Rogue Ever After (The Rogue Series Book 7)

by Tamsen Parker

  “Fine. You can’t be a reasonable person and take a break for one fucking night? Then do it out of spite. Make all the bigots watching on TV look at a gorgeous, powerful queer woman having the time of her life. You know, if you let them steal your joy, you’re letting them win.”

  “Ah, okay, now you’re speaking my language. Vindictiveness is a goal I can get behind.”

  She still wasn’t going to promise to actually have a good time, but she sure did like the thought of making homophobes green with envy and so mad they could spit.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  3

  Hadley ought to be used to it by now, but being in an evening gown before six o’clock always made her feel slightly ridiculous. It was for a good reason—and this time for an even better reason than the de rigeur red carpet photo ops—but she felt silly in her slinky silver number nonetheless. Rose, one of the event organizers, had met her at her car and was escorting her to where all the activists were milling about, and checking her clipboard.

  “Let’s see… You’re with Archer Kydd from Rivera House. Do you need a refresher on what they do?”

  Hadley’s heart skipped as though it were double-dutching in her chest. No, she did not need a refresher after having pored over Rivera House’s website, and any other information she could find about them on the internet. Plus any extraneous info she could find about the fabulous Ms. Kydd. Mx. Kydd, maybe? She didn’t know. She did know Archer used “she” and “her” for pronouns, but not her preferred title. Though if she’d gleaned anything about Archer from her light internet stalking, it would be that Archer didn’t seem to stand on ceremony.

  “No, I’m good, thank you.”

  Rose nodded, a quick dip of her chin, before she scanned the room, presumably looking for Archer. Hadley found her first and was momentarily speechless.

  Archer was a total fox. Gorgeous in a slightly rough way that the make-up and hair team who’d worked on the activists hadn’t been able to cover up entirely. She was sharp and…dangerous. If Hadley wasn’t careful, she was going to drool all over herself and the floor and then slip in her already precarious shoes.

  She’d known Archer was beautiful and had a persuasive and passionate way of talking, but she hadn’t quite counted on the woman’s physical presence affecting her the way it did. The cock of her hip in her ballgown, the relaxed way her shoulders sloped as she directed all of her attention to the person who was speaking and then gesticulated when she spoke. Hadley wanted to be the object of that attention, of that smile, of that intensity. She wanted to soak and revel in it, and hopefully charm Archer in return.

  This wasn’t a mixer, though. She wasn’t here to flirt. This was for charity and for exposure for the organizations whose staff they’d invited. It was a giant middle finger to the administration and anyone who was on the wrong side of history. She shouldn’t be objectifying Archer even if the woman was practically an objet d’art.

  Beyond lovely. Statuesque. Magnificent.

  Her grandma would call Archer “big-boned,” which objectively, Hadley supposed she was. Built tall and sturdy and strong in a way that made Hadley feel slight and wispy. She didn’t mind the sensation, partly because if a stiff breeze kicked up, she could anchor herself to Archer and neither of them would go anywhere. And she might even enjoy wrapping a hand around her date’s biceps, or her sturdy forearm. These were the kind of muscles Hadley’s trainer warned her about. She didn’t want to be “bulky,” did she? That was some sexist and misogynistic bullshit, and after she’d told her trainer so, they’d exchanged resigned glares because they both knew Hollywood didn’t want her to look like that. Unless it was for some body-transformation Oscar bait film.

  “Miss Beaumont?”

  Oh jeez, she’d been staring, hadn’t she? And staring at Archer was a bad idea for so many reasons.

  “Yes?”

  Rose pasted a smile on her face and fanned an arm out in front of her. “If you’ll come with me.”

  * * *

  “Ms. Kydd?”

  Archer turned toward the summons, still smiling from the conversation she’d been involved in. She hadn’t counted on coming out of this experience connecting with other activists, which was foolish of her. She’d been more focused on getting exposure to the stars and their checkbooks, but the whole thing would’ve been worth it solely to connect with other people who understood her daily struggle. Getting up every morning to try to make the world a better place while everyone around them seemed apathetic at best and set against them at worst. The housing first advocate she’d just been speaking with was a welcome balm to the exhaustion and isolation she so often felt.

