Page 86 of Passenger Princess

"Yeah, I know, trust me. You thought I was some chick trying to sneak into the Atlas Oaks section."

"That wasn't why I was pissed."

I look at him, confused, and he steps away, hauling my bag over his shoulder and putting a hand on the door to open it. He looks at me before he does, a small smile on his lips, and I just know whatever he's about to say is going to pack a punch.

"Oh?"

"No, baby, I wasn't pissed because you were trying to get into the section. I was pissed because all I could think about was what it would be like to fuck you wearing nothing but that crown."

A rush of heat runs through my body, making my head light and my toes tingle, but Jaime opens the door, steps out, and holds it open for me.

"After you, Princess."

When we walk into the gymnasium, dozens of preteen and teenage girls start whispering, some excitedly, some with a look of irritation that matches the redhead at the front of the room. For Utah's stop, I'm joining Anne and a few other Miss Americana contestants at an assembly with the Girl Scouts of Utah, an organization for which she was a part of her entire childhood and is now a spokesperson for.

It's strange, considering every other stop we've highlightedmymission of supporting small women-owned businesses, but I've cometo learn to just let things roll when it comes to the Miss Americana organization.

After I answer a few questions to the dozen or so reporters that are now lining the back of the high school gymnasium, I'm given a mic, and Anne and I stand on the small stage at the front of the room. She's blathering on about how important this is to her, and I'm forcing myself not to zone out when she turns to me.

"So, what have you prepared for us today?" Anne says, a catty smile on her lips, and suddenly, I get the feeling I am being so totally fucked and not in the fun Jaime way.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, you did prepare something to show the girls, correct? A life lesson you can share with them, something you can teach them…that was the whole point of you coming here, after all." I smile and try to fight the urge to claw her eyes out. "It was all in the email Regina sent you," she says, a stage whisper spoken directly into the microphone she's holding before giving an apologetic look to the girls.

It's one of the fakest looks I've ever seen in my life.

"I'm so sorry, girls. Give us a second. There seems to be an issue with…preparation. Miss New Jersey wasn't a Girl Scout, so she doesn't know our number one rule!" I don't miss how she alwaysrefusesto call me Miss Americana.

The girls reply in unison, the first cardinal rule of being a Girl Scout or whatever like a creepy little girl army. "Always be prepared!"

"I didn't receive any emails from anyone," I say low to Anne, and she gives me a sad smile.

"Well, I guess you're just going to let all of these girls down," she says, not tampering with her voice to be between just us and waving her arm elegantly to the room.

Irritation and anger brew within me, simmering and simmering until I start to feel my boiling point nearing. My eyes move along the room, trying to bring myself back to reality to figure out what to do next. That's when I see Regina standing in the wings, a smug smile on her face, and somehow, I know.

This isintentional.

This is to make me look bad because she can't stand me. She can't stand that I won her precious little contest and don't fit the stupid mold she thinks all women should fit into.

She's so furious I haven't heeded her warnings and haven't fallen into line that she's willing to embarrass me, knowing it won't stay contained to just this event since my every move has become public interest. Reporters in the back of the gym click their cameras, and girls start whispering amongst themselves in the crowd.

But Regina Miller doesn't know me nearly as well as she thinks she does.

Because if there's one thing I am,it's stubborn as fuck.

My eyes shift, my mind moving to try and think of what to do when I see it, the perfect answer to my problems.

He seems to be the answer to everything these days: my happiness, my orgasms, my safety. Jaime stands there, arms crossed on his chest, wearing an olive green T-shirt pulled tight against muscles and his broad chest, and a pair of black cargo pants looking like a real-life GI Joe doll to my Barbie.

God, it's perfect, isn't it?

And he issogoing to hate this.

I ignore that thought, deciding I can deal with his blowback after I turn and smile wide at Anne, whose own smug smile falters a bit, her perfect forehead creasing as I speak.

"You know, this actually is a wonderful opportunity to share something I've been working on a lot lately," I say excitedly. "Recently, I had an incident where someone put their hands on me without my permission." My eyes move to the crowd, and the girls whisper and nod since the incident was widely publicized. "And it really opened my eyes to how it's become a woman's job to know how to protect herself in any situation. I'm incredibly fortunate nothing terrible happened, but that's not always the case." I hear the shutters of cameras, and I keep my shoulders back, my chin tipped up, my crown on straight.

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