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“Britt?”
I blink out of those thoughts and force my attention from his parents. It’s tempting to take a step in retreat. And then another. Along with a third until I’ve distanced myself from them.
“Yeah?”
He repositions me until we’re facing each other on the sidewalk before resting his hands on my shoulders. The weight of them does the impossible and soothes the worst of the panic trying to eat me alive.
His serious gaze searches mine as if it’s possible to read my thoughts without me explaining a word. “What’s going on?”
I break eye contact long enough to throw a cautious glance at the small group.
Another photographer joins the fray.
“I didn’t realize there’d be paparazzi.” My voice comes out sounding as if I’m being strangled.
Colby flicks a look at the commotion on the sidewalk before shrugging. “Yeah, sometimes they find out where he’ll be and want pictures or sound bites. It’s annoying but not a big deal. Dad is usually good about giving them what they want so they’ll leave us alone.”
I’m not unfamiliar with the practice. It’s something we do as well.
I gulp down my nerves. Any minute they’re going to explode from me. “Right. I just…don’t want my picture taken. Okay?”
His thick brows pinch together as he studies me as if I’m a strange specimen he’s stumbled across. “Yeah, sure. Why don’t you head inside and wait for us while I join my folks and snap a few photos.”
The relief that crashes over me is almost enough to weaken my knees. “Really?”
He strokes his fingers along the curve of my jaw as his voice dips. “Of course. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”
When we’re about twelve feet away, Colby’s father waves us over. As soon as the photographers realize that his son has made an appearance, they lift their cameras and snap a bunch of shots. The flash goes off as I duck my head, allowing my hair to fall in front of my face, and slip from his embrace before speedwalking inside the restaurant.
It’s only when the glass door closes behind me that I realize I’m trembling. I release an unsteady breath and watch from a safe distance as the three of them are photographed together. After about five minutes, Gray raises a hand, putting a stop to the impromptu photo shoot.
“You know, I never considered myself a woman who’d go all why choose, but damn, those two are fine with a capital F.”
It takes effort to rip my gaze away from Colby and stare at the older woman who’s sidled up beside me while I wasn’t paying attention. She’s probably somewhere in her mid to late forties and wearing a gaudy faux fur jacket.
At least, let’s hope the fur is faux.
Because…eww.
Instead of waiting for a response—as if I have one—she glances at the trio again.
It’s tempting to tell her that she’s got a little something-something on her chin. But I suspect she wouldn’t give a damn.
“Are you with that handsome specimen of a man?” she asks.
Before I can respond, the three of them saunter through the front entrance, commanding everyone’s attention. Colby’s gaze slices to mine as he beelines in my direction and slips an arm around my waist, steering me toward his parents.
“Guess that answers the question,” the woman says with a laugh.
Colby frowns, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Do you know her?”
“Nope.” The hostess leads his parents to a table in the main dining area. “Although, she was just commenting how much she’d enjoy being in the middle of a McNichols sandwich.”
His wide eyes cut to mine before his head whips in her direction for a second time. “I’m sorry, she said what now?” Disbelief laces his voice.
It’s kind of adorable.
A smile trembles around the corners of my lips. “Oh, I think you heard me the first time.”
“Guess I was really hoping that I didn’t.” Before I can tease him any more, he says in a hushed tone, “And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t mention a word of it to my mother. She’s reached her limit with women objectifying my father.”
I can only imagine what Whitney McNichols has put up with being married to the handsome NHL player turned national sportscaster.
Once we reach the table, Colby pulls out my chair. He smirks when I raise my brows.
After I settle on the seat, he pushes it in before leaning close. “Just so you know, I wasn’t raised by wolves. Manners were instilled within me. And just in case you’re curious—I’m house trained as well. I won’t even leave the toilet seat up.”
My gaze gets snagged by his parents, who are grinning at us. Heat slams into my cheeks as I pick up my glass of water and take a sip. I’m hoping it’ll douse the flames that have been ignited deep inside.
