Book Title: A Wilde Night
Author: Savannah Young
Genre: Contemporary Romance R
elease Date: August 2014
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
“What’s going on over there?” I point to a dark-haired girl being mobbed by a small crowd. They’re shoving pieces of paper and pens at her.
Teko laughs. “What are you blind? That’s Katie Lawrence.”
Am I supposed to know who Katie Lawrence is?
Teko’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “She’s America’s Sweet-heart. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen Sky Blues?”
“Okay, I won’t tell you I’ve never seen it,” I fire back.
“Or Chasing Summer?”
“I won’t tell you I haven’t seen that either.”
“Dude, have you been living under a rock? They’re Academy Award winning movies. She’s won two Oscars. Just won best-supporting actress and she was only in the movie like fifteen minutes. Her character died of a drug overdose. It was epic.”
Now I’m the one who’s eying Teko. “And how do you know about these movies? They sound like chick flicks.”
“My girl likes movies. I like to make out in the back of the theater. It’s a win-win deal.”
I watch as Katie Lawrence greets all of her adoring fans. And they are all adoring her. They’re practically falling over each other just to get her to glance in their direction. It actually makes me kind of sick.
It’s not that Katie Lawrence isn’t attractive. She’s cute. But not the kind of girl I’d put on a pedestal or anything. If she wasn’t a big star, and she walked into Haymakers, my family’s bar, on a Friday night, she probably wouldn’t be one of the first girls to get picked up. Don’t get me wrong, she’d be in the top five or six, but she’s definitely not top-spot hot. Katie Lawrence is not drop-dead Sports Illustrated Cover Girl gorgeous. She looks more like the girl-next-door.
Not that the girl who lived next door to us all of our lives, Harley Davis, isn’t Sports Illustrated Cover Girl gorgeous. She most definitely is. But she’s also in love with my oldest brother, so that means she’s off-limits.
I can tell by looking at Katie that she thinks pretty highly of herself. It’s her demeanor, and the way she carries herself. The girl is starting to believe her own publicity.
“Why do you think the resort hired so many of us this week-end?” Teko asks.
Tawnee Mountain Resort has been in business less than a year and it’s already garnered quit a reputation as a hot spot for all the rich and famous from New York. Lucky for me and my buddy, Teko, they like to hire off-duty cops to work security for special events.
I shrug. “I heard there’s some kind of big wedding going on.”
Teko gives me a look like I’m stupid. “Devon Black’s twin brother is getting married. I know you know who Devon Black is.”
“He’s that snowboarder,” I reply off-handedly.
“He’s a four-time Olympic gold medal winner. His twin brother was set to compete against him this past winter, but he injured his knee in the finals. Talk about sibling rivalry.”
Sibling rivalry is something I know a lot about. With three older brothers, it wasn’t something I could easily escape.
“Katie Lawrence is dating Devon Black,” Teko adds, as if I should care about either of these people. “It’s an on-again, off-again saga with those two.”
My gaze narrows. “And just how do you know so much about Katie Lawrence and Devon Black’s romantic life?”
He shrugs. “My girl has a bunch of those celebrity magazines lying all over the apartment.”
“And you just happened to open them up and read them,” I tease.
“I may take them with me into the bathroom when I’ve got a few minutes to kill.”
I shake my head in disbelief. Teko is a six-foot five-inch brick house. He’s part Polynesian, part African American and all muscle. He’s not the kind of guy you’d expect to be reading some girlie celebrity rag.
As Katie Lawrence and her entourage pass by us, I can’t help but notice her sexy little body. She’s wearing a skirt so short and tight it should be illegal. And she’s got on a little crop top that shows off the smallest bit of her milky white midsection.
Maybe she’s a little hotter than I initially gave her credit for.
When I feel my dick twitch in response I remind myself that I’m a cop working security and she’s apparently some superstar.
But that’s just it. When you take away all of the hubbub surrounding her, she doesn’t seem like a movie star to me. She seems more like a slightly sexed up version of the girls I went to high school with.
As I watch her walk by, she actually glances in my direction. Our eyes meet for just a second, but it’s just long enough for me to see right inside her. And when I do, I actually see her gasp. It’s almost as if no one has ever looked that deeply at her and it surprises her. I seem to have made her so uncomfortable, she quickly turns away.
