Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
That’s how they know where we’re headed? I thought their bodyguards might’ve told them…
I lower my phone to my lap. “How would Celebrity Crush know we’re going to Putt Palace?”
“What?” Her eyes dart quickly to my phone, then the road. “They wouldn’t.”
I read fast. “The article names me, Xander, Kinney, and they speculate that Moffy might even be there.”
Her jaw unhinges slowly. “No, they didn’t.”
“Who?”
“That lying liar of an owner!” She lets out a tiny growl. “He asked who was in my party, and I just said my kids and told him if he could keep that to himself before we arrive, that would be great. He said not to worry. Maybe he told his employees, and they tweeted it. Uh, I’m so sorry, Luna.”
“It’s not your fault. Maybe it’s good Xander didn’t come after all.” He would’ve been more anxious than I am, and Donnelly might’ve been the one to accompany him. I don’t mind that it’s turned into a more public affair if it means no “Donnelly-Luna” sightings.
Mom sighs. “Now we know why there’s a bajillion paparazzi out tonight.” She shakes her head repeatedly, eyes never deserting the streets. Windshield wipers squeak against the glass. “Call Monroe.” She speaks to the car’s Bluetooth hookup.
“Calling Mom,” the automated voice replies.
“Nononono!” Mom freaks as the phone rings over the car’s speakers. “Hang up!”
I push the red button on the screen. It clicks off before Grandmother Calloway could answer. “I’ll call Frog.” I’m already dialing Frog’s number on my phone. It’s not connected to the car, but I put it on speakerphone.
“You’re okay?” Frog asks, sounding worried.
“We’re fine right now,” Mom says first. “How far back are you two?”
“Three cars behind.”
“Temp guards are gone,” Monroe says in his Texas twang. All bodyguards are born and raised in Philly, but I heard that Monroe grew up half in Texas. Divorced parents. Spent summers with his mom and the twang stuck. “Flat tire.” According to Mom, he’s a man of few words, which reminds her of her first beloved bodyguard Garth.
“I think we should take a detour,” Mom tells them. After they work through directions, we hang up, and I watch my mom wiggle out of a gridlock and take the next exit.
Most paparazzi can’t follow in enough time. They’re stuck on the freeway.
And so is our security.
“We’ll meet at Putt Palace, ma’am,” Monroe says in another call.
“Good plan,” Mom says, then hangs up again.
City streets have more stop-and-go red lights, and silence fills the car as she concentrates. Her eyes flit to the rearview mirror more than once.
I crane my neck to see a gray sedan. “They’re still tailing us?”
“Just this one car. We can handle it.” She nods again, pumping herself up, but she purposefully goes around the block to lose them.
They ride our bumper. Rain blurs their windshield, so I can’t distinguish faces inside their car, but I have an uneasy feeling.
Boom Box.
Donnelly said they always chase Xander, and they think he’s in the car.
“They just ran a red light,” I say, my pulse accelerating.
“Just face forward. It’ll be fine.” She hasn’t loosened her grip on the steering wheel. “I’ve dealt with worse paparazzi.”
I fall back in my seat, facing the windshield.
“Your seatbelt is on?” she asks.
“Yeah.” My heart is racing out of my ribcage. “How much long—” We jolt forward. My heart catapults to my throat. Shitshit. They just rammed our bumper. Not hard enough to cause an accident but enough to scare us.
Mom presses on the gas. She tries to speed up to lose the tail, but the sedan chases us down the road. “Call Lo,” Mom tells the car.
“Calling Mom,” the automated voice replies.
“No!” Mom yells. “CALL LO!”
It’s already ringing for Grandmother Calloway again, and I hit the red button on the car’s dash. The call drops. Once I find her phone in the cup holder, I manually call my dad.
“Hey, Lil.” He answers on the first ring.
“Lo, we have a problem.”
“Mom!” I shout, just as the sedan tries to cut us off. We almost slam into a brick wall of an old laundromat. Ohmygod. I can’t blink. I hear my rattled breath.
She speeds out of the close encounter, and I still haven’t moved an inch.
“Lily!” Dad shouts, panic shooting in his voice.
“Luna?” Donnelly calls out, his concern palpable. He’s with my dad. Eating dinner together at the office, I picture them huddled around a box of pizza or to-go cartons of burgers.
“We’reokaywe’reokay,” Mom slurs together, trying to catch her breath.
I exhale too. “Mom is awesome,” I say in a swallow, trying to calm down. Calm. Down.
“Where are you two?” Dad asks. “Shouldn’t you be at the putt-putt place already?”
“Paparazzi are chasing us,” I say first.
“Where’s security?” Donnelly asks.
Mom takes a left turn. “They’re meeting us—” The sedan rear-ends us again. Fuuuck.
“What the hell was that?” Dad sounds furious and more alarmed than I think I’ve ever heard him. “Lily?!”