  There stood Rose, one of the people who’d herded the activists around the staging area—hair, makeup, a rundown of what they should expect—and then out to this much more picturesque area where they’d be meeting their respective celeb dates. She ought to stop thinking of Hadley as her date. For one, that wasn’t what she was here for. Hadley Beaumont could’ve been any number of actresses who’d volunteered for this. And perhaps it would’ve been easier if she’d been paired with someone else.

  But right next to Rose and outshining her by several thousand watts was Hadley in the flesh.

  Archer had seen famous people before—it was a fact of life living in Los Angeles. Most of the time she was unimpressed. They were just people, going about their business. They didn’t have a special glow or seem larger-than-life. They just…were. Almost like exceedingly normal, workaday twins of their glamorous selves who only showed up for photo shoots and filming.

  This, much to her dismay, was not the case with Hadley Beaumont. Hadley glowed. And it wasn’t the lights reflecting off her sparkly silver dress that clung to her elegant and voluptuous curves just right. Nor did she think it was the make-up she already wore. It was her.

  Fuck.

  “Ms. Kydd, this is Miss Beaumont. Miss Beaumont, Ms. Kydd.”

  Archer stuck out a hand because that’s what you did. She was entirely unprepared for being touched by Hadley. Hadley’s hand was small and soft but her handshake was still firm, and there was a current that ran between them when their palms met. Rocked her back a bit because she hadn’t expected to be affected by this woman. Archer didn’t swoon, and she sure as fuck didn’t fawn but it was all she could do to keep her goddamn mouth shut and not stand there making a slack-jawed fool out of herself in front of Hadley Beaumont.

  Also, if she’d had any doubts about Hadley’s sexuality—which she hadn’t really, because her gaydar was damn reliable—they would’ve been cleared up by this handshake. A fucking handshake. She just knew, and from the way Hadley’s enormous blue eyes gazed at her out from under her impossibly long lashes and how her glossy pink lips parted, that the other woman felt the same instant infatuation she did.

  Archer felt the urge to bring Hadley’s knuckles to her lips and brush them with a flutter of a kiss. Maybe she would have if she were in her dapper dyke clothes, but it felt odd when she was wearing a high-femme ballgown, so she merely let a fraction of the smile she felt tug up the corners of her mouth. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Beaumont.”

  “Likewise, Ms. Kydd. And please, call me Hadley. Or Had. My friends call me Had.”

  Her voice was sweet and smoky, like a perfect Manhattan after work. And Hadley. Had. Sure, because it wasn’t weird to pal around with one of the most famous women on the planet, who also happened to be about ten years younger than you were. Cool, cool, cool.

  “Yeah, you can call me Archer. I probably wouldn’t turn around for Ms. Kydd. But, uh, don’t call me Archie. I fucking hate that.”

  Maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea to swear at her new starlet friend—Had—but Hadley didn’t seem offended. She laughed. A pink-cheeked, wrinkled-nose thing that made Archer’s stomach flutter. Yeah, Hadley was hot like a frying pan you’d left on a burner, but she was also adorable and that combination never failed to slay Archer. Like, why the hell had the universe put Hadley
Beaumont in her way? Especially when she knew full well Hadley would deny any reciprocal feelings. If she even had them.

  Shouldn’t get her hopes up, just keep her head down and do her goddamn job. Don’t get any starry-eyed fantasies about how she’d be the one to coax gorgeous and charismatic Hadley Beaumont out of her locked-tight closet.

  4

  When they’d sent her the information on Archer Kydd, Hadley had been at once thrilled and terrified. She’d dreamt about attending these things with another woman as opposed to the hunk-of-the-moment her publicist usually wrangled for her. But as much as it excited her to be on the red carpet with another queer woman, her blood was ice pumping through her veins as she scooted over the back seat of the car she’d shared with Archer the short distance from the staging area where they’d had a cocktail and some hors d’oeuvres to the theater where the awards were being given out.

