28. Brat Wrangler
28
brAT WRANGLER
MAGGIE
Love U Like That By Lauv
A s we step out of the car Felix looks at me with a raised brow, his dark blue eyes glinting with curiosity.
“What are we doing here?” he asks.
“We need provisions,” I reply, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the entrance of the grocery store.
Inside, the cool blast of air conditioning greets us. I make a beeline for the candy aisle, Felix trailing behind me with a bemused expression.
He picks up a package of sour patch gummies, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as though it’s toxic. “I seriously don’t know how you survive eating this junk,” he says, his voice tinged with mock disdain.
“Give me that,” I protest, snatching it from his hand and tossing it into the basket he’s reluctantly holding. “I’ll have you know this is prime movie-watching junk food.”
He shakes his head, his lips quirking into a smirk. “You’re hopeless.”
I catch sight of a familiar white bag on the shelf and let out a triumphant, “Score!” as I grab the white cheddar popcorn. Felix eyes it like it’s an alien artifact.
“You don’t expect me to eat that, do you? It looks gross.”
“Oh, this isn’t for you. It’s for me,” I say, clutching the bag protectively. I glance up at the overhead signs and spot the one marked “Natural Foods.” Pointing toward it, I grin. “That’s your aisle.”
Felix laughs, the sound low and warm, like the strum of an acoustic guitar. “You’re unbelievable, Sass.”
I pull a package of kale chips off the shelf, inspecting the back with exaggerated horror. “Ugh, there are like only three ingredients in this.” I shove it at him. “It’s perfect for you.”
He takes the bag, his laughter bubbling up again as he sets it back on the shelf. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“Oh, I know I am,” I say, tossing him a playful wink. I pick up a package of almond crackers, squinting at the ingredient list. “What even is this? Who wants almonds in their crackers? There’s no sugar. Probably tastes like cardboard.”
Felix chuckles, his shoulders shaking slightly as he motions to the shelf. “Hey, just because I eat healthy doesn’t mean I eat all this stuff.”
“Okay, besides yogurt,” I say with a pointed look, “what’s your favorite food?”
He grins, the kind of grin that makes my stomach do a little flip. “Pizza.”
I stop mid-step, turning to him in mock disbelief. “What?”
“What?” he repeats, his smirk widening.
“Nothing,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “But if you put broccoli on pizza, we may have to break up.”
His brows knit together in a way that’s both adorable and maddening. “Does that mean I’m your boyfriend?”
I give him a light shove. “You know you are,” I mumble, my voice barely audible.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you,” he says, cupping his ear dramatically.
I grab a bag of banana crisps and toss it at him. “You heard me.”
Before I can react, he hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. His fingers graze my ribs, sending a jolt of electricity through me, and I dissolve into laughter as he starts tickling me mercilessly in the middle of the grocery aisle.
“Say it,” he demands, his voice low and playful.
“Felix!” I gasp between fits of laughter, candy spilling out of the basket as I squirm in his hold.
“I’m not stopping until you say it, Sass.”
“You’re my boyfriend!” I squeal, and he finally relents, his hands still lingering on my waist. His dark blue eyes soften as they drop to my lips, and for a moment, the world narrows to just us.
“Aren’t you the singer from Velvet Drift?” a voice cuts in from behind him, shattering the moment. Felix steps back, running a hand through his hair as he turns to face the intruder.
“Uh, yeah,” he says, flashing a polite smile.
My stomach twists uncomfortably, and I cross my arms over my chest, my fingers brushing against Felix’s hand, which is still at my waist. He rubs his fingers over mine as if in reassurance, but the awkwardness in the air is palpable.
The girl rummages through her purse, pulling out a receipt and a pen. “Can you sign something for me?”
“Sure,” Felix says, taking the items from her. He fumbles for a moment before using a box of Skittles as a makeshift surface to sign the receipt.
She gushes, practically bouncing on her toes. “I had no idea your dad was in Turn it Up. I guess that’s where you get all your talent from,” she gushes, her gaze flicking between us. “He’s not here with you, is he?” She looks around as if Felix’s dad is gonna pop out from behind a cereal box.
Felix stiffens almost imperceptibly, and I can feel the tension in his body from here. I slide my hand into his, my thumb grazing his rough skin, silently hoping to ease his restlessness.
“Afraid not,” Felix answers through tight lips.
“Well, too bad,” she says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
He hands her the receipt.
“Thanks so much! Gah, my friends are never gonna believe I ran into you,” she squeals.
She walks away, pulling her phone out. “I just ran into that guy from Velvet Drift in the grocery store with some girl.”
Excuse me??? I place my hands on my hips.
Felix turns to me, his expression amused. “Settle down, tiger. I can feel your hackles from here.”
“What? I’m not jealous,” I say, lifting my chin defiantly. “Although,” I add, holding up a finger, “am I going to be referred to as some girl from now on?”
“I can refer to you as my girl , if you like that better,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. The warmth in his tone spreads through me like sunlight, and I can’t suppress the grin that tugs at my lips.
“I mean, if you want,” I say goofily, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.
Felix’s smile deepens, and it’s not the polished, practiced one he gives his fans. It’s softer, more intimate—a smile just for me.
We head to the checkout, and I start placing our snacks on the belt when Felix makes a disgruntled noise. I track his gaze to a rack of tabloid magazines. On the front is a photo of Felix, comparing him side-by-side with what looks like an old photo of his dad when he was roughly the same age. It’s uncanny how alike they look.
“What in the ever-living…” Felix snarls, reaching over me and snatching the magazine off the rack.
I’ve never seen him look so mad before. Sure, he’s been mildly annoyed or uncomfortable at being interrupted in his private life by a fan, but this is different.
