Okay, fine, I’d wanted to enjoy the view. I’d gotten a double whammy. For one, his basement wasn’t a dank space with a leaky water heater and crumbling drywall. It had an old-school cigar club vibe, with dark wood, a long bar, and an expansive wine cellar that made up four of the pentagonal walls. From my quick glimpse I got through the glass of the temperature-controlled storage, the space was empty. I wasn’t a wine drinker, and even I knew that was a waste. But it made sense since the rest of the space wasn’t made up of lush leather armchairs andcouches the way it should’ve been. Instead, it was a full set of equipment that put some commercial gyms to shame.
The room itself had been nice and all, but it’d been nothing compared to the shirtless, sweating Tripp who’d been getting his ass kicked by his trainer. I wasn’t sure what the hell he had to train since he was already cut and sculpted to perfection, but apparently the camera was unforgiving.
As were the viewers sitting behind their faceless avatars.
When my ogling had lasted an awkward amount of time—and had been spotted by Tripp and said trainer—I’d retreated upstairs to work on my final paper.
Actually do it that time.
There was no way I was ever going to be unethical. I handed in lost wallets and dropped cash. I’d never cheated on a test or copied someone else’s work. Hell, I’d contemplated turning my father in for abusing his prescriber privileges. I might’ve actually done it if my mom hadn’t beaten me to the punch—or the golf club. It was something that filled me with a tremendous amount of guilt every time it popped involuntarily into my head to invade my thoughts and ruin my mood. My personality just didn’t allow for rule breaking in the name of greed.
But as Tripp pointed out—which in turn formed my idea—I was a control freak.
Okay, he’d phrased it nicer than that, but the point was still the same.
And it was the truth.
I’d leaned into that, discussing how my need for things to be done just so could create a negative work environment as I micromanaged my employees into quitting.
I wasn’t sure if my professor would think I was trying to take the easy way out with a watered-down paper that I was rushing to get done. That last part was true, but not the first. It was uncomfortable to hold that mirror up to my flaws.
And the longer I’d worked on it, the happier I became that Tripp had insisted I stick around all day. Once he’d finished with his trainer and showered, he’d joined me in the living room to read through his script. If I was alone, it would be even more depressing.
We’d been at it for a while when he suddenly set his papers down and scanned the chaos that surrounded me where I sat on the floor. My notes were spread on the coffee table and floor as I worked.
Or at least, that was what I was supposed to be doing.
What I was actually doing was sneaking peeks at Tripp.
“I feel you staring at me,” he said with a questioning brow raise.
I lifted a shoulder. “You’re very expressive when you read.”
“Am I making crazy faces?”
I held my index finger and thumb close together. “A little bit.” I smiled. “Don’t worry, though, it’s cute.”
“You think I’m cute?” His tone was teasing but also… not. There was an intensity that lit a fire low in my belly and a genuine delight I found endearing.
I didn’t share either.
I rolled my eyes instead. “You know you are. According to JoltNews, you’re also the most popular fan edit subject this month,andtheir dream pick for romantic lead casting.”
I would think both those things would bring him more joy than me simply calling him cute, but I was wrong. He seemed unimpressed, but he did shake his stack of script papers. “I’ve got the last one covered.”
According to him,Summerwasn’t a true romance, but it was closer than any of the action flicks he’d done. And probably closer thanOld Flamesince that was a thriller, and he wasn’t supposed to be appealing in it.
Though he was—to me and the thousands of fan edit creators.
“Come tell me more about how cute you think I am,” Tripp rumbled, but there was nothing cute about the way he crooked his two fingers to beckon me closer.
If we were in a cartoon, I would’ve floated through the air to him. As it was, I was having trouble remembering why going to him was a bad idea.
Oh.
Right.
Responsibilities.
