Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Everything good?” Aspen asked, sliding a sandwich onto a plate and setting it before me. She served herself next, then leaned against the kitchen island as she tore little bits off her sandwich and popped them in her mouth.
“Business as usual,” I said, and she gave me a pointed look. I shrugged. “It was my publicist. I guess the media outlets are a little more interested in our relationship than I thought.”
“Oh?” Aspen asked, taking another bite of her grilled cheese.
I joined in, taking a good bite out of mine as well. It was domestic as fuck, but I really liked it. I'd learned that lately. I liked doing just about anything with this woman. It didn't matter if we were dressed to the nines at one of my charity events, cheering on the Calgary team I owned, or sitting at the kitchen island eating grilled cheese. I just genuinely loved being around her.
“Yeah,” I finally said. “I need to give you a heads-up. My publicist says they're getting desperate. It's not enough that I've stated publicly that you're my girlfriend, they want more details. They're catching more shots of us out in public, and I guess the way we're looking at each other is making people think that I'm officially off the market.”
Aspen's eyes flared for a moment before an amused smile shaped her kissable lips.
I laughed with her. “It's not funny,” I said.
“I'm not laughing at you, Cross,” she said through her giggles. “But you have to see it from my side. It's like you're Batman or something. They have to know if you're available or not and the world loves reporting on it. It's one of the most surreal things about being with you.”
“If I was Batman I’d at least have some seclusion.” I shook my head, a more serious thought tumbling over me. “My publicist is under the impression that if I don't give them more details they're going to come up with a story of their own. I don't want that to affect you.”
Aspen arched brow. “Why would that affect me?”
“I've seen it play out a dozen times before,” I explained. “Either with athletes on my team or even my friends. The press has a way of twisting stories and photographs, or taking quotes out of context. Some can be downright hurtful. And that's the last thing I’d want you to experience.” I wanted her to fully understand. “Hell,” I continued. “They could take an old photo and make it look like it happened yesterday. I don't want some picture with me and one of my previous companions to pop up and make you question things.”
Aspen set down the piece of grilled cheese she'd been about to eat, her brow crinkling just slightly. “I appreciate that,” she said, but she looked at me questioningly. “But, this is still a contract between us, isn't it?” she asked.
I swallowed around the sudden rock in my throat, trying like hell to ignore how it felt like the rug had been ripped from beneath me. Technically yes, we were still under a contract, but if the last two months had proven anything, it was that there was way more to us than some ink on paper.
I wasn't saying I knew exactly what to do with that, but I’d been working on figuring it out ever since I first started thinking about it weeks ago.
“Yes,” I finally said. “But I think we can both admit it's a little more complicated than that now.” Aspen nodded, and I continued. “And just because we have a professional arrangement doesn't mean that I have no regard for your feelings. And maybe you wouldn't be jealous or hurt or offended if the media made up a story about me or you or anything regarding us, but I just wanted to let you know now that I have no intentions of ever hurting you. If something comes out, I just asked for your trust enough to come talk to me about it before you make any conclusions on your own.”
Aspen glanced down at her plate, shifting a little bite of grilled cheese around as she nodded, the slight hint of a smile on her lips.
“I promise,” she said. “If the press prints something about you getting engaged to a prima ballerina or two, I'll make sure I ask you about it first before I attack you in a fit of jealous rage.”
Her tone was teasing enough that I gaped at her, barely able to hide my smile as I raced around the kitchen island and scooped her into my arms.
“Are you saying you wouldn't be jealous? Have I made such little impact on your heart that there wouldn't even be a flicker of anger?”
She giggled, wiggling in my embrace as I shifted to drape her over my shoulder. “Not in the slightest,” she teased.