Page 39 of Butterfly Effect

Well, shit

Landy

Don’t tell anyone I told you

Landy

Now fix it and save your Lambo!! Good luck

I fiddle with the collar of my hoodie while leaning against the brick facade of Cafe Jardín. Paparazzi wait at the window, across the street, and down the block, failing to be inconspicuous.

Leeches. Every last one.

Their clicking starts before Gabe turns the corner. Enormous, dark sunglasses cover her eyes and freckles. Herstraight-cut tan peacoat billows with every long stride, framing the lean lines of her legs in those black jeans. Classy, cool. All the flashes in my periphery couldn’t pull my focus from her.

If they want a show, I’ll give them one.

As she nears, my hand reaches for hers, drawing the ridge of her bare, chilled knuckles to my mouth. Genuine shock replaces her unnerved expression, the fog of her breath quickly retreating mid-air as I pull her close.

“For the cameras.” My lips graze and warm the plane of her cheek. I pause the kiss to address the paps between our shoulders. “Do you mind? This is a private moment.”

She hisses as I usher her into the bustling restaurant with an arm cinched around her waist. “You’re a douche.”

Her words mean almost nothing because the way she eases into the hold? It’s that night last summer all over again. That Gabe was so different, so…open, willing.

We both were.

My pulse gallops in my throat.

A hostess leads us to the reserved table in the back, private and far from prying eyes and eavesdroppers. The short walk is a tease, the close contact with Gabe gone too soon as we take our seats across from one another. Frustrated fists form in my lap. Her hands disappear below the tabletop as the waiter approaches, introducing himself as Paul and listing the specials. I accidentally ignore him, too hypnotized by her pink-tinted lips, and he has to repeat the question.

“And for you, monsieur?”

“Sorry. I was too distracted by my girlfriend’s beauty.” He and I exchange cheery glances. “I’ll have the same.”

“You’re gonna have a harvest salad and cranberry juice?” Gabe asks.

I throw an oversized grin at Paul. “It’s my favorite.”

He nods and scribbles, saying he’ll return with our drinks.

“That was a bit much,” she says, docking her sunglasses atop her head. Her makeup mutes the splatter of dark brown freckles across her nose and cheeks.

“Gotta give them something to talk about.” My elbows rise and rest on the white tablecloth as I lean in. “You never know if the staff is in cahoots with the tabloids.”

She rolls her eyes. “I meant all the PDA out front.”

“Oh, I did that because you love it.”

The corner of those pretty lips curls into a sneer, eyelids drooping to deaden her glance. “Why are you like this?”

I recline into the woven back of the French bistro chair. “Devilishly handsome? Effortlessly charismatic? Ottawa’s number-one heartthrob? You’ll have to be more specific.”

“An unbearable asshole.”

I swear my heart soars at the idea of getting under her skin.

“It’s payback for sending me a nude and then unsending it.”

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