Passenger Princess: A Grumpy Sunshine Bodyguard Pageant Queen Romance (Evergreen Park Book 1)

After hours of interviews, a healthy amount of tears, and a quick outfit change, I’m at an exclusive club in Atlantic City celebrating my win with my favorite people and a shit ton of strangers, wearing the most gigantic crown ever. (I took off the sash because it’s a bit much, but I earned this crown, and I won’t lie, it looks good on me.)

Thursday is my first official event as the reigning Miss Americana, and that’s when I have to start playing by their rules to be the perfect pageant queen version of myself while going on the trip of a lifetime.

But tonight? Tonight, we’re celebrating.

This means I’m a little past tipsy, my feet ache from dancing too much, and I’m feeling on top of the world.

“Did you hear Atlas Oaks is here?” Jules yells over the bumping bass while we’re getting a drink of water in between dances.

“What?” Harper yells, jumping up off her chair. Jules nods and tips her chin to a VIP section.Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

“Atlas Oaks, the band Jeremy likes? They’re here.”

“No way! I told him he should have come,” Harper says, pulling out her phone to text her asshole boyfriend.

“We should see if I can get you guys a hello!” I shout over the music, grabbing her hand and standing, moving toward the rope doors.

“It’s not⁠—”

I shake my head with what they call my signature, Ava has a plan, smile.

“No, we’re doing it. I went to high school with Stella Greene. She was a few years ahead of me, but it’s a small town, and she was on cheer with me, too. I bet she’d, at the very least, help you get a picture with them.” I look at Harper, who is dragging her feet. “You can send it to Jeremy and rub it in his face.”

I shift my gaze from Harper to Jules, and we roll our eyes. Harper is dating the most intolerable asshole of a man who, if I didn’t know better (and to be so honest, I don’t really; it’s just what she tells us), I’d think he hates everything about her. But also, he has a strangely all-consuming obsession with the band Atlas Oaks for someone with absolutely no personality.

“Ava—” Harper starts, exhaustion in the words.

I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying! He didn’t want to come tonight because he’s a fucking loser—” I start, but she cuts me off with a sigh.

“He has an early day⁠—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, he has a super important job he has to see to on a fucking Sunday morning. Got it.” I roll my eyes but continue. “Now we can meet his favorite band and make him feel stupid for always thinking he’s too good to hang out with Jules and me.”

“He doesn’t⁠—”

“You can get their signature, maybe,” I say because I’m absolutely loving this idea now, and I know this might be the only chance to get her on board. “Have them sign a cocktail napkin or something and give it to him.”

“He would really appreciate that,” she says, biting her lip, slightly less hesitant now, and allowing me to move her in the appropriate direction.

“Perfect, let’s go,” I say, grabbing my drink and making my way toward the VIP section.

“Ava, no. Ava, I—” Harper shouts, following me as I move with determination. Jules follows behind with a smile and a slight shake of her head, knowing there’s no stopping me once I get an idea in my head.

Stopping in front of the big man at the bottom of the steps of the VIP section, I give him my best smile (what I can now call a pageant-winning smile) and speak. “Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you. So my friend over here⁠—”

“No,” he says, thick arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses on even though we’re in a dark night club, and an earpiece in his ear like he’s watching over the president rather than a rock band.

“What?”

“No,” he says in a similarly deadpan voice.

My smile widens, and I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get a chance to explain. I’m—” I start, but he looks over my head past me like I’m not worth even having a conversation with and cuts me off again.

“Don’t care who you are, you’re not getting in there.”

“I just⁠—”

“Don’t care.”

Okay, so this man is the absolute worst. I’m sure so many people try to sneak in here with wild stories, but he hasn’t even given me the grace of letting me say who I am, much less trying to verify I do, in fact, know the band.

I put my hands on my hips, taking a step closer and glaring up at him. It’s then I realize how tall he is—six foot two, maybe six foot three—and he towers over my five feet two inches in five-inch heels. And how handsome. He’s the kind of handsome man who definitely knows he’s hot but doesn’t care about it.

