Page 130 of Deliverance

“Oh.”

He brings his mouth down on mine and does exactly what he just promised. And continues to do so until we finally reach our destination. A small movie theater somewhere near Westside.

There’s already a long string of cars parked by the curb and I can see the red carpet stretched out in front of the main entrance.

“Don’t work too hard,” Zander whispers against my ear when I run my lipstick over my bottom lip. “I’ll eat it all again the first chance I get.”

A shiver zings down my spine, but I don’t mind at all. As a matter of fact, I already want to leave.

The camera flashes take me by surprise when Zander helps me out of the limo. A lot of these people seem to know him by name, and he stops for a second in front of the barricade to shake a few hands but declines selfies or requests to sign T-shirts and other merch.

One of the publicists, a small girl with a huge collection of piercings in her ears and nose, hands us two wristbands, then ushers us straight to the red carpet and asks if Zander is willing to do an interview.

“Not tonight,” he tells her politely, his fingers lacing with mine.

She stops in the middle of the step-and-repeat and holds up a card with our names on it in front of the press.

It’s official. We’re official.

Dozens of cameras snap, blinding me to the point where I can’t see where I’m going. In my peripheral, the publicist motions for us to take her spot and then she’s gone to greet the next guest.

Zander’s hand squeezes mine carefully and he draws me with him onto the red carpet.

I follow, my eyes trained on his shoulder, on the black fabric stretched across his muscled back, on his mess of dirty blond locks.

You’ve done this before, Drew, I calm myself.You’ll be doing more of it in a few months too.

Then his arm comes around my waist, strong and warm.

“Zander! This way!” one of the photographers shouts.

“Here, Zander!” someone else shouts from the opposite side of the press flank.

“Zander! Drew!”

The sound of my name makes something inside me twitch. As much as Tina loves to get the press involved, this is very different from the art events I normally attend. The crowd here is wilder. People are clad in spikes and leather. The music playing in the background is heavy. Very heavy.

Sensing my apprehension, Zander pulls me closer. Our shoulders and hips touch and he doesn’t seem to mind that others can see the intimacy.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Five seconds, then he gives a quick wave to the crowd and off we go, into the building, where we’re surrounded by a knot of guests.

Quick greetings are exchanged.

“That wasn’t so bad, huh?” he whispers moments later as we make our way through the dozens of hands, all extended to him for a shake.

My anxiety is off the charts. All I’m able to muster is a smile.

“Let’s go say hi to Alex.” Zander motions at the winding staircase that leads to the mezzanine. Two security guards check our wristbands and let us through.

Here, away from the madness of the red carpet, the atmosphere is more relaxed. Clusters of people are scattered around the floor, sipping on their drinks, chatting.

Before we even get a chance to spot Alex—the man responsible for tonight’s shebang and whom I also had to google—we’re stopped by a woman in a dark green jumpsuit. Her face is vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it. Although I’m certain she’s just as much of a public figure as Zander.

My quick internet research the other day revealed that Alex Sideris directed a whole lot of award-winning music videos for all sorts of rock bands, from newbies to industry veterans. I spied quite a few celebs while we were downstairs. If the crowd on the sidewalk is any indication of potential guests.

“Zander! Didn’t expect to see you here!” Miss Green Jumpsuit flashes him a wide smile, her gaze flicking over to me for a brief moment. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Joan. Pleasure.”

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