Page 73 of Beyond the Spotlight Discreet Version
I open my mouth, confused.
“Oh,” Lana adds. “You haven’t spotted them yet.”
I scan the area, only seeing my two bodyguards.
Lana points at a man in athletic gear, stretching near a tree. “That’s one.” She points to a woman dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, standing near a bus stop on her phone. “Her too.”
“Unbelievable. I told him not to hire extra bodyguards.”
“He was just worried. You can’t be mad at him for caring.”
I snap my mouth shut because how can I argue with that? Hedoescare. So goddamn much. I told him not to hire extra protection, but what do I know? This is his world. He knows the dangers better than I ever could.
I still wish we had talked about this, though.
As if his ears were burning from us talking about him, my phone lights up with a text.
Hot British Guy
I miss you
I’m going to leave him on read. Let him sweat a little for not communicating with me over the extra bodyguard situation.
“What are you up to?” Lana asks as I smile deviously at my phone.
“Just pushing his buttons,” I say, standing. Lana follows suit and we ascend the stairs into the Met. It’s on my list of tourist adventures in New York City.
Once we’re inside and we’ve been slowly making our way through the first area of exhibits, my phone vibrates in my jeans pocket.
Hot British Guy
You must be having fun out with Lana. Text me when you can
I heart the first text and thumbs up the second. I giggle and tuck my phone back in my pocket.
I’ve never been to a museum so massive. In high school, my science teacher took us on a field trip to Little Rock to the Museum of Discovery. We learned about the science behind things like electricity, cars, and tornadoes. But I’m pretty sure there aren’t any art museums in Arkansas, at least none like this one.
We slowly make our way through the exhibits, stopping when something piques our interest. Lana’s favorite were the sculptures—how all body types were considered beautiful back then. My favorite exhibits were the European paintings. Artists painted people of all sizes, just like the sculptures. Women with curves laying half naked across a chaise or being fawned over by men.
If only it were still like that, and the world didn’t hate fat bodies.
After about three hours, Lana and I tire of walking around. We could spend all day inside the Met and still not see everything. I definitely plan to return. We stop at one of the museum’s cafés and snack on pastries and iced coffee. I check my phone and see Reynold has been filling it with text messages.
Hot British Guy
I’m bored. These resets are taking forever
He sends a selfie of him and Mylan.
Hot British Guy
What are you ladies up to today?
Seeing the sights?
I can’t stop thinking about you
I can’t stop thinking about fucking you
