AllFreeNovel
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He’s kinda hot, isn’t he?
I shake my head so the little devil in there gets the hint. No, I say forcibly, we’re not going to think about our boss like that.
Even if it might be true.
I push off thoughts of my mother and Reese. Hip cocked against the counter, I decide to do what any smart woman with a new life update and the need to not be judged for it does: text her best friend.
Hey Q. Guess what? But before I can even hit the send button on the message, I see little dots under the last message bubble.
Quinn is typing…
I laugh, backspace the message, and wait for hers to come in.
QUINN: Liv! Pleeeeease please pls tell m3 you got that job? I’m dyIng oVEr here!!!
She must be trying to do something while she’s typing. Typical. You better not be driving. Was just about to text you. I got the job! You’ll never believe with who.
I have no idea if Quinn knows anything about Reese Dalton. She’s not much of a hockey person, but she is a huge Famous Hunk person, and Reese certainly passes all the checkmarks for the title. I watch those little dots tap dance for a minute before her next messages come in.
QUINN: I wold NEVR
QUINN: Im eatinG
Quinn is typing…
My cooking timer goes off, so while I wait for Quinn to get her act together, I pull my mitts on and my oven open. Delicious, chickeny steam surrounds me. Oh, I’ve done good. Maybe it’ll be something I make while at Reese’s house. There’s nothing that says, Hey, spending a bajillion zillion dollars on me is worth it! Don’t fire me or else I’ll cry! like filling someone’s stomach up with something homemade and decadent. I resist the urge to just dig into the hot lava-ness of it all (something I’m sure my mouth will thank me for) and check my phone instead.
QUINN: ok ok ok. I’m back. Lemme guess… a Dallas Cowboy?? OH. Emmett Smith maybe? TROY AIKMAN?
QUINN: Wait, nvm. Troy’s kids aren’t even nannying aged anymore.
QUINN: Is it an oil tycoon? You know those old ass planet-killers always have children tucked away weird places. She tags on the googly eyes emoji and the detective one.
I cackle and text her back. With that imagination, you should have been a writer. Wrong on all counts, I’m afraid. You ever hear of Reese Dalton?
As soon as my message sends, the Quinn typing, dot, dot, dot, flares up again. Then, suddenly, it stops.
Huh? Was that not interesting enough?—
Then the photo of Quinn’s face, her hair still in that cotton candy pink shade because I haven’t updated her caller ID pic yet, pops up on my phone screen.
Uh-oh. She totally knows who Reese is.
“Hey—”
“You’re working for Reese Dalton?!” she screeches at the top of her lungs.
I jerk my phone away from my ear. Well, that’s a few years off my viable hearing I’m never getting back.
“Heard of him?” I tease.
She’s still got frantic steam coming out of her ears. “‘Heard of him’? Liv, he’s like, the hottest thing since toasted bread! I hear he’s got the biggest dick in the NHL. And you’re working for him?!”
My face flares up at the thought of any size being ascribed to Reese’s dick. I already know what he looks like in a well-fitted suit, so I do not need to start considering how those muscles sit when they’re free…
“I don’t care about his junk!” I distract my wandering, thotty thoughts by getting a plate down for my chicken parm. “You don’t even watch hockey. Don’t tell me he’s another one of your celebrity crushes?”
“Oh, nah. I like athletes, but crush material athletes have to have a charming side, yanno? I want to be wined and dined before I have my guts rearranged, thank you.” Quinn cackles like a maniac in my ears. “But a girl is allowed to have a spank bank, and holy hell, his IG is full of good material. Here, I’ll link you.”
