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Dot. Dot. Dot. What does dot dot dot mean?
No sexy comments. It’s your rule.
You’re cruel.
I miss you.
I miss you, too, Mr. Grumpy Pants.
My pants are indeed grumpy.
“Fender!” Dylan shouts. “We need to go now.”
I need to go.
More press thingies?
I lo..
Delete. Delete. I can’t write I love you to Leia. I don’t love her.
If I don’t love her, why has my only wish this entire week of press crap been to get back to her and Isla? Why can’t I stop thinking about her? Why do I feel empty whenever I go to bed alone? Why am I constantly worried if she’s working too hard? If she’s taking enough breaks? Whether she and Isla are okay?
Shit. I love Leia. My little firecracker is perfect for me. She’s straight as an arrow. Doesn’t play any stupid games. And the sex is off the charts. She owns my heart.
I miss you.
Miss you, too.
I shove my phone in my back pocket and stroll to the hotel room door. I open it and nearly get a fist in my face.
“Sorry.” Cash drops his hand.
“You ready?” Dylan asks.
I grunt.
“Do you think he grunts in response to Leia’s questions?” Jett asks.
“I bet he grunts in bed with her.”
I wrap my hand around Gibson’s throat. “No.”
Dylan taps me on the shoulder. “Can you release him before the paps notice?” He nods to where the vultures are waiting for us at the end of the corridor.
I snarl at Gibson before I release him.
He rubs his throat. “Your hands are freakishly strong.”
“Or your neck is weak,” Jett says.
“My neck is not weak.”
Dylan clears his throat. “Maybe you two can stop speaking before I have to haul Fender off of you again?”
Before either one of them can respond, we’re spotted.
“Cash! Cash! Cash!”