Close-cut brown hair and a small diamond stud in each ear that somehow looks like he tries and is utterly effortless at the same time. A strong jawline with a hint of a five o’clock shadow shading it. Full pink lips I just know could do wicked things to me.

Except his attitude is utter trash.

“You know, I could be someone very important, and you’re just pushing me aside.”

“You’re not,” he states, blunt and asshole-ish as ever, and my eyes go wide, my mouth dropping open.

“Excuse me?” Harper’s hand goes to my lower back, and she murmurs something about leaving, but I don’t even process it because the big man is speaking again.

“In this world, in my world, you are not important. Sorry, princess, blondes with hot bodies wearing crowns celebrating their birthdays are a dime a dozen.” His eyes shift from the crowd to me for a split second, and I hate to admit his eyes are also incredibly attractive as they scan me. “Nothing special.”

My mouth is opened in shock and irritation, and I’m about to snap back, but I’m stopped by Harper tugging at my hand.

“Come on, babe. Let’s get you out of here,” Harper says, looping her arm through mine and pulling me away. “It’s not worth it.”

“He’s being a self-righteous ass,” I say with a wave of my hand in his direction, now determined not to back down.

“It’s my job to keep uninvited people out of this section. I’m simply doing my job,” he says, not an ounce of apology in his words.

“Does doing your job include calling me a dime a dozen?” He doesn’t get a chance to answer because, when he opens his mouth, we’re interrupted.

“Ava!” a voice says from behind the big guy, and when I look up the small set of stairs, there’s a familiar smile. “Ava Bordeaux! Is that you?” Stella Hart, now Stella Greene, comes down the stairs, and the man steps to the side as she puts her arms out.

“Stella! Yeah, it’s me!” I hug her, and over her shoulder, I glare at the big bodyguard, but he’s unfazed, looking at the crowd once more.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, looking me over.

“Celebrating!” I say, pointing at the crown.

“Oh my god, that’s right! I heard! Congratulations! Okay, you have to come up.” She turns to the big guy, patting his shoulder. “They’re cool.” And then she grabs my hand, tugging me and, in turn, Jules and Harper up a couple of stairs and into the small area where people are sitting on cool, low couches before turning to face us.

“Guys, this is Ava Bordeaux—she went to Ashford High a few years below me, but we were in cheer together for a bit.” A man I recognize as her husband, Riggins Greene, scoffs, and she glares at him.

“It still kills me you were in cheerleading,” Reed, the guitarist with floppy, curly brown hair and a sweet smile says.

“She won the Miss Americana Pageant,” Stella says to Riggins, who has stood and put an arm around her waist, pulling her in tight like he can’t bear to have her out of arm’s reach for long.

“Wow, you don’t say,” he says, looking impressed only because his wife is impressed.

“Yeah, but to be honest, we only came over here to say hi to Stella because Harper’s boyfriend is a boring loser and refused to come here to celebrate with us.” Stella wrinkles up her nose, and I give her wide eyes and a nod, conveying exactly how I feel about Jeremy. “But you guys are his favorite band, and I just thought it would be so hilarious to send him a picture of us all seeing you.”

“Oh, diabolical,” Stella says with a laugh. “Yes, yes, absolutely! Guys, picture!” she shouts, hands waving at the guys, and I half expect all of them to glare and say fuck off since, before we came up, each was involved in their own conversation. Instead, they instantly obey, standing while I hand one of the servers my phone to take a photo.

Stella Greene is a power of nature, so really, I shouldn’t be surprised. The photo is taken, and my phone is returned to me.

“Oh, my god, this is perfect,” I say, looking at the shot with Harper in the center, Wes, Reed, and Jules on one side, Riggins, Beckett, and me on the other. Jeremy is going to shit his pants. “You guys so made my night.”

“Oh, anytime. We love revenge over here,” Wes says with a smile and a wink at me.

