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CHAPTERONE
Jasper
Bennet Montgomery is the most infuriating man on this planet. And I’ve been with a lot of men. I have a large sample size to pull from.
But he takes the cake. A wedding cake. Ten tiers high.
“What are you looking at?” I snap, wanting to flick that backward baseball cap off his head and stomp it into the dirt. I want to push on those broad shoulders…want to rip that worn flannel right off his chest and…
And…
Gah! No. Nope! We aren’t going there again. Notever. I don’t care how much our subscribers beg for it. They could beg until the sun explodes, and it still would never happen. I refuse. Absolutelyrefuse.
“Just…stop looking so smug,” I mutter, and he just smirks a little more, looking so damn hot. Argh. He drives me insane with that cocky grin, that expansive chest, and those thick, muscular legs. I hate looking at him. I can’t fucking look away. It makes me unreasonably angry and it brings out the worst in me, I swear to the gods.
“Well, I’m not looking at much,” he finally replies, like the child he is. I mean, I’m twenty-four, and Bennet is twenty-one, but I swear there are times he acts like a teenager. And it’s not appealing. Not at all. I let my eyes trail down his muscular body and shiver in…disgust. Yes, we are going with that. Disgusting. Just absolutely wretched.
I snap my eyes back to his and roll them really slowly so he can see. I’m feeling exasperated being so close to him. My skin is starting to itch and my heart is beating a little too fast. Probably post-game adrenaline. Bowling is a thrilling sport.
I grasp the handle of my luxury bowling bag that houses my custom-made shoes and my two bowling balls and wheel it to a stop next to me. Carter and Damon have already left the bowling alley after our league meet—Carter needing to run home to his boyfriend, Reed, and Reed’s little sister, Hannah, and Damon needing to do whatever the fuck he does in the evenings. He’s probably knitting some ball sac hats or some penis pouches. Who knows with that guy?
Which leaves me and Bennetalone. To be fair, this usually happens when we don’t all go out to grab a bite after, but for some reason, I’m just more annoyed than usual. Probably because I’m still a little salty that he beat me on the scoreboard. I know it’s irrational because we’re on a team, but still, I don’t like it when he tops me.
In any fashion.
I stare at him and try to ignore how ridiculously good-looking he is. But I can’t quite manage it because he’s infuriatingly hot. Listen, I do not like this guy. At all. He just rubs me in all the wrong ways. And in the right ways too, just that once, but I don’t like to think about that. Unless I’m unconscious and then I think about it all the time.
But dreams don’t count. That’s not a thing. That’s just my brain being a dick.
“Come on, let me walk you out,” he says in that sexy, low cowboy voice, and I sigh. Because even though we’re always at each other’s throats, he still behaves like some kind of Southern gentleman, always making sure I get to my car safely after each meet. It is ridiculous and a little condescending if I think really hard about it, but my heart kind of flutters in my chest every time he insists on doing it.
I get all flustered and excited, and then jack off religiously when I get home to try to get out of my head.
I do not think about him while I’m doing that. I definitely do not.
“I can walk myself out,” I mutter halfheartedly, but he just follows me to the parking lot, walking a little too close if you ask me, our bowling bags bumping together obnoxiously. Well, try to fuck each other all you want, bowling bags, you’re not getting any this time.
“You have any plans this weekend?” he asks, and I peek up at him. I’m a little shorter than him. And by a little, I mean a lot. But whatever—what I lack in height, I make up for in personality. I stand ten fucking feet tall most days. I can really stare down my nose at him if I feel like it.
“I have a scene planned with Damon,” I tell him, and Bennet stops walking. He fiddles with his baseball cap and chews on his lip for a second.
“You know, we could plan a shoot again. People have been pleading for it. We could really bring in some cash…”
Oh, I remember the last time we hooked up on camera. It was a foursome, with Bennet topping me, and…well, I don’t need to remember how good he felt inside of me. How he made me all flustered and mean.
Oh gods, the things I said to him to try to keep myself from moaning. He was pounding into me, and I was whimpering, clutching the sheets of the bed, ripping the corners off the mattress. Try as I might, I can’t deny how good it felt. I remember every thrust in vivid detail.
Gods, I was such an asshole that day, my words sharp and biting. But despite it all, we damn near broke the internet with that video. Everyone loved it. They were begging us for more. But I won’t let myself go there. I can’t. I’d lose all control. I’d fucking wreck myself.
What makes it even worse is that I’m tempted to cave daily, to just give in. Almost every DM I receive asks me to do more with Bennet. And it doesn’t help that he fuels the fire, just dumps on the damn gasoline by telling his fans he’d gladly go there again and that I’m the holdout. I’ve gotten a lot of flak for that, and it really grinds my gears because don’t they understand? I just can’t. I just motherfuckingcan’t.
But there’s no stopping him, no reasoning. Bennet loves to tease. That big, farm-boy persona with a smile that melts hearts. He just tosses a wink at the camera and they’re done for.
I am notdone forthough. I can resist that tempting smile.
Before I can reply to Bennet’s proposition, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He peeks down at me once more before he pulls it out, and then suddenly, his face loses all of its color. It just bleeds out of him in a rush. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look this shaken. Something must be terribly wrong.
Quickly, he fumbles with his phone before tapping on the screen and placing it to his ear.
