you really uncomfortable. Can I suggest a quick exercise to give you a feel for how I can help you?”
He nods again, but he also visibly swallows like I’ve just shoved a horse pill in his mouth.
For his powerful size, I suddenly feel like I’m dealing with a skittish animal. With more than a little bumbling effort, I rise from my bean bag with my laptop in hand and oh, so slowly, approach to sit at his side. “This is going to be painless for you, I promise.” I thrust my computer toward him. “We’re going to use me for an example instead of working on you tonight, okay? Google my name.”
As hoped, this is an easy enough task for him to complete. He does so with more than expected eagerness. “All right. You have every social media account known to man. Now what?”
I grin at his compliment. I’ve been building curated content for years while working toward my degree. “Now, click a link. Any link.”
At least he chuckles at my stupid game hostess impersonation. “Am I supposed to be looking for something specific?”
“Nope. Just tell me what you think of when you look at my profile, timeline, and social interactions.”
Instead of immediately firing off his initial impressions, he takes his time scrolling through one social media site then clicking the next link in the search results and doing the same. Another and another and another until he’s exhausted all easy possibilities.
Already knowing he’s a man of action rather than words, I wait silently as he drinks his fill. I’m not even a celebrity, but the longer he reads the internet version of all about me, the more I squirm in my seat. This is good practice though. I can’t market him as effectively if I never get a chance to walk a mile in his shoes.
He glances at me with a strange expression on his face. “I feel like I know you without really knowing you. Is this all fake? Or is this the real you?”
“That’s the whole point,” I tell him gently. “I think—and please, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong—you’re the type of guy who values his privacy even though you’re in the limelight all of a sudden. I can help make fans feel like they know you and can relate to you, all without violating a shred of the privacy you hold so dear.”
He drapes his arm over the back of my couch—an invisible touch against my shoulders. “Tori Russo…I have no idea who you really are, but I think this partnership could work after all.”
That’s music to my ears.
I hate away games. There’s something about being in a strange bed in a strange city with some dude who I’m not sure I want to be friends with snoring in the bed next to me that doesn’t make it easy to sleep.
Templeman rolls over and starts talking in his sleep—mumbling about unicorns.
Great. At least after years of sharing hotel rooms with Rob and Alex through high school and college, I knew what to expect even if it wasn’t always pretty. Or at least…I thought I knew those guys who were like my brothers. I also thought there were no secrets between us. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I hate being wrong. Being wrong leads to nothing good. Trust is the absolute foundation for any relationship, and I’m running seriously low on that. My temples throb.
I’ve had a constant headache all week. Another fucking fight with Alex turned my life upside down in just a few minutes. My pisshead teammates have been sending hookers my way all week. And then…the straw that’s breaking this camel’s back.
Tori Russo. Vittoria is her full name. Saying it out loud gives my tongue a workout. Not that I’ve been practicing saying it out loud. At home. Alone.
She reminds me of peaches with her orange hair, pink blushes, and pale skin. Peaches and cream. Cream I want to lap up like a starving cat.
Cat. Pussy. Cream.
I’m so fucked.
Even my internal monologue is horny. This is all Evie’s fault with her insistence I date again, and my stupid teammates’ fault because of all their prostitute pranks. I was fine being in a committed relationship with my hand. Really.
So, there’s a natural explanation for why I can’t stop fantasizing about bending Peaches over my kitchen table and…
But I will not, cannot, let myself act on those fantasies. I haven’t jerked off once while thinking about her.
Which honestly might be making my blue