Usually, I fucking hate going to award shows.

There are the hours of “getting ready,” and having stylists poke and prod you from head to toe. The bullshit amount of time you need to adhere by to be fashionably late. The ass-kissing, the sitting through hours of other people being recognized for their accomplishments. The shitty new music acts who put on ridiculous performances.

But tonight, I find that I don’t really mind any of it. Since two o’clock, Kara and I have been getting ready in a private hotel suite just yards from the venue where the Hot 100 Music Awards will be taking place. We’ve joked all day, jamming out to old school favorite jams that we loved in high school, and eating candy paired with the swanky wine that room service sent up. She rolled her eyes multiple time at the beauty crew who acted like an un-tweezed eyebrow was the end of the world, and I got to ogle her for hours upon hours.

I almost swallowed my tongue when she’d come out of the bathroom in the skin-tight emerald ball gown that the designers had made especially for her. Kara had always been the most beautiful girl I’d ever known, but something about seeing her with all of that flowing hair and the material painted to her body … she was made for a red carpet. And for me.

For the past week and a half, there had been no snags between us. Each day was like nirvana, a perfectly blissful existence where Kara and I laughed, flirted and enjoyed each other. I started to bring her to spots where I knew the paparazzi wouldn’t be; a little place on the coast where we sat at a picnic table and ate lobster rolls, the old indie movie theater right outside the city, the bowling alley down in the valley that no one spotted us in.

Our dates, for the first time, were about spending time with each other and not showing off for the cameras. We played tennis on the court in my backyard that I never used, and Kara beat the shit out of me with her racket. I suggested strip tennis, and had gotten a sly look, but I’d seen the sparkle in her eye.

We were becoming close again, reminiscing on old memories and bringing up inside jokes from our years-long relationship of the past. Kara made me dinner some nights, and I’d begun to bring her flowers. There had been no more talk of turning this façade into something real, but I wasn’t going to push it. Ever since the night I’d come home from Europe, and we’d made love in the house, a shift had occurred between us.

Between that and the interview where she’d taken up for me, we both knew something was changing. That hate was turning into like, which was in turn transforming into something very much resembling love.

“Do you see what they’re giving out in these gift bags?” Kara hisses at me as we reach our seats in the overly decorated event center where the awards are taking place.

She holds up a velvet box containing what looks like diamond earrings, and I can’t help but chuckle. “You can have my pair, too.”

“I mean, the movie premiere was nice, and that charity event we went to last month was very heartfelt, but this is another level. Did you see all of those people screaming at us from the bleachers?”

I forget that Kara hasn’t had years of practice at this. She can definitely fake it till she makes it, but tonight I could feel the tension in her body. It was the biggest carpet we’d attended yet, and the weight of the nominations hanging on my shoulders made me a little giddy too. I’d had to practically maul her ass to get her to relax in our photos and interviews all the way down the long carpet.

“You did great. And you look amazing.” I let my eyes roam over her face and body.

“We’re sitting with Jala? Oh my God, I am going to make such a fool of myself.” She checks the name cards of those around us, other musicians nominated in some of the same categories I am.

“Don’t get too excited yet, it’s a long night. I’m sure you’ll be bored in about an hour.”

These shows weren’t as glamorous as they appeared on TV. They typically took several hours, with commercial breaks, boring speeches, too much alcohol, and small talk with other celebrities, some of whom I couldn’t stand.

“Well, I’ll just make up people’s backstories then. Like we used to when we’d sit in the mall, creating stories about people. And in this case, it’s easier, because they already all have rumors swirling about them.” She winks at me.

“You’re incorrigible.” I shake my head, and pull her chair out.

An hour later, we’re chatting with the rest of the celebrities at our table and indulging in a little too much alcohol. I tend to load up at these things, because it’s better than making small talk. And Kara seems to be loosening up a bit, or she’s just nervous and keeps sipping. Either way, I can’t help but be drawn to the tipsy flush of her cheeks.

“Did Lorraine do your ring?” A teeny bopper two chairs down leans over to grab Kara’s hand without permission.

My fiancée looks at me helplessly. “Um, I have no idea …”

“I picked out her ring, so she doesn’t know any details.” I cover her other hand with mine, squeezing as the women at the table ogle her ring.

“Oh my God, seriously? You didn’t even help pick it? That is trust, girl. I would never let my man propose without my sign off first.” Roxy Galore, a techno star, giggles.

Kara discreetly raises an eyebrow at me, as if to say, “your world is fucking weird.”

That it is, my dear.

“So, love, going out on tour with this one, then?” British rapper, Magik, asks Kara.

