Not If I Date You First

Chapter 11

"Excuse you." Chrissy's glare is red-hot as she steps directly in front of his lens. "Did you not notice that you just hit my friend in the face?"

"Outta the way, toots." His voice drips with condescension as he tries to step around us. "I'm with The Trib."

Chrissy looks at me, shaking her head in disgust. What a chauvinist ass.

"Then you should've been here earlier, so 'The Trib' could've gotten decent photos." I step closer to Chrissy, so we're shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking the guy out. He blinks at me like he can't believe we're not letting him pass.

"Listen, cupcake—" he says, jabbing his meaty finger at me.

"My name isn't Cupcake or Toots, for that matter. And we aren't moving."

The guy's jowls quiver as he stares me down. Then he turns, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he tries to push through the mob.

"Can you believe that guy?" Chrissy watches as he barrels toward a group of fangirls who don't budge an inch for him.

"Such a slimeball." I shake my head and go to check if the actors are within shooting range. But as I turn around, I stop short, gasping and fumbling my camera in surprise. It slips through my fingers, and I let out a grunt as it bangs into my stomach, catching on the strap around my neck.

Liam Anders is standing directly in front of me. "You just make friends wherever you go, don't you?" Liam says, jerking his thumb in the direction the guy stormed off in.

He's wearing the same white shirt and pair of jeans from the other day. In the incessant flashing lights, I can make out a small scar cutting across his chin that I've never noticed before. I haven't seen it on the show. They must cover it with makeup. I don't know why they would, though. Somehow the tiny imperfection makes him even more handsome, which is inexplicably irritating.

I look over at Chrissy. Her lens is aimed at both of us. I breathe a sigh of relief. I was worried she wouldn't play along after she found out I'd be getting points for these shots too. I'm sure the money she'll make on them would be hard to pass up, though.

"Actually," I force a sugary smile. "I'm a very friendly person when I'm not surrounded by jackasses."

"Right. I've heard having no respect for other people's privacy is a real crowd pleaser."

"Oh, calm down, James Dean."

Liam scoffs. "Wow. Way to cut me deep there."

I lean in closer to him. "There are millions of girls in this city. Why have your picture taken with me?"

"Well, I doubt any of those other girls would look as good covered in green juice," Liam says, loud enough for everyone in our vicinity to hear, then winks at me.

He's performing for the photographers again. I know that. But that wink—it has my stomach doing somersaults.

"Did he say green juice? Wait! Is she the girl from the pictures?" Someone shouts from behind me. I close my eyes, bracing myself. Like dominoes falling one by one, everyone realizes who I am.

"That's her?"

"Is that Liam's girlfriend?"

"He's dating that girl?"

Chrissy's camera isn't the only one trained on me anymore. I suddenly have a newfound empathy for any insect under a microscope. I wonder if this is how celebs feel day in and day out with the paparazzi following them. Suddenly, Liam's comment about me not respecting his privacy hits different.

Having the eyes and attention of all these people is suffocating. I can hardly breathe through the anxiety building in my chest. But then I think about Chrissy's sister. How much privacy should someone with a platform like Liam's have? If he's going to set an example for millions of people, don't those same people have the right to know if that example is positive? What's more important, privacy or accountability? I don't know. I can't think. Not with an anxiety attack threatening to drown me.

When I look up at Liam, though, my panic hardens into frosty anger. He has a hand clamped over his mouth like he's trying to hide a laugh. His shoulders are shaking. Clearly, he's enjoying my discomfort.

"How's it feel to be on the other side of the lens for a change?" he asks.

I step toward him so we're only inches apart. "What's your game here, Superstar?"

"What's yours, Ace?"

We stare each other down. My heart is pounding, whether from irritation, panic, or something else, I don't know.

"Liam, is that your girlfriend?" someone yells.

A smile twists Liam's lips as he calls back, "No comment." He stares me dead in the eyes as he says it like it's some kind of challenge.

I want to tell everyone here what a liar he is and wipe the smug grin off his face. But I can't. Not without admitting that I'm a liar too. And not without wrecking the deal I made with Agnes and my best chance at securing my dream job.

The crowd presses in. They stand on tiptoes, trying to catch a peek at me. The mob was intimidating before, but now it feels like I'm being buried alive. My palms are sweating, and my fingers tremble against my Nikon. I glance in the direction I saw Faye and Ariani earlier. I haven't gotten any shots of them, but there's no way I'll be able to with all these people surrounding me.

The fear must register on my face because when I look back at Liam, he isn't laughing anymore. Something else flickers in his eyes. Pity.

It only pisses me off more. This is all his fault. If he didn't have to open his big mouth, I could've taken my shots and left without anyone figuring out who I am. And Chrissy definitely won't be the only person with photos of the two of us together now.

"You're such a jerk," I scowl at him, raising my camera so it's inches from his face. I snap a picture, and the flash explodes in his eyes.

He reels back, blinking.

"Ma'am, you need to leave." The bodyguard with the long, red mustache steps forward. I hadn't noticed him out here in all the pandemonium.

"I was already going." I shoot Liam one last withering glare before turning away. I shove through the mass of paparazzi swarming around me, feeling more confused than I can ever remember being.