𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ~ | 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯

Mine To Break

~'~

"What are you doing?" I asked, tugging, but his grip stayed firm, not harsh, but solid.

"You're coming with me."

"Max—"

He didn't stop, and I stumbled along behind him as he led me past the maze of reporters and onlookers. A few cameras turned toward us, their flashes searing through the rain like little explosions.

"Max, people are looking! You're going to send the media into a frenzy if they see you dragging me into your trailer."

"Let them look," he muttered, hauling me into his trailer. He shut the door behind us with a decisive click and finally let go of my wrist.

I crossed my arms, unsure whether to be more annoyed or confused. "Are you just trying to give them another headline, or...?"

His eyes trailed down my frame, stopping abruptly. His jaw tensed.

"What?" I asked defensively.

"Your shirt," he said, his tone low. "It's... see-through."

I glanced down, mortified. The rain had turned my thin white shirt practically transparent, and my red bra was now very much on display. I threw my arms over my chest instinctively.

"Oh my God," I hissed, my cheeks burning. "And you let me stand out there like that?"

"I didn't notice until now," he replied, too quickly. Then, with a touch of irritation, he added, "Which is more than I can say for the hundred people outside taking pictures of you."

I glared. "Maybe if you'd given me a little warning."

"It's called being a gentle man. My eyes don't wander." He raised his chin.

"Sure." I deadpanned. "So, if I took my shirt off right now you could not look down?"

"Only one way to find out." He smirked.

"Shut it." I rolled my eyes. Not I felt more embarrassment, getting me well prepared for the pictures that were undoubtedly going to come out.

Oh god, Bea was going to kill me.

"For the love of... ugh," I muttered, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I just did." His tone was sharp, but there was an undercurrent of something else, frustration, protectiveness. He walked to a cabinet and rifled through it for a moment before tossing me a black T-shirt. "Here. Put this on."

I caught it with fumbling hands, the motion tugging at my sodden shirt. "Turn around," I ordered, holding the shirt against me like a shield.

"You're mean."

"And you're bossy," I shot back. "Turn, and don't peek."

"Not interested," he said dryly.

I frowned at his tone. "Rude."

"It's called respect. You should try it sometime," he countered. I stifled the urge to lob something at him.

"Just do it, you abnormally seized pain in the ass." I rolled my eyes.

He raised his hands in surrendered and turned around. As soon as his back was facing me, I pulled off my shirt soaking shirt. Only then did I realize that I was still to wet to put anything on.

I cleared my throat. "Max, do you maybe have-" I began hesitantly.

"Here." He handed me a towel over his shoulder. I let out a quiet sigh of relief.