The headline reads, Raunchy Romp: Jackson Tremaine Enjoys New Year Ball with Mystery Woman.
I drop the magazine and cross my arms, as if that’s going to hide the fact that my loosed boob made the cover of at least one major gossip rag with national publication.
Heat washes over my face. My words strangle me, and in their fight to get out, nothing is intelligible.
Shay grabs the offending journal from its perch on the arm of the sofa. “I only know it’s you because of the dress—and Jack, of course.”
I hide behind my hands. “This is terrible. What if other people put two and two together?”
She cocks her hip and her head. “Then you tell them the answer is five. No way can anyone tell who you are from that horrible photo.”
“You think?” I peek out between my fingers.
She walks away, calling over her shoulder, “I know.”
Man, that was quick. Two days. That’s all it took someone to sell some pictures they shot of Jack and me frolicking in the dark.
I pick up my phone.
He answers.
I skip the pleasantries. “Did you see?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes. Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.”
“It could be for me. No more outings for us. I’ll be lucky if no one recognizes me.”
He huffs. “It’s not a horrible picture for night vision. Do you think my profile looks good?”
Exasperation escapes my chest in the form of a sigh. “This is serious.”
He lets out a laugh. “I seriously think you’re concerned over nothing. Tomorrow, some other poor bastard will be front page news. No one will know it’s you, and I don’t exactly have the kind of reputation that needs protecting.”
“You got me on that one.”
Dave drops me off, two hours after he picked me up. On the dot.
I step from the car.
Dave jumps out and walks me to the front door.
I pull my keys from my purse. “Thanks, that was—interesting.”
“Glad you had fun. I’ll give you a call.” He pats me on my shoulder and heads to his car.
Dave’s car roars off as I turn to jam the key into the lock.
Well, at least it was more exciting than dogs running through tubes and jumping over poles. Still, very platonic. At this point, I think he’s relegated me to the friend-zone.
“Maybe Dave’s too nice to break things off? No. It’s got to be that I’m putting off the vibe that I’m not really as interested in him as I should be.”
“You’ve been sitting here for an hour, gnawing your fingernails into oblivion and trying to figure out what the problem is with Dave. Here. Eat up.” Shay plops a plate onto the end table.
The chocolate cake looks at me, taunting me with its moist layers. “This will go straight to my ass. Or worse, to my tits.”
“Oh, stop. You’re beautiful. Jackson sure thinks so.” She winks.
I drag in a breath and hold it for a moment. “Jack’s a pain in the ass.”
She salutes. “I agree. But he’s a fucking hot pain in the ass. One that wants your coochie hella bad.”
Well, he can’t have it anymore. “Too bad. I have to make Dave fall for me, or it’s bye-bye book sales.”
“Oh, give it up to Jackass on the side. Dave won’t know. Not like you’re planning to actually marry the guy. Dave isn’t exactly your type.”
I pull my head back. “My type? What type? I haven’t been out with anyone in ages until Dave.”
“Except Jackson Tremaine. You guys have gotten cozy lately. Haven’t you?”
“We’re—only friends. And he’s probably only being nice to keep an eye on the bet. His show’s ratings are on the line too.”
“No. A guy like Jack has staff. Staff are the people who keep an eye on things. The only thing Tremaine has his eye on, besides your tits and ass, is you. That boy’s besotted.”
I have to bite my lips to hide a smile that shouldn’t even exist. “I’ve only known him a few weeks, Shay. That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Infatuation doesn’t make sense, friend. It just is. Accept it. Embrace it. Fuck the shit out of him, and then move on to the next. You’ll both leave the relationship with a smile if you end it early.”
Infatuation. Yeah. That’s a good word. Most likely the closest word in Shay’s vocabulary to love. But that’s not what drives Jack. For him, it’s plain old lust.
The bell rings, sending Dickey Bird into a fit.
Shay hops up and snatches her purse from the hook on the wall. “Three guesses who that is.”
The door opens. There’s murmuring. The door closes.
“Hey, Peaches, how was the date?”