“My kind of guy,” I say with my favorite sassy smile before turning back to Stella. “Seriously though, we just wanted to stop in and say hi—this was so much more, but we absolutely don’t want to intrude. It was so good to see you!”

”Oh, my god. No way, you’re not intruding at all! Please, stay! I’m getting so bored with the guys here.”

“Hey!” Riggins says from behind her.

She looks over her shoulder and rolls her eyes at him. “There’s only so much of them I can take. Sometimes I need girl talk.”

“Oh my god, that’s so true,” I say, even though I absolutely do not—I haven’t had a real boyfriend in years, much less one whose friends I hung out with so often I got bored of them.

By choice, I’ve been single, going on a never-ending series of one or two dates before deciding they weren’t for me. Sometimes, I’ll keep a guy around for a few weeks, but never for anything serious.

Life is too short to spend giant chunks of time with anyone who doesn’t hold your interest.

Turning to my best friends, I give them the wanna stay for a bit, or should we make our excuses? look, before Jules looks to Harper, nods, and takes a seat. Then, I make formal introductions. We catch up briefly, and the night continues with dancing, drinks, and laughs.

As the night winds down, Stella looks at me, intrigued. “So, you know Jaime?” Stella asks, pushing my shoulder gently.

“Who?”

“Jaime, do you know him? He keeps looking this way.” She tips her chin towards the entrance of the VIP area, and when I turn to look, the only person there is the hulking man. I let out a loud laugh and shake my head.

“Oh, god, no. He thought I was some crazy fan girl and absolutely hates me.”

“Uh, he very much does not hate you,” she says, looking from me to Jaime. “He keeps looking over his shoulder, sneaking glimpses of you.”

“I’m sure he’s just doing his job, ensuring you are safe.”

Stella shakes her head, disagreeing, but doesn’t answer before Wes comes up, putting his hands on her shoulders and standing behind her.

“Are we talking about how our big ol’ Jaime has a hard-on for the princess?”

“A queen, thank you very much,” I say with a wink and an adjustment of my crown. “And he very much can’t stand me.”

“Jaime doesn’t give anyone a second glance. He absolutely has a thing for you.” Wes steps back and gives me a generous once-over, a mischievous smile spreading on his lips. “Though anyone would happily give you a second glance. Or a third.”

I reach up and pat him on his cheek. “Rock stars aren’t my thing, but thanks for the offer.”

“All right,” Jules says with a laugh. “You are past the point of being allowed to be in public without making a fool of yourself.”

I glare at her before smiling because, even in my state of inebriation, I know she’s right. “Why, are you afraid I’ll dance on a table?” I ask. “Again?”

It’s a reference to two years ago at a cowboy bar I dragged us to because I saw an ad for it, and it looked like a fun time. About three minutes in, before we’d even had a drink, someone played a song that seemed to indicate to all the regulars it was time to dance on a bar.

I’d never done it before but always wanted to, so before Jules or Harper could even try and stop me, I had tapped on someone’s shoulder and had two strange men helping me up.

Life is too short to date men who can’t hold your interest, but it’s definitely too short not to dance on a bar if you get the opportunity.

“Yes, exactly,” she says, standing.

“All right, all right,” I say, standing and getting a small head rush, making me giggle.

“We’re going to head out in a few, too,” Stella says with a yawn, snuggling into her husband’s chest. “But we need to swap info! Meet up next time you’re in town.”

I nod, then exchange numbers with Stella, promising to hit her up at the end of my tour before moving down the steps and exiting the VIP section.

“See ya later, big guy,” I say as I teeter on my tall heels in front of him and pat his chest. “You know, you’d be a lot hotter if you were just a smidge.” I hold up my pointer finger and thumb, pinching them so there’s a tiny gap between my fingers. “Less grumpy.”

“Noted,” he says, and even though he fights it, I can see it: the tiniest hint of a smile, the whisper of it on the edges of his lips. “Get home safe, princess.”