“Deal.” She let out a breathy sigh.
“How the hell am I supposed to go out in public with you tonight?”
Jordan pulled back, her eyes etched in hurt.
I cupped her chin. “You look good enough to eat. And I’m not the only guy who’s going to think that. Holy shit, that’s Max’s plan! He wants me to go to prison.”
“No prison.” Jordan winced. “PR nightmare.”
“We could spin it.” I chuckled darkly and turned her in my arms so her back was to me. My body liked that a bit too much. I’m sure she was well aware of my current situation. “You never know, I may get a part in the next Mission: Impossible movie because I kicked someone’s ass with a shard of glass, a napkin, and a peanut.”
“I’d love to see that trick.” Jordan reached her hand behind her. Fingertips grazed the button of my jeans, then moved lower.
I let out a little groan.
The door burst open. “Dude.” Max shook his head slowly. “I did not play fairy godmother to your Cinderella so you could sex her all night in the privacy of the suite I paid for.” He opened the door wider so everyone in the hallway could see that Jordan was copping a feel and my body was ready to explode. “According to my schedule, we’re going to be five minutes late to dinner. Now get a move on before I go all evil stepsister on her ass and rip her dress, steal her shoe, then kill Gus-Gus.”
“They don’t kill Gus-Gus in Cinderella,” Jordan pointed out.
“Really?” Max crossed his arms. “I thought Lucifer got that chunky little bastard. Well, I guess I can be wrong once every decade.” He shrugged. “Now, let’s go.”
Jordan pulled away.
“Maybe.” I jerked her back. “Keep walking in front of me so Max doesn’t think Gus-Gus is my happy word.”
“Got it.” She laughed.
Cameras flashed during dinner, and even though I expected it, it still sucked because I wanted more privacy. But I knew after dinner and drinks I would get Jordan all to myself.
“According to the schedule”—Jordan laid her schedule on her empty plate—“we have free time until tomorrow morning.”
I stood and held out my hand.
“Wait!” Max stood. “But Ohana means family, and family sticks together!”
“Where the hell did you put that?” Jason grabbed the schedule and turned it over.
In small writing, writing that you’d have to be an Avenger to read correctly, Max had written, “OHANA RULE: if anyone says the word Ohana, alone time is hereby revoked and group must stick together. Never leave a man behind. America.”
“And again,” Milo shouted, “you’re Canadian!”
“I’m a dual citizen!” Max fired back. “An alien born in a foreign land.” His eyes narrowed. “Besides, I live here, in the States, yo!”
“Aren’t we all so glad you do?” I sang and flipped him off.
“Ohana, bitch.” Max did a little bow. “Now, off to the club of my choosing. P.S. Make sure you stop for the photo op.”
“Photo op?” everyone shouted at once. I groaned into my hands. That was the last thing I wanted.
Max shrugged. “Look, the media wants a piece of Reid and Jezebel. The worst way to feed a shark is to yell, blood, blood, blood! So either we panic and bleed all over the cameras, or we seal all over them, feed them without them realizing they’re even hungry, then go on our merry little way.”
“So now we’re seals.” Jason tipped back his drink and held up his hand for the waiter.
“Feeding the sharks,” Colton added.
“Guys.” Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “We give them what they want, then we party like it’s 1999.”
“Were you potty trained then?” Jordan asked. “Just curious.”
“You bastard!” Max shouted in my direction. “Who told?”
“Wait, what?” Jason coughed. “Dude, you would have been like six!”
“OHANA!” Max shouted louder this time, his face red. “Ohana means no tattletales . . . Reid.”
“He had a very serious fear of toilets,” I said cheerfully, lifting my glass in a salute in his direction.
Max scowled. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have told me that’s where bad little boys go when they pee their pants!”
“Nice. Reverse psychology for the win!” Colt held up his hand for a high five while Max started cursing like a sailor.
“Fine.” I stood and stretched. “Let’s get this over with.” Because I knew the faster I did his bidding, the sooner I’d be with the girl in the red dress.
Jordan reached for my hand.
“Are you okay with this?”
“Sure.” Her smile seemed forced. “After all, this is why we came, right? I mean, it’s about your image, Reid, I haven’t forgotten that.”
“Funny.” I kissed her mouth. “I have.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I pulled her into my arms. “Seems a girl in a red dress is taking up all space in my brain these days.”
“She sounds hot.”
“She’s so much more . . . than hot.” I kissed her mouth again. “She’s everything.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
JORDAN