  Those whispers that Tommy had planted in her brain about what it took to make it in this town had grown louder and she couldn’t silence them. What if someone noticed? Would they be able to tell?

  The usual flurry of activity started; the crowds that had gathered to gawk at the stars, the show runners with their clipboards and headsets, directing the new arrivals to where they were supposed to go, the press with their enormous cameras and endless microphones, shouts of “who are you wearing.” It was all very typical. Except that she had Archer next to her who, despite her earlier holding court, seemed more like a deer in headlights when faced with the onslaught.

  Hadley had been doing her best not to look at Archer in hopes of not giving away precisely how infatuated she was with the woman, but it wasn’t easy. Archer had been mouthwatering on paper and on the screen of her laptop, but Archer in the flesh was even more intoxicating. The curves of her body and the way she moved through the world as if she were unafraid, and her voice… Hadley was going to faint from desire. Speaking of, she ought to make sure Archer—unused to the Hollywood gauntlet—wasn’t going to pass out.

  Her date’s face had gone pale, and her eyes wide and searching. It was tempting, so tempting, to touch her, to lend the warmth and support of her body to tell Archer beneath the ruckus that she was going to be fine, but she didn’t dare. Not with the whole world watching.

  But when Hadley felt Archer’s hand snatch up her own, weaving her shaking fingers through Hadley’s there was no way she’d be able to pull away. No. She was human and she wouldn’t be that cruel. Also, Archer had established a death grip on Hadley’s hand and though there was a distinct possibility that Archer was going to cut off all circulation to her fingers, there was no way Hadley would complain.

  She was used to some horrific conditions while filming. While she wouldn’t call her crush clutching her hand horrific in any way, it was surely more hazardous than anything she’d had to do for her job, if only because this wasn’t about her physical safety, not really. It was that as hard as Archer was gripping her hand, she was also establishing a rather firm grasp on Hadley’s heart.

  * * *

  Holy shit. Holy. Shit. There were a lot of goddamn lights here, and the noise was… Archer couldn’t even hear herself think, and her thoughts were pretty damn loud. How could anyone see or hear anything? She clutched Hadley’s hand tighter and tried not to trip on her dress. Yeah she wore skirts and dresses sometimes, but not ones that went all the way down to the floor like this, and she usually paired them with combat boots. She felt as though she needed lessons in how to walk in the damn thing. And they hadn’t even had to sit yet. That was going to be a fucking nightmare.

  “Hey.”

  Hadley’s voice was soft in her ear, and god help her, Hadley’s breath was warm on her neck. Of course she’d had to lean in close to be heard, but this fucking close? What was the woman trying to do to her? If her knees buckled, it’d be all goddamn over.

  “Just breathe, okay? Breathe, smile, and hold on to me. I’ll show you where to go and I’ll point to where to look. It’s overwhelming, I know. It wasn’t so long ago I was doing my first one of these and I thought I was going to pass out. Of course it didn’t help that my stylist had tied my corset a little too tight.”

  Hadley in a corset, ample breasts pushed high, almost spilling out of her dress. All Archer would have to do would be to hook a finger in the material and tug and Hadley’s lush tits would come spilling out, begging to be fondled, squeezed, sucked. Jesus. That woman really was doing her best to render Archer completely useless. And hell would it be embarrassing to return this dress with a stain on the seat from getting wet fantasizing about her Hollywood date. This woman she had so much disdain for and wasn’t supposed to have anything else. Yeah, she’d promised Megan she’d play nice, but having decent manners and playing a porno on loop in one’s head were entirely different matters.

  “Hey, why don’t you tell me more about Rivera House? Give me your spiel.”

  Oh. That was a thing she could do. That was a thing she could hold onto with both hands, focus on, and devote her energy to, something she knew well, where she felt at home.

  “Okay, I can do that.”

