He unbuckles his pants. “I can do that.”
TWELVE
The first day of the New Year, and I’m taking the walk of shame. I unlock the front door.
Nah. I’m not ashamed. It was a fantastic night that ended with a beautiful morning love-making session.
Dickey squawks and caws, flapping his wings. “Hello. Hellooooo. Pretty bird want a cracker.”
“Silly bird, you don’t even eat real crackers.” I toss my gown on the sofa and plop into the cushion.
Jack’s sweatpants swallow my legs, and though it’s long, his shirt fits snugly across my breasts. I hug his clothes around me.
Two weeks ago, I had no idea a night could be so exciting.
So perfect.
So dangerous.
Jackson Tremaine could swallow me whole, and I’d gladly be gobbled up. What was supposed to be a bit of fun has transcended. It’s time to pull back. Remember that he’s the one who put me in the position I’m in right now.
I have to get my mind right and focus on the New Year, on my career, on winning this ridiculous bet. But when he’s around, the bet, my future, none of it seems to matter too much. All that matters is what he does to me, and how he makes me feel.
Lord, I am in trouble.
I set my laptop aside. The blank screen is more than I can bear for another minute. The second book refuses to come into being.
Shay walks into the living room and tosses a magazine into my lap.
I flip it right-side up. The entire cover is made up of a slightly grainy, greenish photo of Jack in his tux and me in my ball gown, holding hands and running. My tit hangs out over the top. Most of my boob is hidden behind the strategically placed thumbnail picture of Jackson from some photo shoot he must’ve done for the show.
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.”