But before he could take more than a few steps, bam—another woman practically tripped into his lap. This one had even more attitude, even less fabric, and eyes that scread trouble. No fake surprise, no attempt to play innocent—just pure, unapologetic seduction. She looked up from his arms, lips already curled in a sly smirk. "Wanna head to my hotel? It’s just down the block. Just the two of us. No masks. No small talk."
Rex blinked, caught off guard again. For a split second, temptation danced in the air. But the mission ca flooding back—and Monica.
He let out a soft chuckle and gently helped her steady herself. "That’s a generous offer, really. But I’ve got soone to et. Maybe next ti."
Her smile faltered. She brushed off her dress. Rex excused himself with a quick nod and hurried forward, eager to put so distance between them. He was still on a mission—and preferably not one that ended with a tabloid headline.
As he walked away, he barely caught her mutter under her breath, "Tch, thought that would work... Worked for that other vixen."
He shook his head, half amused, half annoyed. But apparently, fate—or the system—wasn’t done ssing with him.
Because what ca next could only be described as absurd.
Every few steps, a different woman either bumped into him, tripped near him, spilled sothing and bent down way too slowly, or straight up collapsed into his arms like he was running a bridal catch booth. One dropped her earring right in front of him, another claid she was "too tipsy" to walk straight, and one just walked into him backwards—yes, backwards—while pretending to take a selfie.
It was like he’d triggered a side quest called ’Catch ’Em All: Socialite Edition’.
By the fifth or sixth ti, Rex’s arm was actually getting sore. Like, for real.
"Bro, I’m not a human crash mat," he muttered, stretching his shoulder. "System better count this as upper body training."
No matter how much he complained on the surface, deep down—even if just a little—he was kinda enjoying it. Just a tiny bit. Really.
Because let’s be honest, when else was he going to get to catch and feel the full spectrum of ’twin mountain’ physics? He’d caught soft ones that felt like clouds, the kind that seed to lt in his grip, firm ones like a fitness model’s trophy shelf. So were heavy, needing both arms just to keep from falling over—bouncing with a hypnotic rhythm that would make gravity blush.
Others were small, perky, high-set, teasing him with fleeting contact that lingered longer in mory than in touch. And then there was one... so outrageously bouncy it made him question not just physics, but the very concept of restraint. The way her chest hit his with a spring and sway, he felt it all the way down to his toes. Damn. Being a gentleman had never felt so sinful.
"Being handso really does have its perks," he couldn’t help thinking, not-so-innocently. "These are the kind of won regular guys would never even dream of touching—and they’re dropping into my arms like love-struck pigeons during mating season."
He sighed, eyes scanning the crowd for soone who wasn’t actively trying to jump into his arms. At this point, even a fool could tell this was all intentional. These weren’t random stumbles or accidental bumps. Nah, this was planned, coordinated. Like so weird flash mob with cleavage and high heels.
But could he really just let them fall? These weren’t just regular won—they were socialites, actresses, models, the who’s-who of the elite party circuit. Letting one of them face-plant into the floor might start a scandal.
"Right?" Rex muttered, trying to justify catching yet another one.
Still, as another woman nearly crash-landed into him with a champagne flute mid-air, he began reconsidering. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let one or two of them hit the ground—gently. Just enough to send a ssage.
"Let ’em hug the floor a little," he grumbled. "Might scare off the next wave." His eyes scanned the crowd as he helped her up and politely turned down her offer to spend the night. Sowhere out there had to be a lifeline—soone or sothing that could help him escape this never-ending gauntlet of designer perfus and seductive stumbles.
And just as he was praying for an exit from this ridiculous rom-com fever dream, he spotted her—Lena. Yeah, that girl again. She was trying to chat up so older gentleman who seed to be so famous director but clearly wasn’t interested, nodding politely before making a quick excuse to walk off.
Rex’s eyes lit up. "Bingo," he muttered.
Ti to cash in that favor. He was the one who helped her get in, after all.
With a wicked grin tugging at his lips, Rex made his way toward her, adjusting his posture like a man on a mission. Finally, a lifeline out of this beautiful disaster zone. trying to fall on him. Or seduce him. Or both.
She wasn’t looking in his direction—yet—but he didn’t wait and moved fast. The mont their eyes t, and before she could even speak, he casually motioned toward his side, where another woman was clearly gearing up for the latest ’accidental’ fall—heels wobbling, drink tipping, eyes locked in like a heat-seeking missile. didn’t even give her a chance to say anything. He swooped in, arm casually draping around her shoulders like they’d been rolling deep since childhood.
"Lena!" he called, pulling her close with the smooth instinct of a guy who’d done this a dozen tis before, "There you are, I’ve been looking all over."
Lena blinked. Once. Twice. Then, looking at his winking eyes and the subtle tilt of his head, she caught on with the speed of a seasoned hustler.
"Oh my god, yes!" she bead, looping her arm around his waist like she was claiming a prize. "Where have you been? I was starting to think you ditched ."
"Never," he said, flashing a wink.
Behind them, the latest ’accidental stumble’ woman paused mid-step, gave them a look, then sighed and retreated.
Rex exhaled dramatically. "You just saved from another round of surprise chest tackles. I owe you big ti."
Lena laughed, but her eyes flicked around. "What the hell did you do to get so many won chasing you like that?"
"I exist," Rex said, deadpan.
She snorted. "Modest too. I like that."
Together, they moved deeper into the crowd, finally—finally—free from the parade of falling fashionistas.
For now.
(End of Chapter)
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