Laughing, Cory crossed his arms over his chest. “Glad you said it so I don’t have to.”
Jamie loosely hooked his arm into a headlock around Cory’s neck, then released him. Once they both stopped laughing, Jamie continued. “I care about her, man. More than I ever have about anyone. She’s so damn smart and kind, and she treats me like what I do and say matters. How do I fix this?”
Cory squeezed Jamie’s shoulder. “You tell her that. Exactly that. And please don’t wait because I’ve never seen you so smitten. You’re blushing worse than a senator at a peep show.”
Jamie grinned. “That’s probably all the blood that rushed to my head.”
And the fresh sunburn spilling across his collarbone.
Mercilessly, Cory blew into his whistle. “It looks good on you. Now, let’s get some more pink in those cheeks.”
He kicked Jamie in the ass, then bolted down the field.
“You’re a dead man,” Jamie yelled, sprinting after him.
At the guest house,Brinton awoke that morning in her bedroom feeling like a decadent shit sundae. Her throat burned as if she’d sipped the entire Sahara through a straw. Her joints popped like bubble wrap.
Brinton didn’t remember when she crawled onto the floor last night. It must have been between her subconsciousdesires to be tucked and folded by a magnetic country music star.
Shay, of course, was no help when Brinton had texted her that morning. She wanted a play-by-play.
Worse yet, Brinton remembered everything. Jamie’s hands on her body. His lips whispering ruinous praise against her fevered skin. Her fingertips were still raw from gripping his lightly stubbled cheeks.
But now, reality had set in: she’d read the whole situation wrong.
However, this was another time she’d crater her feelings. She’d get through the next week, her final seven days in Iris, and never bring up what happened in that alley with Jamie again.
Simple compartmentalization. Men did it all the time.
Brinton considered this as Rich, eyes expectantly glazed, stared back at her from her open laptop screen that afternoon.
Unannounced, he’d called to finalize her pitch. Rich was the embodiment of wearing cute white capris the day your period decided to show up early.
His slumped posture in his chair confirmed his low hopes for this meeting.
“So, whatcha got, Shaw?”
What shegotwas a world-class exclusive. But even then, she didn’t trust Rich not to pass her hard work off to Agatha if she told him everything now. It’d be better that he read her finished article.
She needed to be vague enough to get him hooked and reaffirm her acuity.
“It’sjuicy,” she said. Brinton tasted a faint wash of bile from parroting his own insincere words.
His eyes flickered beneath his fitted dad hat. “Yeah?”
She picked at a cottony white tuft from the eyelet quilt onthe bed. “Jamie is giving me unparalleled access into the agony and ecstasy of stardom.”
God, why did I say ecstasy?
“I’m peeling back layers…”
Of my clothes.
“He’s showing a side I didn’t expect.”
His tongue strumming my tonsils!
Brinton’s cheeks heated. She was miserably, infuriatingly down bad. And way too fucking horny for this conversation.
