Page 99 of Wild Love
“I want to kiss you right now,” I say, bringing my hand up to her cheek and grazing it with the back of my fingers. “I want to kiss you always.”
“Johnny.” She leans into my touch and then steps back. “We should get back inside.”
“I’m not reshooting the campaign. It’s bullshit.”
“You signed a contract.”
“Fuck that.”
She laughs quietly. “Don’t be pissed on my account. Seriously. I am proud of that shoot. Do I wish they loved it as much as I did? Of course. But they didn’t, and it’s their call.”
“It’s fucking bullshit.”
She takes a step in.
“Three feet, young lady,” I joke, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against me.
She drops a quick kiss to my lips and wiggles out of my hold. “I’ll see you inside.”
The rest of dinner goes by smoothly because I keep my mouth occupied with food and alcohol. I answer direct questions from my dad in grunts and focus on Dakota.
As soon as the dishes are cleared, he stands and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Shall we, son?”
I grind down on my molars, but Dakota places a hand on my thigh under the table and squeezes.
I follow him, downing the rest of my drink on my way to a room down the hall. It’s set up with a backdrop and lighting, and the photographer is waiting for us. I’m pissed that he made it seem like he was coming to see me when really he was dropping in to get something for his company—something I don’t want to give him.
Blythe smiles at me as I step into the room. “If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be right outside.”
Dad thanks her, and I shrug out of my jacket and untuck my shirt. There is a row of shirts and jackets hanging on a rack—traditional cuts and expensive fabrics. Each one looks exactly like something my dad would, and does, wear. They reek of money and importance. They’re nice, but I don’t see how they’re going to sell body wash.
I dress and stand in front of the backdrop. The photographer snaps a couple of photos, and I blink back the flashing dots. I tug at the collar, wishing I could rip off the bow tie, lose the jacket, and roll up my sleeves. I can do formal, but right now, my skin crawls. This whole situation just pisses me off.
I catch Dakota standing in the doorway with Blythe. She smiles at me, twisting her fingers in front of her. She’s so goddamn beautiful and fucking perfect.
I want her. Not just for the summer. Longer. So much longer. And I’m tired of not being able to tell the world. How much better would tonight be if I could have her by my side for everyone to see?
“Little bit less of a smile,” my dad says, wiping whatever smile was there off my lips. I didn’t even realize I was smiling, but I guess staring at Dakota does that to me.
“Can we Photoshop his hands later?” my dad asks. “The tattoos are distracting.”
I glance down at the small amount of ink visible. That’s it. I’ve reached my limit. I stand and undo the bow tie, unbutton the shirt.
“I’m not doing this,” I tell him.
“Doing what?”
“This.” I pull off the jacket and toss it toward the rack. “Pretending to be this guy you want me to be.”
Someone rushes to pick it up and place it on a hanger, and I feel like a dick for throwing a tantrum.
My dad sighs and lowers his voice. “What the hell does that even mean? Sit down.”
“You don’t want me in this campaign. You want some version of me that doesn’t exist. Someone who wears suits every day and doesn’t have tattoos, someone like you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The campaign—”
“Was great. Dakota’s ideas were amazing, but you can’t see that because they highlighted too much of me.”
