Page 22 of Doggy Style

I nod, place my sunglasses over my eyes, and, for once, do as I’m told.

But the lights don’t stop flashing. And the questions just keep coming.

A man facing us but walking backward keeps taking pictures. “What’s your name, honey? Are you a porn star?”

What the hell? Do I look like a fucking porn star? Is this the shit that Preston has to deal with daily?

I’m about to open my big mouth to tell him off when Preston drops his bag and lunges at the guy. Preston grabs the pap by the shirt and slams him against the wall. “You’re way out of line, buddy. Apologize to her now, or I’ll knock your teeth out.”

Whoa. My heart races. I’m so turned on right now. No one has ever stood up for me. Ever. My ex actually called animal control on me after we broke up.

I dash over to them. “Preston, stop. I’m okay. He’s not worth it. Let’s go.”

The weaselly man squeaks, “Listen to your girlfriend, man, let me go. I won’t press charges if you let me get a good shot.”

“Not a chance, dude.” Preston releases him, and the guy slumps to the floor, rubbing at his throat.

Dammit. I don’t want Preston to get arrested over me. “Let’s just let him get his shot,” I suggest, laying my hand on Preston’s arm.

Preston’s head tilts toward me, and my lips ache, wanting to be kissed. I finally pull away from him and smile for the picture.

The paparazzo doesn’t hesitate to start snapping photos.

“Kiss her.”

Yes! Kiss me.

Oh, wait. I had just decided in the limo that I didn’t want to date Preston. But maybe I should listen to Avril. I don’t have to marry Preston. What harm could a little kissing do?

Preston gazes into my eyes hesitantly. I appreciate his respect, but I want to be kissed. I tilt my head toward him, close my eyes, internally squeal with delight as Preston’s lips cover mine. I can feel his thumb on my chin as he slowly probes my mouth with his tongue. He tastes minty and sweet, like a mojito. He finally pulls away, and I open my eyes and see him grinning at me.

I’m so pathetic. We’re not even in Hawai’i yet. I couldn’t even resist him in a nasty airport terminal.

The photographer finally stops snapping. Preston and I turn away, and I grab my bag. Preston gathers his before putting his arm around me again and leading me to security.

“Sorry about that.”

I shake my head, not sure if he meant the kiss or the paparazzo. “Don’t apologize. Wasn’t your fault at all. What a jerk. Do you deal with this every day?” It never occurred to me what kind of hell it must be to live like that.

“Yeah. I mean, I was used to it when I was dating Kira, and it never really bothered me. She liked it, would stop and pose. The paps loved her. I was just trying to be supportive of her. I was new to LA and this whole scene.” He pauses, and his brow furrows. “But once she posted that video, the attention went to a whole new level. I’m just kind of over it, you know?”

“Not really. Nothing like that has ever happened to me. I mean, I spend so much time begging on social media for pledges, foster homes, and transporters, that I’ve always wanted more exposure. But now I see how invasive it is.”

“Yeah. I wonder if I’ll ever get back to being anonymous.”

He flashes his ID, and then his phone with his boarding pass on it to the TSA guard. I turn my head and notice a few girls in line behind us taking our picture.

Wow.

Before I met him, I’ve assumed that he had no problems in the world—that he was some cocky, rich jerk who thinks he can buy people like me.

But now I have a glimpse into the dark side of his reality. And for the first time since he asked me to go to Hawai’i, I understand why he might be genuinely interested in me. Not just because he’s attracted to me or because I’m a challenge, although I’m sure there are elements of both in there. But because when he met me the other night, he saw a girl who clearly didn’t care about her appearance. A girl who has no desire to live in the limelight he’s tired of. I was wearing dirty jeans and a ratty shirt covered with dog hair. My only care in the world was saving the dogs.

“Miss, your ID, please.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Spaced out there for a second.”

I hand my ID and boarding pass to the TSA agent. I then proceed to remove my flip-flops and dump the necessary items into the gray plastic bins. I haven’t flown before, but I’ve heard horror stories from people about being forced to throw away expensive items, not that I have any, at security, so I made sure to read the rules for going through the TSA checkpoint after telling Preston I’d go with him to the pet expo.

Preston is a few steps ahead of me, and I do everything within my power not to stare at his incredible ass. But another part of his body catches my attention—his eyes. I notice he’s checking out every single person in the baggage area. Not creepily, more like he’s assessing them. For what, I don’t have a clue.

Maybe it’s some old habit that’s hard to break.

He catches my gaze and winks at me. I can’t help but melt.

God, I’m so weak.

“You ready?”

“Yup.”

He insists on carrying my bag up the escalator, and this time, instead of fighting him, I hand him my suitcase without hesitation.