stupid you witnessed. Bye. ”
And with that, I’m hauling ass into the ice rink with vengeance on my mind, and too much pent-up mortification inside me.
Doesn’t help that Baxter’s laughter haunts me long after I leave him at the doors, but I do my best to block it out.
I have ice to shred, friends to ruin, and a whole morning to atone for.
I make it to what we all at The Arena call my rink, and I sigh when the first waves of peace finally reach me. Taking a seat on the closest bench, I tug off my sweats to reveal the gray leggings I have underneath, switch my sneakers to skates, and start stretching.
As soon as I’m loose enough, I stand and fish out my cell from my sweats, strutting in my skates to the unmanned DJ deck that’s used for game nights.
Reaching over, I set my cell up and start playing my skating playlist, and the first notes of Bruce Savage’s “Easy to Love” start playing.
I roll my shoulders back and stretch my neck back and forth before hitting the ice.
The moment my skates glide across the freshly smoothed ice, I lose myself to the music and the moves so deeply ingrained in my psyche that I could do this shit in my sleep.