Page 14 of Good Guy Gabe

“I, umm, I was on a diet my whole childhood,” I whisper, needing to pull myself away from thoughts I shouldn’t be having in a family restaurant. “Nothing crazy when I was little, just portion control, but then it got strict when I was a teenager, and I practically lived on a treadmill. So when I quit and then . . . ended up being by myself, I just stopped worrying about it.” I grin down at the feast between us. “I guess I do get really excited about food, but it’s so good. I want it all.”

Gabe nods in understanding. “I’m gonna get it all for you, then.” He waves his hand for our server, on the opposite side of the room and clearly busy entering another table’s order into the computer. The server gestures that she saw him, but instead of waiting for her to come over, Gabe yells, “An order of bacon-wrapped coconut shrimp for the lady!”

Not a single person seems put out by him interrupting their conversations, but I’m quickly realizing that the entire city of Wilmington knows Gabe’s a good guy. And maybe, just maybe, that’ll protect me. Maybe Wilmington has forgotten who I am.

Chapter 7

Gabe

THE MOMENT WEenter the ballroom, Joss tenses, and I don’t like it.

I mean, I love the way she holds my arm. I want to feel her arms around me as we snuggle under a blanket in front of the TV as much as I want those perfectly manicured nails digging into my bare arms as she screams my name, but I don’t want her to feel scared of a social event.

I want her to feel safe.

I find Merrick in the crowd. I’ll put my arm around Joss and give her the opportunity to join the conversation with Merrick and me but not force it. I’ll make her comfortable. Merrick is one of my closest friends on the team, along with Blaise, Evan Allore, and Dom Morales. I’d rather spend the night introducing her to my friends than forcing her to deal with strangers who are being weird with her.

Some people are shooting us seriously evil eyes, and I just don’t get it. I don’t care to, either. Joss is great.

Merrick is with his on-again, off-again girlfriend Selene. Last I heard, he hated her. Based on their body language, that’s still true. Selene’s a bitch, so it’s understandable, just like Merrick is sadistic with a sprinkling of masochism, so it makes sense for him to fly someone he hates into town just to do this thing.

Oh, and I’ll have to listen to them hate-fuck tonight before he sends her packing tomorrow. Not even because the walls are thin between our bedrooms. They’re probably going to do it inthe kitchen or the living room or the bar, and they’re going to be stupidly loud about it. I don’t know why he’s like this, but it’s exhausting.

I’m concerned I shouldn’t be introducing Joss to Merrick while Selene’s here, but then Joss responds to Selene’s cultivated disdain with her bright, unassuming smile. She even loosens her grip on my arm, giving me the opportunity to drop my hand to the small of her back. She blows right past the roll of Selene’s eyes when she says, “Oh my gosh, I know you! You’re the, oh gosh, the lady with the thing, the big ball thing!”

Selene’s groan would make me think she was furious with Joss if I didn’t know how much she loves being recognized and has even staged this kind of encounter in the past. “It’s a Scandinavian mercury detoxifier,” she says in her most bored voice.

It’s not Scandinavian or mercury, and the sound it makes when you touch it isn’t the toxins getting drawn out of your bloodstream; it’s a texture on the surface. She’s sold thousands of the stupid things in her luxury holistic spa shop, and she knows it’s all a scam.

“Right, yeah, a Scandinavian mercury detoxifier.” Joss gives her the biggest doe eyes, so big I’m thinking she might be baiting Selene and says, “I’ve always wondered how you made the mercury solid like that. And how do you prevent mercury poisoning? Like, it’s just so smart.”

Selene huffs and says, “It’s an alloy,” as she turns to Merrick, giving Joss the literal cold shoulder. “Babe, can you—”

“What’s an alloy?” Joss asks as Merrick says, “I vomit-burped when you called mebabe.”

This is possibly the greatest thing I have ever seen. Selene, with her ill-fitting, inappropriately sheer dress that barely covers her panties, her hair pulled back so tightly it’s doubling as a facelift and her contouring makeup that makes her nose look like the back of a skunk from the side, is getting trounced by Joss. I don’t know how Joss is so good at destroying mean girls, but it’s hilarious.

Selene’s stuck, and when she’s stuck, she lashes out at the person who looks the weakest. She’s also sort of dumb about it, usually going after Blaise when, admittedly, I’m the one who lacks the snappy comebacks. She fails again now, going for Joss. “Who even are you, and why are you talking to me right now?”

“Oh, I’m Joss Page. I’m a quiltfluencer.”

She says it all with a happy bob of the head, like it’s the most normal thing in the world and she’s genuinely excited to talk to Selene. But as she says it, a couple of older, sour-faced ladies pass behind me, and one of them says, “She’s still Jocelyn Edgars,” to her companion just loudly enough that I can hear it, too.

Joss’s hand clenches, and if she was going to say anything else, it’s cut off, giving Selene the chance to dig in with, “That’s not even a thing.”

“Not really. You’re right. I’ve only got four hundred thousand followers, and I think I’m at three thousand paid subscriptions. It’s nothing, really.”

If Selene was wearing less make-up, I’m sure I’d see her pale at that. She’s got more followers for sure, but followers are easy. It’s a click of a button, no financial burden. Three thousand paid subscriptions means a minimum $15,000 monthly, less the processing fees, for Joss. I paid $300 for a full year of herhighest tier, and she has plenty of others at that price point. She’s making well into the six figures from that alone.

I know for a fact that Selene isn’t doing that well. She sells nudes and private cam time to make ends meet. Yeah, she looks like money, but most of it is gifts and product endorsements.

Whatever she’s about to say, Merrick cuts her off by pounding the rest of his beer, turning to her, and belching obnoxiously in her face. “I need another drink, let’s do this.” He even goes as far as to slap her ass to get her moving before he nods to Joss. “We’ll talk later.”

Joss stands there frozen for several seconds before saying, “I don’t think I like Merrick.”

“He grows on you.”

“So does fungus.”

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