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What the fuck?
I whip my glare to the asshole trying to goad Blair.
So does Beau. “Back off,” he growls. “And show her some respect.”
We know better. Opposing fans heckle us all the time. The worst you can do is answer. The dumbest you can do is insult back. The rookie mistake is letting them provoke you into a fight, which is exactly what they want.
But the surge of cameras gets worse, blinding and blocking our path. It’s like pushing through a rush of defensive linemen. I hold my palm up, expertly shucking them aside while clutching Ruby tight.
Beau does the same for Blair. He’s protecting her, but that same Nikon asshat gets in her face.
“Are you just like your dad, Duncan Monroe?” This pap pushes too far, jeering, “Blair, are you a sports whore like your dad? Will you ruin Beau’s game? Is he your first of many husbands and a dozen baby-daddies? Will you have little blue alien babies with him?”
Fucking dick.
This shitface sounds like Amber sent him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I’m about to have a viral vagina.
BLAIR
Beau leads me toward the limo, his big hand sweating and tugging mine. By the veins popping on his neck, by the clench of his jaw, he’s fighting every instinct to kill the shouting shithead with the Nikon.
I love Beau’s maturity. His restraint. It’s sexy. It’s powerful. He could write a check for that guy’s existence, or he could beat him into a coma. He’s too good for him.
But me?
Caution, meet the this-bitch-is-pissed wind.
I whip around, aiming my glare right at the guilty lens.
This little dick on two legs smells like you’d expect. Showers? They repulse him. Toothpaste? Who needs it? Getting laid? He’s never been so lucky.
I smile, beaming for his Nikon, twitching my nose for a cute effect.
“Why yes!” I answer. “Thank you for asking. Duncan Monroe is my father, so yes, I can bag any baller I like and make all the pretty blue Bronson babies I want.” Then I rake his short stature, from his greasy head to his gnarled toenails in dirty flip-flops. “But bless your shriveled little dick. With the way you smell, no one will help you empty your saggy blue balls.”
I kiss my middle finger for his lens.
Ruby laughs.
Colt chuckles.
Beau gently tugs me toward the open limo door, and victory tastes sweet in my mouth. Pride lifts my D cups high. Triumph guides my teetering high heels.
But…
They’re high heels made by men like the clicking dick. They serve their purpose. They make me an idiot. They make me trip, stumbling back in slow motion with my drawling, “Ahhhhhhhh, sssshhhhiiiitttt,” shout filling in the air.
In one plop, I’m on my ass. Thankfully, it’s padded. My fluffy cheeks do their job. They protect my assets, but my short dress decides to show my pride to the world.
My panties, that is.
Clicking shutters catch my kitty flash before Beau can scoop me up fast enough.
“Blair,” he rushes, lifting, practically cradling me. It’s so damn sweet, and making it worse, exposing all my lady goods to the lenses.
