He faced the cameras, pulling her an inch closer. “Yes, she’s mine.”
Meadow choked as she attempted to exhale.
Mine.
That four-letter word was heavier than the one, he kept dropping on her, that made her question if she even knew what love was. Mine felt certain…felt like a promise she wanted to stick her pinky out for just to make sure it was real.
The reporters screamed more questions.
“How long you two been seeing each other?”
“Is this serious?”
“Is she moving with you during the season?”
“How does it feel to be dating a golf champion?”
“What’s her name?!”
“Where did y’all meet?!”
“Is this why he won yesterday?!”
Zaire kept his arm around her waist, his thumb brushing the side of her face. Meadow didn’t think her heart could beat any faster, but it did, pounding as loud as the bright lights were flashing.
“Chill,” he told the reporters, lifting his chin. “Y’all not gon’ bully her…back the fuck up, cuh.”
A flash went off inches from her face.
Meadow jumped.
Zaire immediately stepped in front of her body, shielding her completely. Security surged closer without being told.
“Back the fuck up,” Zaire ordered. “Y’all gon’ respect her space on the gang, y’all is.”
He didn’t yell. It was just that quiet, dangerous West Coast firmness that made grown men straighten up on instinct.
Meadow blinked behind him, chest tight, heart overwhelmed.
The reporters slowed down.
Security opened a path.
“Let’s move,” one of them instructed.
Zaire took Meadow’s hand again, interlocking their fingers, squeezing just enough to remind her that he has her.
If she wasn’t a professional heel wearer, the melee would’ve had her tripping and falling. She had worn clear designer platform heels to bring her look together and give her some height. They were comfortable and complimented her French pedicure.
“You okay?” he asked through the chaos.
She nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m just…this is a lot.”
“It’s gon’ be like this for a minute,” he warned, rubbing his thumb along her hand. “But I’m gon’ hold you down through all of it.”
Meadow looked up at him. His outfit complimented hers to perfection even though they didn’t plan it. They looked like theywere made for each other. Zaire wore a cream colored crochet designer short sleeve button down with navy blue slacks that hugged his lower half beautifully showing off his sculpted thighs. His jewelry showed he was about his money, but the tatts and grill let the world know he wasn’t just for show. That gun on his hip was the truth teller of where he came from and how he moved.
Her voice came out small. “Why me?”
