Part 18 (2/2)
”Who?”
”Oh, please. This has Keelie Keller, Reality Princess, written all over it,” I said.
”Here.” He shoved the bike in my direction. ”I'm going to get some pictures. This will make great blog material.”
”Hey!” I yelled. ”Wait a minute! You can't post that!”
If anyone should be getting mileage out of this drummed up catfight, it was moi. Who was in the line of fire here anyway? Who was putting it out there? Putting it all on the line? Dripping like a drowned rat? (Ooh. Sorry. Unfortunate word selection there.) Who had been targeted unfairly for something she didn't do?
Me! That's who,” I mumbled.
”Well, h.e.l.lo there, me. How are you today? Besides soaking wet, that is.”
I turned to give the speaker one of my trademark snarky comebacks, but the crazy gorgeous guy looking down at me, eyes hidden behind a pair of dark gla.s.ses, va-va-va-voomed the snark right out of me.
”Oh, er, uh, I, um...”
He stuck out a hand and took one of my cold, clammy, pruned ones with nary a shudder or grimace at what had to be akin to grabbing hold of a halibut.
”Jaxson W. Whitver at your service. Jax to my friends, which I'm hoping you'll become, of course.”
I blinked. What was happening?
”Rat got your tongue?” he asked. When I opened my mouth to take umbrage, he grinned, and put his hands up in a ”don't shoot, I come in peace” move. ”Come on, Tressa. You have to admit, it's a little funny.”
Tressa? The plot thickened.
I reclaimed my hand.
”I suppose since you missed Tressa Turner Super Soaker target practice you have to be content with taking cheap shots,” I said.
”Now, Tressa. I thought we were going to be friends.”
Friends? With teenybopper heartthrob, Jax Whitver? Yeah. Right.
”I'm not sure your girlfriend would approve,” I said.
”I don't have a girlfriend,” he said, and reached up to remove his sungla.s.ses, c.o.c.king a hey-baby eyebrow at me. ”Or haven't you heard?”
”Oh, that's right. Keelie kicked you to the curb.”
His smile faltered.
”We needed a break. To take a step back. Slow things down. We were moving way too fast.”
I s.h.i.+vered. Not because his words had any significance for me, you understand. Certainly not because my own relations.h.i.+p with a certain ranger-type had gone from a first-time sailor guarding her bootie to ”batten down the hatches, full speed ahead” at warp drive.
”Sorry. That was mean,” I said, and meant it. I'm a real softie at heart, but I try not to let it show too much. It could hurt my rep as a tough-as-nails investigative reporter, don't you know? (Hey, now. Quit yer sn.i.g.g.e.ring.) Jax shrugged. ”Thanks. But I'm cool.”
”Oh, my G.o.d. The natives are becoming hostile,” Van Vleet said, jogging back, checking out images on his camera as he approached. ”Looks like your Mini-Freeze is going to have to close down shop due to the angry mob mentality. d.a.m.n shame. Your uncle stands to lose tons of profits. Wait! Whoa! Hey, you're Jax Whitver! Drew Van Vleet, New Holland News.” Van Vleet sent me a dirty look before starting to snap picture after picture of the hunky hottie. ”Today's blog is going to be stellar!” he crowed.
I thumped my forehead with the b.u.t.t of my hand. ”Idiot, why didn't you think of that?” Lois Lane would have had my a.s.s.
”What's this about your uncle?” Jax asked.
I gave an abbreviated explanation.
”We can't have that,” Jax said. He grabbed my hand again. ”Come on.”
I shoved the bicycle back at Van Vleet.
”Permission to leave the bridge, Sir!” I queried, barely managing a so-so salute before Jax Whitver dragged me off in the direction of Keelie's ”Ratpack.”
”Whoa. Your boyfriend was right. The natives are restless.” Jax observed.
”Boyfriend?” I shook my head so hard that I risked whiplash. ”He's not my boyfriend. He's my saddle burr.” I stared at the crowd a.s.sembled near the Mini-Freeze. And restless? Try rabid.
”We're goin' in.” The boy crooner waded into the thick of things, pulling me along.
”Look! Look! It's Jax Whitver! Jax! Jax! Hey, Jax!”
The mood of the ma.s.ses flipped quicker than my gammy's disposition does when her fiber supplement finally kicks in.
”Hey. How are you? Hi there! Good to see you! How ya doin'?”
Jax Whitver glad-handed the crowd like a veteran politician, winding his way through the throng as he made his way to the order window.
”I've been hankerin' for a good old-fas.h.i.+oned root beer float,” he said. ”And a beefburger sounds awesome.”
”You're eating here?” A protestor asked.
”h.e.l.l, yeah,” Jax said.
”But...but Keelie!” Another gaping groupie exclaimed.
”She can buy her own burger,” Jax said, and gave his order to a jaw-dropping Frankie behind the window. Moments later, I joined Frankie in the OMG realm when Jax Whitver began to sing.
”When you are hungry and your tummy is growling, you can always go, to Frank's Freeze. When you want food that is filling and delicious, you can always go to Frank's Freeze. Frank's Freeze! Get all your favorites now! Frank's Freeze. Don't hesitate now! Frank's Freeze! Where all the cool people eat! Frank's Freeze. Frank's Freeze!”
In the time it takes to spoon loose meat beef on a hamburger bun, Jax Whitver had altered the group dynamic from pitchforks and torches to main street flash mob mentality.
Now I knew what they meant when they said ”star power”.
Shaking myself, I pulled my phone out of my f.a.n.n.y pack and hit the record b.u.t.ton.
Beat this little love fest, Van Vleet, I thought, reveling in the huge coup that had fallen into my lap. Not to mention the mega-advertising exposure Uncle Frank would receive from a video sure to go viral.
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