  Hadley tugged her into a line of people dressed in finery like they were and told her it would be a bit before they needed to pose for pictures. Perfect. She could breathe and think and this was her opportunity to persuade Hadley Beaumont that Rivera House was worth her attention—and hopefully a big fat check as well, maybe even some kind of endorsement or talking about it on social media after tonight was over. That kind of publicity could be priceless.

  “So Rivera House was established in 1996, and we went from having four beds with a staff of two to having two centers that permanently house twenty-five teens. In addition to the center directors, we have a staff of social workers and advocates who work with the kids’ schools, but also write policy papers and work with politicians. Giving queer kids a stable place to stay lets them go back to school and focus on teenage life instead of trying to earn a living. We have a ninety-five percent high school graduation rate, and we’ve got our own college counselor to help our kids find a good fit that will include the financial assistance they’ll need. We’ve got some scholarships set up, but it’s not enough to cover room and board for the half-dozen kids we have headed off to college any given year.”

  Hadley nodded even as she waved at the crowds with the hand Archer wasn’t strangling. It was possible that she should let go, that Hadley would be mortified by this or that it made her uncomfortable to be holding hands with a woman, but Hadley merely smiled to the hundreds of people surrounding them, and as an aside to Archer, asked, “What’s the current age range of the kids you’re housing?”

  “Right now it’s sixteen to nineteen, but we’ve had kids as young as thirteen. It’s super unusual to have a shelter for kids under eighteen, but we made this one-of-a-kind deal with DCSF. We work closely with them to house kids instead of having them go to foster homes. And there are way more kids who stop by our after-school programs. Mostly it’s just an open place for them to hang out with other queer kids in an environment where they’re welcome, eat some snacks, do their homework. Some of those kids aren’t even out to their parents yet and when we can we try to help them prepare what they’re going to say. It’s always nice when the parents have a way better reaction than the kid is expecting which happens sometimes, but sometimes the kids are spot on and at least we can function as a safety net for them even if we can’t take them into the residential program right away. And they know they can come to us, know they’ll have friendly faces and unfortunately, other kids who know what it’s like to be rejected by their parents just because they’re queer.”

  “That must be really hard, to see kids who’ve gotten kicked out of their families just because of their sexualities. I can’t imagine how parents can do that.”

  Maybe it was her acting, but Hadley seemed to be deeply affected by the idea. Was that why she hadn’t come out? Were her parents the kind of assholes who would be dicks about Had being queer
? Archer could be forward, but she didn’t feel like it was her place to ask…not yet anyway. But she could open a door—sometimes that was all it took for someone to share.

  “It is hard. But it’s also the best thing in the world to give a kid a home and hope and love. To watch them blossom. In a perfect world, we wouldn’t exist, but since the world isn’t perfect, it’s nice to know that we can actually make a real long-term difference just be being there and loving them.” It was a really fucking hard job, and there was often murder in her heart for the families of the kids, but that wasn’t the point. “These kids are so incredible, like seriously amazing. And it’s a great feeling as a kid who grew up in foster care, fearing that I’d get kicked out of my foster family’s house if they knew that I was a lesbian that I can make sure that doesn’t happen to other kids. I mean, not enough of them—we never have enough beds—but even helping one kid from dealing with that, totally worth it.”

  She didn’t talk a lot about her own experiences in foster care. It wasn’t nice and it didn’t help anyone—unless it was one of the Rivera kids who’d been in foster care themselves—but Hadley didn’t have that poor-baby look of sympathy that Archer couldn’t stand. No, Hadley looked her in the eyes, and said, “I’m sorry that happened to you. And it’s incredible that you work to keep it happening to other kids. My parents are super cool, they never—”

  And just like that, her mouth slicked with sparkly pink gloss snapped shut, and Archer felt the loss of a shared intimacy. She’d shared and…got nothing in return. Which was fine. Fine.

  Luckily, neither of them were forced to confront the awkwardness of that moment, possibility tipped over like a spilled drink running over a table and onto the floor, because one of the handlers beckoned them toward the official photo op area, and Archer dropped Hadley’s hand. It had felt so natural she’d nearly forgot she was holding it, and yet when she let go, she definitely felt the loss.