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I wanted to enjoy it. Savor it. Make it last forever.
But the telltale sound of an expensive flash popping killed that dream.
Fucking paparazzi ruin everything.
“Gia, are you on vacation?”
“Gia, who’s your friend? Any relationship news you want to share?”
Pop. Flash.
Oh god.
“Don't engage,” I told Sloane. “Just keep your eyes straight ahead and follow me.” I loved my fans. I hated paparazzi. They lived to sell news when there wasn’t any. They skulked around corners and if there wasn’t anything sensational to report, they made it up.
I grabbed Sloane’s hand and tugged, determined to get him out of the way of those prying eyes as fast as possible.
This was why no one stayed. Why I couldn’t have a meaningful relationship with a man.
There was no privacy. Everything was a joke to these people. And now they ruined the first perfect moment I’d had in a really long time.
I forged ahead.
A small crowd was gathering around us. It was only two photographers, taking turns shouting questions at me like they were talking over a crowd at a press conference instead of standing on the boardwalk at an amusement park—interrupting everyone’s good time, not just mine.
It wasn’t like I was an A-list celebrity. I wasn’t someone that got mobbed, or needed full time security to keep me safe. I was a moderately popular beauty blogger focused on body positivity and inclusivity. A poster girl for plus sized ladies feeling confident in their skin. And some people would pay big money to catch me slipping. Catch me looking foolish.
Not today, assholes.
“Gia, you look like you put on a little weight. Is there an announcement you want to make? A pregnancy maybe? Is he the father?”
Sloane stopped and pulled his hand from my grip. By the way he squared his shoulders, I could tell he was getting ready to say something. To come to my rescue again.
But he couldn’t save me right now. That wouldn’t work with these guys. They’d eat up anything he said like gluttonous little sharks and spit it back out along with whatever pictures they took for all eyes to see. As many eyes as they could get. It didn’t matter what he said, it would all be news. And the angrier he got on my behalf, the better the story for them and the easier to sell the photos and video.
Nope. I wouldn’t let them do that to Sloane.
“Sloane, don’t…” I had more to say, but I didn’t get a chance to. Almost like magic, a body appeared between us and the photographers.
The guy couldn’t have been over twenty if he was a day. Sandy brown hair that swooped down his forehead and a smile a mile wide. Shit-eating grin, my dad would’ve called it.
“You guys like taking pictures?” he asked. “Oh man, I love pictures. I have something interesting for you.” He didn’t even introduce himself, just stood there waving his arms at the cameramen like Look what I can do!
Who was he?
“Jeff, where's Todd?” Sloane appeared at my elbow, questioning the guy like he wasn’t playing wacky flailing arm inflatable tube man to the paparazzi.
“Working, obviously. Someone has to run the coaster.” Jeff didn’t even spare Sloane a glance. “Hey pretty lady, I’m going to do something my Mama would get mad at me for so maybe close your eyes. Or maybe you and bossman could just get going? Also, boss. How about a raise too?”
“Jeff what’re you…?”
But Jeff had already spun around and gave me a wink I could barely see in the dark. As the flashbulbs kept snapping and popping—because those people stop lest they miss the sensational story of a lifetime—Jeff dropped his pants.
He didn’t just drop his pants. He bent over and spread ‘em.
Right. On. Camera. Holy shit.
“Oh… gotta go. Come on, Gia.” Now it was Sloane’s turn to pull me into the dark, away from the flashing lights.
