“And who’s your favorite?”
Kean was quiet for so long, I thought he might have fallen asleep. But eventually, he muttered a name. “Carter. Even though he did bet against me.”
“Bet against you in what?” I plopped his sandwich on a plate and slid it over to him. He lifted his head just enough to see what it was, then shot up, immediately wincing afterwards.
“Nothing important,” he grumbled before shoving the sandwich in his mouth. I hummed but let him avoid the topic. There was no good reason for me to push. I’m sure the boysmade all kinds of bets, Kean was just on the losing end of whatever this one was. But …
“Humor me.”
“No,” he huffed through a mouthful of peanut butter.
“Mean,” I gasped. I figured he’d deflect, say something about how it wasn’t any of my business. But him saying no outright was so funny. “Why won’t —”
“Why were you up in the announcer's booth?”
“Oh.” How do I explain that without explaining my shameful history? “I ran into Marshall on the way in and he invited me up to talk about …”
As I paused to think of a good excuse, Kean filled in the gaps.
“So he brought you up there to flirt?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. Why do you think everybody’s trying to flirt with me? Is there some locker room talk I’m not privy to?”
“No.” He took another large bite of his sandwich, like he was trying to keep his mouth full so he didn’t say something stupid.
“Well, if there wasn’t locker room chat, then I’ll just assume you think everyone wants to flirt with me because that’s whatyouwanna do.”
Kean’s eyes met mine, the green suddenly so much darker. He maintained eye contact as he finished chewing. And despite it being awkward as fuck to watch him eat, I couldn’t look away. His eyes were too intense, his focus too strong.
“Maybe,” he said after he finally swallowed.
Maybe. Such a simple word. A simple answer from a simple man.
An answer that made my cheeks burn.
How could he just say that with a straight face? Sleep deprived or not, shouldn’t he be embarrassed to say he wants to flirt with his PA?
“Did you get everything you need for the social stuff?” he asked before I could wrap my head around what he’d just admitted.
“No, I got distracted. But …” Might as well take advantage of this change of topic. I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app. “Want to tell the fans you’re all right?”
Kean raised an eyebrow but straightened up.
“Like you want me to talk to the camera?”
“If you’re comfortable doing that.”
He grumbled and set the ice pack aside.
“I’m fine, everybody. It was just a bump on the head,” he said straight to the camera with the same look he gave Dustin when he was asking the screening questions.
“Is that all you wanna say?” I prodded and he furrowed his brow, giving me a look that said, ‘what else could I possibly have to say?’ But then everything lifted like an idea struck.
“Right. Come out to next week’s Whip Snap Cup at Miramar Beach. All proceeds go to the kids.”
“Wow,” I whispered as I stopped the recording. “That might be the longest sentence you’ve said in front of the camera.”
“Har, har.” He set the ice pack back on his head and folded over onto the counter. “You said the point of this social shit was to sell tickets. So I’m selling tickets.”
