Page 98 of Big D!ck Energy

Marcus appeared at my elbow with a fresh cup of coffee. Peace offering, or fishing for information. Probably both.

“I have to go,” I told Brooke. “Paris doesn't care about my personal life, and Marcus has more feelings about velvet he needs to share.”

“The velvet is still a mistake,” Marcus said, not quietly.

“We're doing a dinner when you're back,” I said. “Everyone together.”

“Go make your show.” Her voice was warm. “But Davina, you deserve this. You deserve to be happy. Even if it's with a man-child.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too. Tell your husband, welcome to the family, and that I know people.”

“You know Matt.”

“Matt is large and loyal. Close enough.”

The call ended. I stood there a minute, looking at my reflection in the window glass.

“So,” Marcus said. “Your husband. The wrestler.”

“Don't.”

“I'm just noting that you have a husband now, that went on a public podcast and said things that made the entire internet feel something.”

“Marcus.”

“I'm just saying if he ever wants to do a photoshoot, I have thoughts. Very tasteful thoughts. Low lighting, strong jaw…”

“Fired.”

“You say that every week.” He nodded toward the Paris boards. “Velvet or no velvet. That's the real question.”

I took a breath. The burgundy velvet was staying.

“Both,” I said, picking up my ruined sketch. “We're doing both.”

CHAPTER 30

THE SPICY TUNA EFFECT

DAVINA

The drive home felt longer than usual, probably because I spent most of it rehearsing how to tell Dallas that our carefully constructed house of cards had developed a Brooke-shaped hole.

The Tampa sunset smeared the sky orange and pink as I pulled into Dallas's driveway. The porch lights were already on. Movement flickered behind the front windows, and Ricky's face appeared in the glass a second after I cut the engine, his small body vibrating with excitement.

I grabbed my bag and headed up the walk. The door swung open before I reached it.

Dallas stood in the doorway wearing grey sweatpants slung low on his hips and nothing else. His hair was damp, curling at the ends. Water droplets still clung to his shoulders like they'd paid for the privilege.

I stopped. Blinked.

“Like what you see,” he said, bouncing his brows.

“I'm...” I pushed past him, or tried to. He caught my waist as I passed, pulling me against his chest. Heat spread from the contact. “Dallas, we need to talk.”

“That sounds ominous.” His lips brushed my temple. “Should I worry?”