On second thought, no wonder she hadn’t recognized him as her sweet, goofy neighbor.
“You…” He spoke slowly. “You’re friends with Brad and Tonya, fromBrad and Tonya Try It?”
She nodded absently. “They saw my feather-swirl soap design a few years back. It was used for a B-list celebrity’s bridal shower and went modestly viral, and they asked me for my help in re-creating it. Since then, they’ve attempted to re-create some of my other designs too. They’re awesome and funny and good people, so I’m a friendanda subscriber. I’ve seen all their videos where they try things from your channel.”
Her attention wasn’t really on the conversation, though.
A year or two back, when Brad and Tonya had been trying to convince Edie to appear on their channel, they’d sent samples of their most popular content to her—including a few videos inspired by and featuring clips from Max’s own channel. And with only the slightest twinge of shame, Edie had downloaded several of those videos onto her phone, becausewowza…and then promptly forgotten about them.
Had she ever actually looked at the downloads again? Not that she remembered.
But they should still be on her cell. No internet required.
A few swipes of her forefinger, and there they were. Therehewas.
She recognized that vast expanse of concrete flooring, although he’d carefully positioned his camera so it didn’t show his furniture or any other identifiable features of his underground home. His bare, hard chest gleamed as he strode dick-first toward the camera and away again, his lace-up black boots stomping, the capacious folds of his gold lamé MC Hammer pants shimmering and fluttering, alternately molding to his strong thighs and hiding them. His eyeliner was thick and dark, his mouth lush and rosy, the sharp angles of his face emphasized by glitter and shadow and just a hint of stubbly scruff on his cheeks and chin.
He was electric. A glam god sent to enthrall humanity.
Well, until that freaking clip-on rattail came into view. Ugh.
“Please, Hammer, don’t hurt ’em,” she murmured.
The SUV jumped forward as her currently-rattail-free companion pressed the accelerator to the floor. “Perhaps you could set aside this fateful revelation, human, and return your attention to the task at hand.”
“Perhaps not.”
Despite his aggrieved grunt and the way he appeared to be strangling the steering wheel, she watched another download, then another. One of his specialties appeared to be ridiculous, uncomfortable—and ridiculously, uncomfortably sexy—underwear. Velour boxers, which she imagined would leave non-vampires drowning in their own ball sweat. Macramé bikini briefs that seemed like they would chafe painfully and that simultaneously exposed far too much and far too little. And soon, she supposed, a furry thong, accessorized by cloven-toed shoes and an open leather hoodie. He must have been dressed for his next shoot when he’d stepped outside the previous evening, his hair and makeup preparations still to come.
With his authoritative demeanor and cool confidence, he made all the looks work somehow. If she didn’t know that every item on his body would either irritate the hells out of her, bankrupt her, or not be offered in her size, she’d have been whipping out her credit card.
“I only watch Brad and Tonya’s content involving my channel,” Max said. The streets they traveled were getting broader and somewhat better maintained as they neared the access road, and he studied them carefully as he drove. “I didn’t realize they’d featured your work too.”
“They’ve used your videos as inspiration…what? Half a dozen times already?” Her grin grew. “I’ll never forget Brad stumbling around in those high-heeled Crocs. That face-plant into the deviled eggs platter…” She kissed her fingertips in appreciation. “Physical comedy is difficult. Also embarrassing, when it’s accidental.”
Max huffed out an amused breath, his shoulders loosening. “He’s not the most graceful of souls, is he?”
“It’s all part of his charm.” She snorted. “I know he also regretted trying those macramé undies of yours.”
At some point in the near future, she would be revisiting that particular video on a much larger screen. The bulge beneath Max’s knotted bikini briefs, the shifting shadows she’d spotted through the gaps in the design…wow. Did he wax everything below the neck, or was lack of body hair a vampire thing? Because his skin wasverysmooth down there.
His face creased in a faint wince. “The knots are…unforgiving. And if there’s too large a hole in the design…”
“Did you—” Absolutely delighted, she grabbed his arm and shook it. “Did you get your dick caught in your hand-knotted haute couture briefs, Max?”
She probably shouldn’t be mentioning his dick. Or thinking about it. Or picturing it both caught in a net like a hapless carp and rising unhindered in glorious freedom.
Alas. Here she was, considering various dick-related scenarios in Technicolor detail.
“No,” he stated firmly.
“Your testicles, then.” Assuming vampires actuallyhadtesticles.
He didn’t say anything as he turned onto the main access road, but something in his expression shifted. She had her answer. Also a new vision to conjure whenever she needed a good laugh.
“No…one…” She drew out the words to build anticipation.
He turned his head and whipped off his sunglasses to glare at her. “No.”
