24
Beau
“Gigi, any comment about what Smythe said about you?” a reporter asked Geneviève outside of the facility while she was signing autographs.
“What did he say? I can’t remember?” Geneviève responded, and I knew full well that was a lie. She’d never forget what he’d said about her. The reporter quoted a few things, skirting around the worst of what had been played on the show.
Geneviève started laughing, but finished signing a jersey for a fan. “Ha! I’ve been called worse by far better,” she said, issuing the absolute perfect statement.
The reporter refused to give up. He obviously wanted to start something. “But do his words surprise you at all?” he asked, sticking the microphone in her face.
She calmly looked up at him, her eyes blinking slowly. “His limited vocabulary doesn’t surprise me one bit, no.”
Even I had to chuckle at that.
I grabbed her hand and said loudly, “Thanks everyone, see you tomorrow!” Then I whisked her away from the crowd that had formed at the entrance to the facility.
“Excellent fucking answers, Martin,” I said, still laughing to myself as we headed toward my Jeep. I thought about what Smythe would think when he heard how nonchalantly Geneviève dismissed his hurtful words.
I opened the passenger door and let her in. Then I walked around and jumped inside.
“Smythe is a douche, Beau. I don’t want you fighting him anymore. You’re going to get hurt or suspended,” Geneviève said, buckling herself in.
I started the Jeep and said, “I don’t start any of those fights, Martin. But I do finish them.”
She shook her head. “It’s not like we’re even together. There’s no reason for you to get offended by what he’s saying anyway.”
What she said shot right through my guts like a cannonball. My head spun toward her so fast, it was in danger of flying right off. “No reason?” I asked, my voice going high on the second word. I looked back at the road. “Nice, Martin. Real nice.”
“I’m serious. It’s not worth it. If he says something again, you need to just ignore him.”
“If?” I asked incredulously. “If? He will definitely continue saying more shit. He’s an idiot.”
“Then great. He’s an idiot. I know it, you know it. There’s no reason to pound his face in anymore.”
I looked at her, feeling more than frustrated. “Yeah, no reason at all,” I said sarcastically, deciding I was done with this conversation.
More than done.
When we drove up to my house, Geneviève said, “I’m going to grab a few things. Can you drive me to the apartments? I have some stuff to go over with the girls. If not, I’ll ask Jillian to come get me.”
“Uh, yeah, I’ll wait.”
“Okay, thanks,” she said before dashing out of the Jeep and up the steps.
My phone rang and I peered down at the display. “Ah fuck,” I said, before I answered. “Something wrong with the boys?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” Sienna’s haughty attitude more than evident in her tone.
“And that would be?”
“What the hell is this gibberish the boys are yammering on and on about?” she asked, her voice louder and clearly angry.
“Umm, would that be French?”
“I don’t know a word of French, Beau, but I’m fairly certain what they’re saying is not that.”
I laughed and it felt good. She was right. Over the weekend, the boys had managed to twist the French they’d learned into some sort of secret language only they could understand.