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“I’m good, but thanks.” I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. “And I should probably get dressed.” You know, because my dick is still hard and all I have on is a goddamn towel.
“Cool. Cool. Sounds like a plan.” Her eyes flit to my waist, but then she quickly averts them to the floor. “And I’m going to go eat these snacks, but not, like, all of these snacks. Just some of these snacks. I mean, this is way too many snacks, you know? But way to go, Netflix, on making sure we were set with snacks!”
I have no idea how many times she’s said the word snacks, but yeah, it’s a lot.
“Actually,” she keeps rambling, “I should probably go call my agent now and let him know about the snacks and how great the snacks are and how great the snacks and Netflix are. Yep! That’s what I’m going to do! I’m going to go call Wilson Phillips—my agent, not the band—and you can get naked…” She pauses, eyes wide, and quickly clears her throat and shakes her head at the same time. “I mean, dressed. You are naked. Well, not completely naked because you have a towel, but you know what I mean. Ha! Yeah. Better go make that call now!”
She spins on her heel, heads straight for the bedroom, and promptly shuts the door behind her. She even drops a bag of Lay’s potato chips on the way but doesn’t backtrack.
And I’m left standing in the middle of the hallway, wondering what in the hell just happened.
You were about to kiss Brooke.
I let my head fall back for a brief moment before snapping myself out of it and snagging my clothes off the sofa and walking back into the bathroom.
But I don’t get dressed right away.
Instead, I stand there, with my towel pitched like a fucking tent, forearms bracing the small sink, and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
Can’t be sure, but it seems like you are fucked beyond belief…
I shake my head at myself and redirect my thoughts like they’re the only thing capable of saving me from whatever just happened outside this bathroom.
It’s no big deal, right?
Brooke and I are basically living together on this motor home. She’s a beautiful woman, and any man would find it hard to resist the situation we just found ourselves in.
Yes, I almost kissed her. Almost, though. No line was crossed.
The only thing I need to do now is focus on the book and driving this motor home to ensure that Brooke gets to all her publicity stops. That’s my job. It’s why I’m here, and it’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Pretty sure these could be categorized as “famous last words,” my man.
Tuesday, May 23rd
Brooke
The sun gawks at me through the small, accordion blinds of the bedroom, but I’m already awake.
Truthfully, I’ve been awake for hours. Sleep did not come easily last night, but that’s probably because I’m suffering from a case of Post-Almost-Kissed-Chase-Dawson Stress Disorder.
PAKCDSD, if you will.
I don’t know what happened or how it happened, but I was simply heading back from the kitchen after raiding the snack cabinet and ran smack-dab into Chase while his perfect, muscular, bare chest was on full display and only a white towel was secured at his waist.
He was fresh out of the shower—basically, naked—and my snack-focused mind rapidly switched course, taking a hard left and heading straight for Hornyville, USA.
Chase Dawson. In only a freaking towel. To say that messed with my head and only widened the circumference of my crush would be an underexaggeration.
I felt his bare, warm chest pressed against mine, while his eyes were so close I could make out every tiny facet and little detail that makes them so blue. The base of his irises is blue, but tiny flecks of aqua glitter are scattered throughout, and that is what gives the color such pop and dimension.
Aside from my up close and personal with the eyes, I also saw the outline of his ahem through his towel. And let me tell you, that outline wasn’t “average” equipment. It was far bigger and thicker than to be described as a run-of-the-mill penis. No way. That penis is running the fucking mills. President, King, and CEO.
And his lips. Have mercy, his lips. I wanted to kiss him. Thought about doing it a thousand times in the span of a minute. And for the briefest of moments, it even felt like he might’ve wanted to kiss me too.
But the almost-kiss bubble was popped by a loud noise from outside the motor home.
I pretty much turned into a crazy person after that, rambling about God only knows what before making a mad dash for the bedroom and locking myself inside.
Which is where I’ve been since last night, stuck in this small room and feeling too awkward and unsure and afraid to leave it.
