Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I get into the car, and I don’t say anything to him. We don’t exchange any words for the entire trip, and I think to myself only thirteen more days to go.
Chapter Eleven
Carter
I tossed and turned all night, having almost wet dreams thinking about her. I never, ever told anyone any stories about my parents except Jeff. She sat next to me, and she just listened, and when I looked in her eyes, they didn’t have pity in them, and they didn’t have sadness. In fact, it looked like she was angry.
I woke up at two thirty and stayed in the bed until ten to three, then got up and made coffee. Actually, I stayed in bed, squeezing my hard cock until he went down. Then when I heard her voice, my cock stirred, and I had to talk it down. I was on edge. I needed to get laid soon, or my cock was going to self-combust. I had to google that to make sure it wasn’t actually a thing, and then when I went to get her, she walked out of her closet, and I swear the only thing I thought about was sinking my cock into her. She oozes sex appeal, and she is so oblivious to it that it’s even fucking sexier.
Then she put her jacket on, and I swear to God, I thought I was going to come in my pants. I got in the car, and all I could do was think of her with her hair up and glasses on bent over. Fuck, I needed to fuck period. She said nothing to me on the whole ride to the set, and I have to admit it was better because had she said something or sassed me, I wouldn’t have stopped myself from taking her. Even while the driver watched. Okay, I would have covered her so no one could see, but I still would have taken her. I would have kissed her until she couldn’t take it anymore.
When the car comes to a stop, I let myself out and wait for her to get out, but she doesn’t get out on my side. Nope, not Erin. She gets out on her own side and smiles at the driver holding the door open. When she looks at me, her smile falls and the glare returns. I figure she’s probably thinking about ways to kill me. In my sleep. And bury my dead ass in the snow not to be found until spring. I shake my head. “Stop scowling or else you are going to need Botox,” I tell her, and it isn’t my finest moment.
“It’s okay. I’ll send you the bill,” she says, and we walk onto the lot. They rented out a huge ass warehouse. Actually, it looks like there are five warehouses. I see the row of trailers on the side and head to find mine. I walk down the path, looking at the names on the door, and finally see mine. It’s bigger than the others, which doesn’t surprise me since I’m the star. I walk up the two little metal stairs and open the white tin door. I step into the main room, which is in the middle of the trailer. To one side is the bedroom and bathroom, and to the other side is a long white leather U-shaped couch around a wooden table. Throw pillows on the couch face the kitchenette with a sink and microwave. I put my phone on the table. “Welcome to your office,” I tell her, and she comes in and puts her bag down. “I have to go to makeup. Do you want to come with me and see where the food is and all that?” She doesn’t answer me, obviously still pissed, and just nods her head. I walk back out of the trailer and see that people are slowly beginning to arrive. We walk back to where we were dropped off toward the door into the warehouse. The sign on the door says set one, makeup & costume, Ivan’s office, and then craft service.
I open the door and walk in, and the lights are all on. The warehouse has four separate sections in each corner. Some of the crew nod at me and then their horny eyes look over at Erin. I’m just about to give her an “I fucking told you so” look when I hear my name being called.
“Carter Johnson.” I hear Ivan’s thick Russian accent as he walks toward us with headphones around his neck and a shit ton of papers in his hand. He’s wearing jeans and a beige sweater over a dress shirt with the collar sticking up.
“Ivan,” I say. Walking to him, I extend my hand to him. He takes it and then brings me in for a side hug.