Page 120 of Just for the Cameras
Wanting to touch her.
Hold her.
Feel her.
This is me being a jealous asshole, making sure everyone in this room knows to back the fuck off when it comes to Maple Baker.
“Not hard to do,” I say, meeting her gaze.
She wets her lips as she lifts her hand to my lapel again, those eyes of hers looking hungry.
“St. John,” a voice sounds from the right, breaking the spell between us one more time. I turn to see some old dude I know I’ve seen before, but I can’t remember his name to save my life. He must notice because he says, “Gerry Gardner.”
Oh right…some rich asshole in pharmaceuticals.
“Gerry, great to see you,” I say, putting on the best fake smile I can muster and shaking his hand. “How are you?”
“Good. Good.” He looks between us, seeming interested, so I take that moment to introduce Maple.
“This is Maple Baker, my girlfriend.” The term rolls so easily off my tongue that I don’t even flinch while saying it, something I probably would have done with someone else. “Maple, Gerry, he works in pharmaceuticals. Maple works for the zoo as a keeper for the flamingos.”
Gerry smiles brightly. “Oh, I’m aware. My wife will be so upset because she’s been obsessed with updating me on your social media profile. She was supposed to be here tonight but ended up having to work late.”
“Ah, that’s such a shame,” Maple says. “It would have been lovely to meet her.”
Gerry looks between us again. “You know, she thought something was going on between you two but couldn’t confirm, but you just called her your girlfriend.”
I nod. “I did.” Then I pull her in tighter, my hand sliding around her side, my fingers slipping to the front of her ribs, under the fabric of her dress. I feel her take a sharp breath before she leans into the touch.
Gerry smiles brightly. “Do you think I could possibly take a picture with you two…for my wife?”
“Of course,” I say. “But you have to listen to Maple tell you about the flamingos first.”
Gerry smirks. “Why don’t I do you one better and write you a check?”
I glance down at Maple, her eyes wide.
“That will work just fine,” I say before finishing my whiskey.
“Yeah, they have a whole fridge full of krill, smells like rotten seafood, but the flamingos can’t get enough of it,” I say while a group of three sisters crowds around us. “And when they start padding their feet against the water to stir up their food, it’s fucking cute. And that’s coming from me.”
The three sisters, best known in the fundraising circuit as the GildedGirls, all clutch their hands to their chests as they eat up every word I’m throwing at them.
“But yeah, Maple, my girl, spent three years in Peru, studying them and their habitat.” I shake my head. “A habitat they’re slowly losing. Flamingos are actually getting close to becoming threatened.”
“No,” one of them says, looking downright ready to cry.
“Yeah, that’s why we’re here, to bring more awareness to them and highlight such a beautiful animal that I think sometimes gets overlooked.”
“Well, not by us,” one of them says as she pulls out a checkbook. I grab a glass of water from a server walking by, smirk over the rim, and then take a sip of the cool liquid.
“Big Hermy,” I answer for Maple. “She loves him. And how could she not? The dude is the proudest flamingo in the flamboyance.” I say this with confidence to a really nice gay couple who are easily the best dressed in the room.
Jacob is a huge Foghorns fan, while his husband, Tony, is a fan of Flock and Tackle, so the moment they spotted us, they beelined to our table.
“Flamboyance?” Tony asks.
I nod. “Yeah, that’s what a flock of flamingos is formally known as.”