I place a hand on his arm, concern tightening my chest. “Hey, are you okay?”
Felix exhales sharply. “It’s just… I’m not even me . I’m just ‘Jack Krasinski’s son.’ Not Felix. Not Velvet Drift. Just…” his voice trails off.
I thread my fingers through his and give a gentle squeeze. “Hey,” I say softly, tilting my head to catch his gaze. “You’re so much more than that. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, well, tell that to the press!” he raises his voice, tossing the magazine back onto the rack but missing. It falls to the floor with a slap, and he doesn’t bother picking it back up.
“Felix?” I plead as the cashier looks between us.
“Just give me a minute,” he says, running a hand through his hair and then stalking through the automatic doors. While I pay, I watch through the glass as he paces the sidewalk, jaw clenched.
I give the cashier a tight smile and grab the bag of snacks.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…” he starts to say the minute I join him outside.
I take his palm and place it on my cheek because I can tell he’s retreated to that place where imposter syndrome lives. “I watch you every night. Even if you don’t know how talented you are, I do.”
He takes a deep breath. “I expected being compared to my dad, but,” he says. “I just didn’t expect how it would make me feel.”
“It’s a stupid rag,” I point out. “They need a story to sell papers.”
He smiles, rubbing his thumb against my cheek, and that easy smile starts to return to his face.
“How do you do that?” he asks.
“Do what?” I tilt my head.
“Unclutter my mind just by being in the same space,” he says, and my chest expands like a balloon. When he says things like that, I almost believe I deserve him.
I grab onto his hand. “Let’s get out of here.” We walk through the parking lot. My heart tightens at the sight of his furrowed brow. I step closer, my shoulder brushing his. “You didn’t ask for any of this,” I say softly.
“I kind of did, though,” he sighs and then looks down at me.
I rise on the tips of my toes and kiss him, the feel of his lips on mine an intoxicating mix of warmth, longing and unspoken promises.
When I pull away, I notice someone standing just outside of the grocery store staring at us. It could just be that we were making a spectacle inside the store, as well as now with the parking lot PDA, but the skeptical part of my brain says otherwise.
I break away from him, rounding to the driver’s side. “Come on, rockstar,” I say.
* * *
We pull up in front of the Four Seasons hotel in downtown Minneapolis. The traffic was a beast, and all I want now is to escape into the cocoon of our room, let the world fade, and lose myself in a twenty-four-hour haze of Felix. The sleek glass facade of the hotel reflects the early afternoon sky, a bruised palette of purples and grays, while the golden light spilling from the lobby promises luxury and respite.
“Wow, Maggie, you’re very presumptuous,” Felix teases, as I hand the valet the keys. His dark eyes glint with amusement, and his lips curve into that maddeningly confident smirk that always makes my stomach twist.
“Very funny,” I mutter, nudging him lightly with my elbow.
I reach for my duffel bag, but he’s faster, brushing my hand away with a casual confidence that somehow feels protective rather than dismissive. He slings my bag over his shoulder, adding it to the weight of his own, and the crinkling bag of snacks I can’t wait to get my hands on. “I’ve got it,” he says, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for argument.
As we step into the lobby, the contrast between us and our surroundings couldn’t be starker. A crystal chandelier hangs overhead, scattering light like shards of a broken rainbow. Felix strides in beside me, utterly unbothered by the stares we’re drawing. His tight black ripped jeans hug his lean frame, and his soft gray Henley, with the sleeves pushed up to reveal his sinewy forearms, makes him look effortlessly rebellious. Meanwhile, I’m in my cut-off jean shorts and scuffed black high-tops, my hair probably a mess from the drive. We look like we’ve wandered in from a rock concert, which we kinda did.
The clerk at the front desk glances up as we approach, his polite smile faltering just slightly as he takes us in. “Do you have a reservation?” he asks, his tone professional but tinged with skepticism.
Shit. My stomach drops. I was supposed to book the room while Felix was packing his overnight bag, but I got distracted. Typical me.
“No,” I admit, my voice deflated as the clerk types away at his computer.
“How many nights will you be staying?” he asks, his eyes flicking back to me.
“Just one,” I say.
The clerk’s fingers dance over the keyboard, the soft clatter filling the silence. Finally, he looks up, his expression neutral but his gaze assessing. “All I have is a suite,” he says, his tone implying he doesn’t think we belong in one. His eyes rake over my outfit, and I can practically hear the judgment in his head.
I bristle, but before I can say anything, Felix steps in. “We’ll take it,” he says smoothly. He pulls out his platinum card and slaps it onto the counter with a flourish, his smirk widening as he glances at me.
“There are perks to being Jack Krasinski’s son.” He winks, and my heart skips a beat despite myself. “Besides, I’m not letting you pay.”
I want to argue, to tell him I don’t need him to swoop in and save the day, but the clerk is watching us, and I don’t want to make a scene. Still, the thought of Felix paying for this—of him carrying me in ways I’m not sure I’m ready to be carried—makes my chest tighten.
Then it dawns on me that Felix paying presents another issue. “Um, can you put the room under an alias?” I ask. The clerk raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but nods.
“I can,” he says, his tone skeptical.
“Good call,” Felix whispers, leaning closer to me, understanding my request.
“What name should I use?” the clerk asks, his fingers poised over the keyboard, his expression bored.
“Pepe,” I blurt out, trying to stifle a laugh.
“Very funny, Sass,” Felix whispers and then looks over at the clerk. “You can put it under Brat Wrangler,” he jokes, pinching my behind, and my mouth drops open as I smack him in the arm playfully.
The clerk doesn’t even look up from his computer. “Okay, Bret Wrangler.”