The Second Worst Love Story Ever (+18)

12. Slaughterhouse

"Hello again, LA," Valentina said once we were off the plane. "Can't say I missed you."

"I believe you. You're like a fucking nomad," I told her. 

She reached inside her pocket as we strolled through the airport. "Hang on, it's Gunner."

"Didn't take long, huh?"

She hushed me and picked up, her voice ringing with an annoyingly chipper tone that I knew was pure bullshit. "Hey, baby! I just landed."

I made a nauseated face, and she punched my arm. This already felt like old times.

"Yeah, he's right here with me." She looked at me. "No, I'm not his bitch anymore. My debt is paid... What? You're supposed to be on my side, asshole!"

I had to laugh at that. I knew nothing about this guy and already I liked him.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, you know I can't. I told you we're gonna be here for like a day and then back to Ireland... I know, I miss you too, but hey! Megan's training is almost finished. How about you come to visit in Ireland? She can take care of the shop... I do trust her... Okay, we talk about it later... Bye."

I couldn't help but notice she didn't say 'I love you', and it felt so fucking good. God, I was such a jerk, and I couldn't even say I was sorry about it.

"He was checking if I had a safe flight." She put her phone away. "He worries."

"Makes sense, given the fact that he's an old man and all."

"You'll never let that go, will you?"

"I'm just saying, he's not your first, girl."

"Shut up and take me to lunch. I'm starving."

"When are you not?"

We spent the day on some casual interviews and photoshoots, doing our job to promote the show. I had to admit it was fun as shit to hang out with Valentina as friends again; the shenanigans were full-on. We should have done this way before.

Of course, the hard part was still to come. So far, people had kept their focus on the show-related stuff. But the bigger, more extensive interview was sure to bring more insightful questions, especially about our personal lives, and Val hated that. 

She seemed to get more anxious by the hour, so I swung by her dressing room right before showtime.

"Do I look okay?" She spun around after we greeted each other.

Did she look okay?

She looked gorgeous, on a classy knee-length dress. It was longer at the rear, and the color was a deep red that drove me crazy like a bull. All I wanted to do was to tear that pretty little dress apart and take her roughly against the vanity table until she screamed my name.

I hated how good she looked in red.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said.

I shook my head. "Are you ready for this?"

"Fuck no."

"You certainly look like you mean business." 

I looked down at her pumps. I'd never seen her wearing heels like those before. The fact that it made us close to eye level was a little unsettling. I didn't like how close our mouths were just then.

"What if they ask about us?" She started pacing back and forth.

"They won't; it's been too long. Did you talk to my PR?"