Status: Active ♥

I'm Yours


The rest of the night went by quickly and Reagan agreed to head to the awards after-party, although parties weren’t really her scene. Stood at the bar waiting for Jackson to return from the bathroom, she looked up as a drink was placed in front of her and frowned at the guy now sitting beside her.

“It’s on me,” the guy told her.

“No thanks,” Reagan said, pushing the glass back towards him and turning away.

“So, what magazine are you with?”

“I’m not,” Reagan answered, keeping her answers short and hoping that he’d get the fact that she didn’t want to talk to him.

“Are you here with anyone?” the guy continued.

“My boyfriend... he’s just gone to the bathroom.”

“You’re telling me that a pretty girl like you is dating one of these boneheads?”

“Everything okay, babe?” came Jackson’s voice from behind her, “Is this guy bothering you?”

“No, everything is fine.”

“Good, some of the guys are going for an early morning breakfast at a twenty-four-hour diner down the street,” Jackson informed her, taking her hand and continuing, “Do you want to go?”

Jumping at the opportunity to leave, Reagan nodded and smiled as Jackson entwined their fingers.

“Just another pretty, naïve little girl wanting her fifteen minutes of fame,” she heard the guy at the bar mumble, “I should have known.”

“Have you got something to say?” Jackson inquired, glaring at the guy and letting go of Reagan’s hand as he stood up.

“He’s not worth getting into trouble over,” Reagan added, stepping in front of Jackson to stop him from doing something stupid, “Let’s go get that breakfast.”

Jackson stared at the guy for a few seconds, before wrapping his arm around Reagan’s shoulders and kissing her head as he led her over to the others. She hated confrontation, but Jackson had a short fuse when it came to anyone upsetting her or making comments.

CJ walked beside Reagan as they took the ten-minute journey to the diner, followed by a small group of paparazzi and surrounded by the team players personal bodyguards. The flashing of cameras lit up the street just like they had back at the red carpet, but something about these pictures felt more intrusive and Reagan found herself stepping closer to Jackson.

“There are three types of paparazzi,” CJ told her quietly as they walked, “There are photographers that work for magazines that are paid to attend red carpet events, those that just like to take photos of their favorite celebs and the vultures.”

“Vultures?” Reagan questioned as they entered the diner.

“That’s just what we call them,” Ricky replied, “It’s the paps that don’t care about a person's right to privacy, they’ll get their photo and they’ll do pretty much anything to get it... they’re crazy.”

“Alright, can we not scare my girlfriend into thinking that the paparazzi are all monsters,” Jackson added, “The best way to deal with paparazzi like the ones out there is to ignore them.”

Placing her order, Reagan followed Jackson over to an empty booth and took a seat opposite Ricky. She had just finished eating, when Jackson pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the three of them. ‘We don’t need the paparazzi taking our photo’s, we can take our own’ Jackson captioned it, before posting it up on his Instagram and grinning over at Reagan.

“What rumor do you think will get started first?” Ricky asked as he took a sip of Reagan’s milkshake.

“Probably one about my new relationship being some sort of publicity stunt,” Jackson replied with a shrug, “That’s the most popular rumor at the moment.”

Reagan hadn’t even thought about the stories that her appearance would stir up, but she had read plenty about the team to know that people have some crazy theories about celebrities and the thought scared her a little.
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