LOL: Laugh Out Loud (After Oscar, #2)(90)

“My mom didn’t sell you out,” Scotty said.

I smiled, running my thumb along his cheekbone. “I know, baby. One of the photographers bribed the info from an employee at the helicopter company.”

“Oh good. But, um…” He bit his lip, and I wanted to run my mouth along the mark his teeth had left. “I can’t promise Mom won’t… I mean, in the future—”

I cut him off. “I don’t care. I love you,” I said. Happiness bubbled out of me. “I love you so fucking much, Scotty Pinker.”

He jumped back up and kissed me, throwing his arms tightly around my neck and his legs around my waist despite our bulky winter gear. I spun around while we kissed and kissed and kissed in the snowy clearing in the woods.

It was magic.

Until we heard the clicking and saw the flashes go off.

I instinctively set him back down and curled around him, trying to keep him out of sight and protect him from them, but he pressed a hand against my chest.

I looked down at him questioningly.

“We can’t hide from them forever,” Scotty said softly.

I clenched my jaw, wanting to protest. Wanting to tell him that it wasn’t fair—this was our moment, and it shouldn’t belong to anyone else. “But can’t we hide a little longer?”

He ran his thumb along the back of my hand. “Baby, this is part of your life. Part of our life now. You think they’re going to drive me away, but they’re not.”

“You can’t say that.” My voice broke and I swallowed. “You can’t know that. What happens if in a month or a year or a decade it becomes too much?”

“Oh, Roman.” There was such tenderness in his eyes, such love. Scotty reached up and brushed his fingertips along my temple, threading them into my hair. “There is nothing that will ever drive me away from you. You are worth it in every way imaginable.”

“But—”

He didn’t let me finish. “And I intend to make sure the whole world knows that.” Scotty dragged my head back down to his, sealing his lips over mine.

I resisted, for just a moment, surprised by his boldness. “You’re mine,” he growled into my mouth.

I nodded, holding him tighter, my tongue sweeping into his mouth before whispering. “Yes. I’m yours.”

And all the while the cameras clicked and flashed around us. But I didn’t care because all that mattered to me was in my arms in that moment.

When we finally broke the kiss, both of us gasping for breath, the questions started. They came at us fast and loud, and I tensed, waiting for Scotty to balk at the intensity of it. But instead he took my hand in his and leaned in.

“Here’s the deal,” he said, addressing them directly. “I get it. You’re trying to make a living, and this is the best way you know how. Trust me, I understand what it is to hustle. Trust me,” he added, his eyes focused and clear.

“But this”—he gestured his fingers between us and them—“us, it’s a two-way street. If you guys push too hard, Roman and I can start using anti-flash scarves, or wearing the same clothes day in and day out so your photos look dated and reused, or we can beat you to the punch selling our own pics, or we can stay holed up inside all the time, but then where will that get you?”

The photographers shifted, unsure how to react to this unknown newcomer confronting them. A few still snapped photos, but most listening too.

“I totally understand wanting to get pics of Roman—I mean, look at the man,” he said, gesturing toward me. “He’s a gorgeous individual, and that face sells magazines. His body sells even more,” he said, laughing. “Hell, I’ve probably bought half of them just so I can gaze at his adorable face.”

I blushed madly while several of the photographers snickered.

“So why don’t we do each other a solid and maybe work together on some of this stuff?” Scotty suggested.

I tensed, wondering if he really understood what he was saying, but he just clenched my hand tighter, indicating that he knew what he was doing and I needed to trust him. Which I did.

“We’ll make sure you get the photos you need—good ones too, like tonight,” he said. “And when we’re on the street, I get it— we’re fair game. That’s the way this works. But when we ask for privacy, we expect to get it.”

Several of the photographers eyed each other, unsure how to feel about the request. That they were still listening surprised me. They were sharks, and to them Scotty was chum.

“One more thing,” Scotty continued, holding up a finger. “And this is important. If any one of you runs into trouble in life, and I mean real trouble like you can’t put food on the table for your kid or you’re about to miss a mortgage payment, you let us know and we’ll get you what you need.”

My eyes bulged at the request, and Scotty just gripped my hand tighter. “I mean it,” he continued. “Like I said, I’ve been there. You wouldn’t be hiding out here in the freezing snow if you had other options. I respect what you’re doing, and I respect how hard you’re working, and in return I’m asking you to respect us as well.” He paused, eyeing them each individually. “Got it?”

They glanced at one another, still unsure about this new guy making demands on them. “Now, in a minute we’re going to invite you all into the house where it’s nice and warm and we’ve got plenty of food and drink and enough rooms for you all to bunk up until the storm passes. But,” he said, “that’s on the condition you leave your cameras outside. Any one of you breaches that trust, you all lose out. Are we all on the same page?”