But I know she’ll look back again. I’m willing to bet a week’s salary on it, and for a rookie cop, that’s some hard-earned money. When someone takes your breath away, you can’t help but look back again. It’s a necessity.
Just as I predicted she sneaks another quick glance back at me before she turns the corner. She’s got such a sad expression on her face. It’s almost like she’s living a life that’s not of her own making. Like part of her would rather be in old jeans and a sweatshirt than the designer clothes she’s wearing. It tugs on my heartstrings a bit. Then I remind myself that she’s a superstar, and certainly doesn’t need someone like me to feel sorry for her.
“You’ve got bodyguard duty,” Mr. Wilson, the head of security, says to me.
The guy is a real piece of work. He’s an older guy, probably in his mid-fifties, and I swear he dyes his hair because it’s just too black for a guy his age. He’s always chomping on gum like a teen-age girl. And he’s slick. If he wasn’t the head of security at a posh resort, he’d probably be a used car salesman.
“I wasn’t hired for personal security,” I protest. “General guard duty.”
In my mind I was hired to stand around and look intimidating, something I’ve been working hard to perfect. I’ve almost got it down to an exact science. I cross my arms over my chest while giving a cold, uncompromising stare. Between that pose and my uniform, I can usually make some of the biggest, baddest-looking dudes tremble in a matter of seconds. At least my police training was good for something.
Getting anywhere close to that actress sounds like too much work. Actresses are too high maintenance for a country boy like me.
I point over to two other rookie cops also moonlighting as security guards at Tawnee Mountain. We all attended the police academy together.
“Why don’t you get Paulson and Rodriguez to do it?” I suggest.
Wilson snaps his gum in my face then shakes his head. “No, I want you to do it.”
I want to ask why me, but I can tell by the look on Mr. Wilson’s face that it’s pointless to protest. He’s already got his mind made up. He’s got a team of a dozen security guards, and for some reason he picked me to babysit the drama queen.
“Anyone ever told you that you kind of look like Opie?”
I shake my head. “Who’s Opie?”
He chomps down on his gum a few times before he responds. “Opie. You know. The kid from The Andy Griffith Show. Ron Howard’s character.”
“You mean the director?” Teko pipes in.
More gum chewing. “Yeah, he’s a director now but he was an actor first. When he was young. He had a real sweet look to him. Kind of innocent. Like you.” Wilson points a finger in my direction. “You’re a sweet looking kid. That’s why you need to do it.”
I heave a sigh. The last thing you want to be called when you’re a new cop is sweet looking. Doesn’t exactly fit the persona. I’ve worked really hard to gain body mass and I’m now all muscle. But there’s nothing I can do about having a sweet looking face apparently.
Mr. Wilson is eyeing me like I’ve got the plague or something. “What have you got against Katie Lawrence? She’s America’s Sweetheart.”
“Nothing,” I grunt.
He’s still eyeing me like he doesn’t believe me. “She’s a sweet kid.”
“I’m sure she is,” I say half-heartedly. I still want nothing to do with being her personal security guard. I’d rather be in the background where I feel comfortable.
“I think you’ll like her when you get to know her.”
I don’t know how to make it any more obvious that I don’t want to get to know her. I could care less about her being America’s Sweetheart. And I definitely don’t care about her movies. I’d rather watch paint dry then watch any movie with the words Academy Award winner on it. If I have to watch a movie, which I rarely do, it better have car chases, explosions and guns—and lots of them.
Mr. Wilson crosses his fat arms over his protruding belly. It’s a good thing the guy carries a gun and a Taser because he’d never be able to take anyone down without a weapon. “Tell me why you don’t like Katie Lawrence.”
Why does everyone love this girl so much? It’s like a national crime that I don’t adore her. I shrug. “I don’t even know her.”
He’s still eyeing me suspiciously.
“All right.” I heave a sigh. “She seems very high maintenance. I don’t want to deal with it. Happy?”
Mr. Wilson actually laughs at me. Should I be insulted?
“Every female on the planet is high maintenance, Kid. Get used to it.”
Before I can say another word he turns and walks away.
Romance novelist Savannah Young grew up in rural northwest New Jersey in a place very similar to the fictional Old Town, which is featured in her books. When she's not at her computer creating spicy stories, Savannah is traveling to exotic locales or spending time with her husband and their bloodhounds. Savannah also writes under the pen names Dakota Madison, Sierra Avalon and Ren Monterrey.
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