Page 83 of Beyond the Spotlight Discreet Version
“Do you really want to know?”
“Why not? I’m not ashamed. Sex is natural. If I hadn’t been in a relationship with Brad for as long as I was, my number would be higher.”
“Would it now?”
“Yes. Though, the ten men I’ve slept with were shit in bed compared to you, so I might have given up on seeking good sex.”
My dick jumps at her words, very much wanting to prove to her I am the best and all she’ll ever need.
“Fifty. My body count is fifty. At least... it was when I stopped counting.”
I blow out a long breath, waiting for her reaction.
“See? That explains why you’re so good. You’re far more experienced than I am.”
I clutch her chin and bring her lips to mine. “You’re my favorite, by far.”
“I better be,” she says and nips at my lips.
We kiss far too inappropriately for public. I try to slip my hand between her legs and underneath her tight dress, wondering if she’s wearing panties, but she slaps my hand away.
When we pull apart, our server arrives to take our drink order. I select a bottle of Bartolo Mascarello from 1971.
“That costs $3,600!” Savannah gasps.
“It’s well worth it. Trust me.”
She favors sweet wine, and the one I chose has notes of black and red cherries. I assumed it’d be sweet enough for Savannah. Nope. She hated it. Not that she told me. Her face gave her away. Her nostrils flared and the corners of her mouth turned down almost comically.
She gives me a thumbs up.
God, she’s adorable.
Dinner went smoothly. They didn’t have tortellini, so she ordered Bolognese parmigiana she said was “to die for.”
I had a pancetta and chilies dish. Both of us staying away from anything with a lot of garlic and onions.
We shared a bourbon gelato and after nearly two hours, we’re ready to leave for the next part of the date.
“This is it,” I say, leading her to the front of the restaurant. The paparazzi gather like a horde of zombies, peering in at their meal. “Are you ready?”
“I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
Chapter 20 - Savannah
Thedooropenstoblinding flashes and frantic voices yelling over each other.
“Rey, who are you with?”
“Rey, tell us about fatherhood.”
“Rey, how’s filming?”
“Rey, has Mylan fallen off the wagon yet?”
What the actual fuck with that last one?
Cameras and microphones are shoved in my face.
