Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
My heart rate accelerates. “Who…who is that?” I whisper to Donnelly.
“I dunno,” he says, unbuckling.
“No, wait, don’t go.” I’m terrified. Only the car door separates me from this random person, and if he’s acting like we’re acquaintances, then there’s a high probability that Original Luna knows him.
He’s part of her past, and I kinda, sorta, really want him to stay there.
Donnelly hesitates.
“Luna?! It’s me!” He knocks on the window again. “Tell your bodyguard I just want to say hi!”
“Let me ID him,” Donnelly says, making up his mind.
It’s the smart thing to do. The protective thing. The safe thing. So I just nod, but I grip the armrests, sitting pin-straight against the seat like I’m about to explode forward in a rollercoaster. Donnelly has been afraid of his past hurting us, and now it’s my turn to fear mine.
9
PAUL DONNELLY
This must be the night of the living assholes. Dodged one in the bar only to be met with one outside, but this one—this one—is worse. I’ve met my share of drunk fucks in dive bars. Been one, probably. But I haven’t met that many guys claiming to be friendly with the girl I just started dating.
Friendly? I grimace. I hope he is just a friend of hers. Maybe he goes to Penn. Maybe he’s no one. Maybe he’s a loser.
I try not to slam my door shut.
Maybe he’s lying.
With a lengthy stride, I come around the hood of the Range Rover, and the guy careens away from her window.
He raises his hands, which means I must look pissed. Can’t feel bad about it. He is fucking up my date. “Hey,” he says, “Luna knows me.”
“Does she?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he snaps back like I’m being unreasonable.
How?
It wouldn’t be the first time someone claimed to be one degree from the famous ones. When, really, the most they’ve done is browse their Instagram feed and leave comments on WAC Fanaticon forums.
He could just be a fan with a warped sense of reality.
And I shouldn’t wish for that threat. But why am I? Why is that easier to deal with than confronting a possible ex? She’s allowed to have past hookups. I have ‘em.
But she can’t remember any one-night stands or casual sex, and it makes me want to hoist a drawbridge, fortify the walls of her fortress, load cannons, feed the alligators in the moat.
I can’t ask if these guys are decent. If they hurt her. If I should shove him in a brick wall.
Just gotta Hardy Boy this myself.
“Who are you exactly?” I ask.
Right as he opens his mouth, a blond guy calls out, “Noah! You coming?!” He’s among a larger group of guys, all flashing their IDs to the Thirsty Goose bouncer. Noah must’ve pulled away from his friends when he saw Luna getting in the car. Then he knocked on her window.
“Yeah, in a sec! I’ll meet you inside!” he calls back, and to me, he says, “Noah Perch.” He stuffs his hands in his leather jacket. “Look, if you just let me talk to her, I can clear this up.”
“You’re her friend or what?”
“We’re not strangers.” He outstretches his arms without removing his fists from the unzipped jacket. “I met her here. We’ve hung out a couple times at this bar. Then the back of my car, if you know what I mean.”
It stabs my insides, and acid rises in my throat. Luna once confessed that she snuck out to Thirsty Goose and spoke to guys. She left out the part where she had sex with them, but that’s not something she had to advertise. And again, he could be lying.
“You sign an NDA?” I ask him.
“A what?” He’s eyeing my face weirdly, and I remember the glitter stuck to my skin.
“Non-disclosure agreement.”
“No, man, there was no security with her. You’re the first bodyguard I’ve ever seen in person, let alone talked to.”
And a good or bad impulse seizes me, and I ride it out as I say, “I’m not security.”
His brows furrow. “What?” He scrutinizes my face and the ink on my arms. “No, you’re that guy. The ass-whatever.” Ass-Kicker. The nickname the fans bestowed upon me during the FanCon tour days.
“This ass-whatever isn’t wearing a radio.” My gun is also safely stored in the guest room of the Hale House. “I’m not her bodyguard.”
Confusion hasn’t left his face, but he starts to push past me.
I catch his arm, stopping him.
“If you aren’t her bodyguard, then get the hell out of my way,” he says, as though he’s entitled to Luna just ‘cause they’ve met and maybe fooled around.
“She’s not interested,” I retort.
His eyes flash hot. “Says who?”
“Says me.”
He laughs like I’m a joke. “You? You’re nobody.”
“Nah, I am someone.” I look him dead in the eye. “I’m Luna’s boyfriend.”
We have a silent, unblinking stare-off for a solid minute. Not gonna lie, if this were a dick measuring contest, I’d win. He seems small inside, outside, all the sides.