She looks at me and wrinkles her nose, in an almost intimate gesture. “I’m not sure. I have a full-time job, two actually, in the medical field. So, I may make it to some shows in the area, but definitely won’t be joining for anything outside of the United States.”

My girl takes another large sip of the wine in front of her, and I can see she’s anxious to have the attention on her. Out of all of the social butterflies in the room, my high school sweetheart wants to crawl back into her cocoon and stay silent.

“Where did you find this one, Dean? She’s hilarious.” Roxy lays a hand on Kara’s arm like my girl must be joking.

Kara just rolls her eyes at me with a smirk.

The night rolls on, with both of our visions becoming hazy with drink. Acts perform, people win awards, my name gets called a few times, and there is Kara, sitting under the spotlight when the TV cameras pan to her when I mention her in my victory speeches.

During the longer break, the one where they’re debuting the fall TV lineup and viewers are getting goose bumps over the new shows coming out, we get up to go to the larger bar in the back of the room.

“Hey, Dean …”

“Buddy, congrats!”

“Nice to see you, sexy.”

As we walk, I shake hands and schmooze, all the while keeping my hand on Kara’s back as she sarcastically smiles up at me. I can smell the wine on her breath as I lean in.

“Oh, admit it, you kind of love this.”

“It isn’t the most boring Saturday night I’ve ever had.” Her voice tickles the stubble on my cheek.

“I have to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” I rub her back, but I really do have to take a leak so I excuse myself quickly while she gets in line at the bar.

Ten more minutes until I get back into the room, because a music producer I’d worked with before was chatting my ear off in the can.

I spot Kara from across the room, standing with a prick of a guy that I’ve seen mauling most of Hollywood’s A-list females at one time or another. Brad Coral is way too close to her, his hand on a dangerous spot just above her hip. Kara laughs, the curls framing her face shaking as she takes another sip out of the delicate flute she holds.

My fists ball at my sides, and the animal instinct to protect my woman has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Not only is that guy an asshole, but in all the time she’s spent out in LA in the past few months, not to mention seven years, I haven’t had to face Kara flirting with another man.

It’s stereotypical, the huge green monster tearing its way out of my chest, because she saw Willow going down on me and forgave me for that. But something in me is about to go off like a time bomb, and I swear I’m going to break a tooth with how tightly I’m clenching my jaw.

“You can take your hands off of her, thanks.” I don’t even try to hide the contempt I have for Brad when I stalk up to them.

“Dean …” Kara hisses, her face going red with embarrassment.

“My man, we were just talking about you. I was just telling your girl here about the wonderful time we had in Bali.” He smirks like the fucking devil.

I shrug the hand off that he just clapped on my back. He’s threatening me, because there is no way Kara would even want to stand in the same room as me if she knew about that trip. We’d gotten high as kites and done things with several women … all at the same time. He’s baiting me, and it’s working.

“Walk away, Brad. I don’t want to have to rearrange your face before your next teen angst TV series starts taping.” I curl Kara into me, although she’s stiff against my side.

She won’t fight me in front of all of these people, but she isn’t molding into me the way she’s started to do whenever I lay a finger on her.

Brad Coral was known for his high school age dramas, and for playing the bad boy everyone rooted for. Little did America know, he was actually an abusive pig who drugged drinks and paid prostitutes. From the outside, he looked like the perfect heartthrob. But in the industry, everyone knew to stay far away from him.

“He was just asking how I was adjusting here, Jesus. Will you stop? He was being nice,” Kara hisses at me again, and Brad is within earshot and grins at me again.

“That’s right, Kara was just saying how much she loved me in the Jasper High series. I always love getting to know my fans.” The way he says it, it sounds as if he’d like to do way more than talk to her.

Kara doesn’t realize his innuendo, the wine making her reality a little skewed. But I do. I don’t care if there is security here, I’m about to snap this asshole’s tiny prick off and stuff it down his throat.

“If you ever come near my fiancée again, I’ll end you. Are we clear?” A flash of a memory moves through my brain, of Brad forcing a girl to her knees while she cried in Bali.

I should have done something about it then, and cold sweat covers my body. Thinking about any man doing that to a woman makes me want to vomit, and yet, I’m being accused of just that. Thinking about this bastard laying one skin cell on Kara? It makes me want to jump in front of a bullet to protect her.

He holds his hands up like he did nothing wrong. But we both know better. “Whatever, dude … you’re fucking crazy. Good luck with this one, Kara.”

Brad chuckles as he walks off, but my temper cools moderately when he’s clear across the room.

Except it’s clear, when I look at her, that Kara is fuming. No one around us may be the wiser to what just happened, but she moves out of my embrace, and barely looks at me for the rest of the night.