“But hold on,” one woman says. “Can I just get one selfie with him?”
Something has me in its claws. Jealousy? Protectiveness? Possessiveness? “No. You can’t have a selfie with him. We’re leaving.”
“Des, it’s fine—” Adam starts.
“It’s not. This is a doctor’s office, not a fucking press junket.”
“Are you his girlfriend?” another woman asks, looking at me.
Adam answers for me. “Yes. She is.”
I guess that answers that question.
“Lucky bitch,” someone mumbles.
“What’s so special about her?”
“I’m prettier than her—”
“Come home with me and I’ll show you what a real woman can do, Adam!”
“We’re out of here,” Adam growls, and pushes me ahead of him, out the door and into the parking lot. The crowd of women follows us, but Oliver is waiting. The driver’s side door is open, the engine running. He flings open the rear passenger-side door, and then moves between us and the crowd, two massive arms spread out to form a barrier. Adam puts himself between me and the noise behind us, waiting until I’m in and buckling before sliding in himself.
And then we’re off, the Rover’s smooth, powerful engine roaring.
“Well, that was fun,” Oliver says.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice bitter. “A real hoot.”
Adam lets out a breath. “God, Des. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“Me? You shouldn’t have to worry about being mobbed at the goddamned gynecologist’s office.”
He shrugs easily. “Price of fame, I guess. I’m used to it, for the most part.”
“Where did they come from, though? The waiting room was empty when I went in for my appointment.”
Adam nods. “Yeah, well, the one girl in the waiting room sent a text, and a few minutes later three or four of her friends show up, and then the receptionist showed up, and then it was just a fucking circus. Whatever. It’s over now.” He glances at me. “So, we covered?”
I smile weakly. “Yep.”
He frowns and glances at Oliver in the rear-view mirror. “We left before I could pay the bill. Can you call and take care of that for me?”
Oliver nods. “Sure thing, boss. Consider it done.”
And then Adam’s eyes are on me. “So. Destiny?”
I sigh. “I hate that name. There’s a reason I go by ‘Des’.”
“Why? Destiny is a pretty name. I like it.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, I just…I’m weird about it, I guess. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with the name itself, it’s just—I don’t know. ‘Destiny Ross’ just sounds like a stripper’s name or something. I figured I’ve got enough going against me that I don’t need to sound like a stripper on top of it. So I go by Des.”
“So can I call you Destiny?” Adam asks, a small grin on his lips.
I glare at him. “Not if you want me to respond.”
He chuckles. “We’ll have to see about that,” he says with a mischievous smirk.
I’m not sure I want to know what that smirk means.
We stop for lunch at a Mexican place downtown, hiding in a corner booth in the back, Adam facing the wall so all anyone can see is me. We eat and chat idly, and then as we’re finishing, Adam glances at me.
“So. What had you grinning so big back in the waiting room earlier?”
I shrug and toy with the straw in my glass of Diet Coke. “It’s dumb.”
“So? Tell me anyway.”
“You’re my boyfriend.” I glance at him. “Right?”
His brows furrow. “I’d hope so, yeah. I mean, I said as much to that crowd at the doctor’s.”
“That’s why I was grinning. You’re my first.”
“You’ve never even had a boyfriend before?”
I shake my head. “Adam, Ruth is the only person I ever clicked with. I don’t trust anyone. I’ve known Ruth since my freshman year of high school. As soon as we graduated, we got a place together. She’s my only friend, my only family. I’m a very…private…person.” I poke at an ice cube with the end of the straw, watching it bob and pop back up. “I told you the other day. There was one guy. I had a few classes with him. He was nice, attractive. Seemed interested. We had coffee, he drove me back home and we made out in his car. That was my first kiss. I was okay with it, it felt nice, and I had no problems. But then he got a hand under my shirt and tried to unbutton my pants and I…wigged out. I had a panic attack. Not as bad as the one I had with you, but bad. That was the one and only time I tried dating, or anything close to it. After that, I just couldn’t bring myself to go out on dates. Guys would try to talk to me, and I’d just…freeze them out. So, yeah. You’re my first boyfriend. And that makes me smile.”
He just grins at me, happy, pleased with himself.
Once it was out there, it didn’t sound as dumb as I’d worried about. Or maybe it’s just Adam and his ability to make me feel comfortable, to feel good about myself.
* * *
Dating a celebrity is never boring. I discover this over the next two months. Some days, I don’t see him at all. He films from sun-up to sundown, and I’ve got my classes and work. But then he’ll show up outside the school, a hat low over his eyes, or a hood pulled forward, and he’ll whisk me away for dinner somewhere, and we’ll end up back at his apartment and I’ll invariably be naked before he’s even got the door locked behind us.
Ruth is giddy for me.
I’m giddy for me.
We get mobbed every once in awhile. Once, it was at the Somerset Mall, outside Nordstrom. Another time, it was at a Subway—turns out Adam has a slight addiction to Subway. He always handles the attention with aplomb and class. He never refuses to sign, rarely refuses a picture, and always keeps the focus of attention on himself, knowing I’m not entirely comfortable with it.
We’re photographed together on several occasions. And the tabloids have a field day with it. Rumors abound. According to the tabloids, we’ve broken up at least once so far, probably based on a Photoshopped picture taken of me as I’m trying to peel hair out of my mouth and looking, accidentally, like I’m angry or shouting. In the picture Adam is on his phone and he’s walking away from me. We’d just said goodbye, he was going to set, and I was going to class. Moments before the picture was taken, we’d kissed rather passionately. But they didn’t put that photo in the magazine.