Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Nope. You don’t get out of this that easily,” Ezra says and grabs my arm to drag me toward one of the already set tables.
And then there they are, Anton, Ezra, Tripp, Dex, and Foster, with all their focus trained on me.
“So. I look scary now. It’s pretty cool.”
“Cut the shit,” Ezra says.
“Umm. I’m not scary-looking?”
“Tell us what we want to knoooow,” Tripp whines.
“What do you want to know?” I have no idea what they’re talking about, but I get the sinking feeling—
“Are you having sex with your PR manager?” Foster asks.
Oh fuck. Yep. There it is.
I didn’t think we were being obvious. “Why do you ask?”
“I have a sixth sense,” Ezra says. “I know who exactly has had sex with who.”
No,” Tripp cuts in. “It’s because you’ve been here longer than five minutes, and you haven’t joked with Lane about having sex. Therefore, you’re actually having sex with him.”
I rub my chin. “Well, damn.”
“You are, then?” Dex asks.
I lick my lips. “Maybe.”
Everyone around the table groans.
“No, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” I say. “It’s …” What is it? “He’s helping me.”
Tripp snorts. “Helping you come?”
And here it is. Here’s the moment where I either need to seize this opportunity to let them all in or keep my mask in place. I take a deep breath. “He’s helping me see that there’s more to sex than doing it for attention or to make a headline. It’s more than fulfilling an image that I need to fit. And …” I hesitate.
I’ve already given more than I normally would, but there’s something about Lane that makes me want to open up about him. Because he’s amazing.
“It’s actually kind of cute. You all know how I have a thing for public sex. Well, he’s been giving me that … without actually giving me that. He pretended my neighbor was on her balcony and could see into my house, and there was the time with the phone in the hotel room where he filmed us, but the steam from the shower actually blocked the camera from getting anything scandalous, and another time he turned the porch light on so no one could see in but told me they could. And even though I realized afterward there was no chance of being caught, that he came up with these scenarios for me … I didn’t call him out on it because … he …” I shake my head. “He understands me and still wants me anyway. Even though it’s only physical.”
Though, it’s not only physical for me anymore, is it? And by the look of everyone else at this table, they don’t believe it either.
“We love you,” Anton says cautiously. “But do you realize this could completely tank his career?”
“Yep. And to start off with, I didn’t care, but … for once, I’m …” It’s so hard to get out. “I’m worried about how my choices affect someone else. Because I know it’s wrong, but I don’t want to stop.”
Then Ezra looks over my head, and his eyes widen.
One of my gear bags drops to the ground by my side, and Lane’s voice makes me flinch.
“Apparently we’re common knowledge now?”
Oh, shit.
TWENTY-SEVEN
LANE
When I went to grab the merch from the car, the last thing I assumed I’d be coming back to is a huddle of hockey players discussing my sex life. Actually, I don’t think that’s something I assumed I’d experience ever.
I’m still trying to work out how I feel about them knowing about us, but from everything Oskar has told me about how close they are and my pushing him to let them in and find his support network, it’s not as though I have grounds to be mad about it.
“I assume you’ll all keep this quiet?” I ask.
Five hockey players nod like kids in trouble, and when I look down at where Oskar is sitting, his gorgeous blue eyes are wide.
“I need help getting something from the car,” I say, then turn on my heel, knowing he’ll follow.
Before I’m out of earshot, I pick up the sound of jeers and ooh, Oskar’s in trouble and Daddy’s mad, and I can’t help it—I smile. Just a little.
All because of idiot hockey players and not because Oskar shared a hard thought with them and admitted that he actually cares. About us. And wants it to go on.
“If you want to yell at me, you could have done it without demanding cardio first,” Oskar pants, jogging up beside me.
Yell at him? I almost laugh. The farther we get from the camp, the lighter I’m starting to feel. There’d been affection in his voice. For me. Fuck. Oskar’s in trouble, but not the kind he’s imagining.
The trouble will come when I struggle to give this man up.
He’s under my skin, this incessant need to build up and protect. To touch and comfort and care for. He wants something? I’m prepared to serve it up on a fucking platter, and there isn’t even the tiniest part of me ashamed of that fact.