Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
If he was to be believed, the other night was a case of epically poor timing and bad luck…for me. Great for Walker.
Total fuckery.
It took serious mental strength not to let my thoughts go straight to doom and gloom.
This asshole held my future in the palm of his hand. He could unravel fifteen years of hard work and dedication with a Smithton exclusive: “Bears Pro Prospect Spotted With His Pants Down…With a Dude!”
“Look, I know what you’re thinking, and—”
“I’m thinking you have me by the short hairs,” I intercepted angrily. “And that I’ll have to do your fucking interview now and be wary of being blackmailed by you for the rest of my career…assuming I have one.”
Walker gasped indignantly. “I would never stoop to blackmail!”
“Right.”
“Listen, I know we’ve gotten off to a rough start, but I swear I wouldn’t say a word about…what I saw. Not that I saw much at all. I didn’t. I—”
“What did you see? Be honest.”
“It was dark.”
“And?”
“Scary?”
I furrowed my brow. “Is this a joke to you?”
Walker shifted on his seat, fiddling with the plastic tab on the top of his to-go cup. “Fine. I was leaning on the wall and turned at the sound of voices. And…sex noises.”
“But what did you see?” I pressed.
“Oh, my God! I saw a man sucking your dick,” he whisper-hissed. “Are you happy now?”
“No, I’m not happy at all,” I spat. “Did you take pictures?”
He had the nerve to look insulted. “No, I did not.”
“You sure? A little spank-bank material for later?”
Walker eyed me angrily and slid his cell across the table. “See for yourself.”
I scrolled through Walker’s photo gallery, flipping by the band pics at The Tavern to, I shit you not, dozens upon dozens of…flowers. Roses and tulips mixed with branches and greenery, and exotic bulbs in vibrant pinks and purples. There were photos of flower stands, topiaries, bunches of sunflowers, bouquets on fancy tabletops, window boxes, and lots and lots of gardens. And the rest were all of a fluffy white cat.
“What’s with the flowers?”
“I like arranging them.”
“Like a florist?”
“Yes, like a florist,” he huffed, snatching his cell away.
“Then why aren’t you doing florist shit instead of being a public nuisance?”
“I’m not a nuisance. I’m following generations of reporting pillars in my family, and I’m doing a darn good job.”
“By blackmailing unsuspecting citizens into submission,” I snarked.
“I have no intention of blackmailing you. I told you, I just wanted to talk to you.”
“For the interview.”
“Yes. I know you don’t have a high opinion of me, but as you probably know, an interview with you would net a lot more viewers than last night’s concert did.”
“And insider dirt might get you even more subscribers.”
Walker grunted in frustration. “You obviously don’t realize that outing your relationship wouldn’t go over well for me.”
“I’m not in a relationship,” I corrected irritably.
“All right, but that’s hardly the point. The public forgave my initial faux pas with Jett, but they’d wonder if I had some extreme conservative agenda if I outed your…dark-alley situationship, and I assure you, I do not. I’m here for local information and entertainment only, not salacious gossip.”
“Ri-ght,” I drawled.
“I’m serious. The other night was just a fluke that I for one am willing to pretend never happened. I’m erasing last night from my brain even as we speak. Gone. Poof.” Walker shook his head manically as if physically removing all unnecessary info. “And darn that’s a shame, because it was rather a saucy visual, but it’s gone, gone, gone.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to suppress a wayward grin. Walker was kind of cute.
Whoa, fuck that. The guy was a pain in the ass and a menace.
“I still don’t trust you, but…” As I stood, I pinned him with a glare I usually reserved for opponents. “I guess I’ll have to try. Just don’t fuckin’ mess with me.”
“Hang on!” He pushed his chair out with a screech. “I still need the interview.”
I blinked incredulously, proud of my acting skills. “Are you for real?”
“Awkward, I know. But please…sit down, and let me offer a proposal.”
“Ahh, you mean extortion.” I flopped into my seat again.
“No, a bargain or a trade.”
I raked my gaze over his body and snarled. “You’re not my type.”
For the record, that was a damn lie. Walker was more my type than all the Carsons of the world would ever be. I liked that he was shorter, lithe, and toned. I liked his confidence, and I even begrudgingly admired that he’d built an online enterprise that gave back to a college community.
It was the sneaky, crooked, conniving BS that turned me off.
Walker blushed, clearing his throat as he leaned in.
“Not that kind of trade. I meant that I have a large social media platform that’s pretty darn popular. I can help you launch your own in preparation for your AHL debut. Fans are going to want insight into your life. I’ve checked out your current social media presence and no offense, but it’s amateur hour. Freebie tip—delete the beer-can pyramids, the make-out sessions with pretty girls in bikinis, and the fifty thousand pics of random friends and family members. Sweet and all, but your fans want more solo shirtless you and less blurry pics of you with Grandma and Grandpa at a family picnic.”