Want You Back

18.

I clutched at his arm tightly, surely cutting off his circulation, but at the moment that thought was the furthest thing from my mind.

I hated press tours. And I hated movie premieres.

What I didn't hate, however, was my date to every movie premiere: Tom Holland.

The kid cleaned up nicely and beamed brightly at the paparazzi, his smile white enough to distract anyone from how anxious I probably looked. He was a lifesaver, this one, and I was lucky enough to score him as my date for the entire duration of the Avengers: Infinity War press tour across the globe.

Tonight's stop: Austrailia.

Of course, it had to be fucking Austrailia.

Tom had spent the last twenty-three minutes trying to calm me down from a panic attack, and the past four trying to pry my fingers from his (well-defined) bicep. Suffice to say neither of his noble acts worked and here I was, riddled with anxiety and clutching at him like a life preserver.

Because if I knew my luck, then that would mean Luke Hemmings and his bandmates would be in attendance at the movie screening. Just my fucking luck.

Despite my anxiety-riddled thoughts, I at least resembled a movie star. Clad in a floor-length, sleek, black Chanel gown and classic black strappy stilettoes, I looked positively flawless, my face beat and chiseled, as if ready for a photo shoot.

Tom made the perfect date, as usual. He made jokes to make me laugh and complimented me religiously as if he were the lucky one to have me on his arm and not the reverse. Tom steadied me when my ankles shook in my heels, his arm moving to wrap around my waist, his grip firm and comforting. So when the photographers requested we pose together, my smile was genuine as I beamed at him, incredibly thankful to have him as a friend and co-worker.

"Chris!" Tom exclaimed excitedly as he spotted Chris Evans speaking with Scarlet Johannson. The duo turned towards us and smiled as Tom steered me towards them, his grin widening.

Chris and Tom clapped each other on the back good-naturedly after Tom complimented how lovely Scarlet looked. The boys launched into a conversation about the upcoming FIFA World Cup while Scarlet and I made small talk, both of us not entirely comfortable with one another.

"You look beautiful, Jasmine." She complimented with a small smile.

"Thank you," I blushed. "Who are you wearing?"

She smoothed out her skirt self-consciously, hands gliding over the silken lavender fabric. "Christian Dior," she said proudly, a hand flying up to brush back strands of her blonde hair.

"It looks wonderful on you," I said honestly. Scarlet Johannson was one of Hollywood's stunners, the kind of actress men yearn after; the dress only amplified what she already had: real beauty.

"So, Lady Death donning black to a movie premiere, fitting right?" Chris asked cheekily, attention turning to Scarlet and me.

"You know what they say, Chris, characters reflect your true personality."

Tom frowned, "if that's the case why am I not good at science?"

The remaining three of us chuckled at Tom; despite us being the same age, he was still a kid at heart.

"Well team," Chris began. "Looks like we'll have to get this show on the road. After you, ladies."

Scarlet led the four of us towards, further down the carpet, flashing lights and cheering crowds blinding my senses; the only thing keeping me stable was the smiling boy at my side. I tightened my grip on his arm and mimicked his smile, occasionally pulling on his arm to signal that I wished to pose for a photo or sign an autograph. And he happily complied, ever the perfect date and friend; ever the perfect celebrity and role model.