Even when Orlando gives me a heads up that there might be something said about me in Choice Magazine. Thanks to an acquaintance, he always knows before everybody else, and alerts me before anything is going to drop.
Good or bad, I’m his first point of call.
Thankfully, since my engagement with Olive, the press have remained eerily silent.
I can’t tell if they’re gearing up to bury me for good, or if they’ve decided I’m not worth the headline anymore. Either way, I don’t trust the silence.
But until I hear from my manager, I’ll let myself breathe a little lighter.
Checking my watch for the third time, I debate whether to wait in my car or meet Olive at the arrivals terminal.
The introvert in me wants to sit and wait for her, but my protective side wins out.
I swing my car door open, shut it behind me, and lock it with my key fob. Leaving my hood down, I head inside.
We both have to be in Vegas within the next week. Me for a game, and Olive for her next string of shows. Instead of hopping on my jet and meeting her there, we both agreed that her coming to New York first was a smarter option.
Did I understand the logic behind it? No, not really. It would’ve saved her a trip if we had just met there. But when I floated the idea in the air casually, she agreed almost immediately. I did my best to keep my excitement at bay.
I’m standing in the middle of a packed terminal with people crowding around me, taking photos like I’m news again. But I only have eyes for her.
She looks a mess, like she’s functioning on zero sleep.
And when she sees me, the color returns to her face, her features softening.
Letting go of her bags, she somehow finds any remaining energy she has and leaps into my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist.
"Hey, Songbird," I say with a smile as she looks down on me, her eyes leaning more brown today than normal.
"Hey," she whispers, her arms locked around my neck. "There are a lot of people around us. Sorry if I’m too heavy, I didn’t know what else to do." She smiles, placing a kiss on my cheek. I set her back on her feet slowly.
"So, if I kiss you, will it all be just for show?" I tease, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
She nuzzles her cheek into the palm of my hand, both of us ignoring the murmurs that surround us.
"Only if you want it to be."
She’s on her toes, closing the distance between us while cameras flash from every direction.
"Should we get to your car before even more of our privacy is invaded and blasted across social media?" she asks, her breath warm against my lips.
"Absolutely."
"Let’s give them something to talk about first." She bridges the gap entirely, her mouth crashing against mine.
We stay like that for a long time. My hands cupping her cheeks, her arms moving from around my neck to around my middle, and she pulls me closer.
This is for them. The crowd. The headlines.
But my body doesn’t care. My heart doesn’t either.
It's for me, too.
I don’t want this kiss to end.
I want to take it deeper.
I want to slip my tongue between her lips. I want to carry her home, and worship her body, see how this kiss has made her react.
