Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“It wasn’t that bad.” Mason pulls Denver close.
“Maybe you should do it, then,” Denver mutters.
“If they offered it to me, I would. I liked working on the show last season.”
Denver twists his head toward his boyfriend. “Wait, really? You should totally do it. You were so much better with the contestants than I was, and everyone loved you. I can make a call.”
Mason grabs Denver’s hand as Denver tries to get up. “Don’t. It would have to fit with our tour, and—”
“They were going to do that anyway for me.” Denver gets out of Mason’s hold. “I’m going to go make this happen.”
Harley singsongs, “Your boyfriend’s your manager.”
Mason stands. “Your boyfriend’s your bodyguard.” He follows Denver down the hall.
Harley slumps. “Touché. But we’re getting off topic. Blake and Jordan. Let’s get you hooked up so Jordan doesn’t have to do something embarrassing.”
Ryder rubs his chin. “I dunno. Having sex with Blake would be pretty embarrassing.”
I burst out laughing, and Blake hits me with a couch cushion.
“I like your band,” I say to Blake.
“Maybe you can take my place then because fuck all of you.” Blake sulking is legit the cutest thing ever. In his Coby movies, he’s this badass spy type dude who’s always got a broody look on his face. The pout is adorable.
“I have it, by the way,” Blake says. “The thing I’ll make you do after we don’t sleep together.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Oh?”
“You have to get up onstage, with us, and sing one of our songs.”
Oh, fuck. “Is now the right time to tell you that all the singing I did for that one show I was in years ago was totally not me? I’m tone-deaf.”
“Even better. Wait, you were in a show where you had to sing?”
“I’m super offended you don’t know my entire backlist of movies and TV shows. Don’t you know who I am?” I screech.
Blake pats my shoulder. “Do you realize you’re at a level of fame now where jokes like that could be taken seriously?”
“Really?” I’m way too excited about that. “That’s so cool.”
But also, I have to make Blake and me happen now. My career will not recover from the kind of embarrassment where I sing in public.
Chapter Eleven
Blake
If I had known telling the others would result in picking sides, I probably would have kept it to myself because as I take a shower and then head back downstairs for dinner, everyone is waiting for me with suspicious and knowing looks on their faces.
“What did you guys do?” I ask.
“Nothing.” Harley’s sweet tone is complete bullshit. It’s like he thinks I don’t remember what he’s like. “Dinner is set up in the formal dining room tonight. We ordered in Chinese.”
“O … kay.” For some reason, they all wait while I head in that direction, and then they follow me like little puppies.
When I turn the corner and see Jordan sitting at a candlelit table with flower petals spread all over the place, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Oh no!” Harley says in the most overdramatic way possible. “I just remembered I already ate.” He facepalms. “I’m soooo dumb.”
There are murmurs of “Me too” and “Oops.”
I shake my head. “Really subtle, guys. And so believable.”
That’s how I find myself eating dinner with Jordan across from me and harsh whispers behind us.
“Very atmospheric,” I say dryly. “Ooh, but there’s wine.” I reach for the bottle to pour us some.
“Apparently Denver’s not tempted by wine, so we have Mason’s whole cellar to drink if we’re up to it.” Jordan smiles at me, and okay, I have to admit, under usual dating circumstances, this would probably be something I’d lean into given the chance.
Jordan has an easy charm about him that I don’t think anyone would be immune to. If it weren’t for this stupid bet, I’d probably throw myself into it fully. But there is a bet at stake, so I’m restricting this to work. A characterization exercise only.
And as nice as this could be, it would be better without the peanut gallery.
“We need to make them fuck, not fall in love,” Lyric says.
“Doesn’t romance lead to fucking?” Mason asks.
“You know we can hear you, right?” I call out. I turn to find their heads peeking around the corner of the doorway. “Mason, I thought you were on my side?”
“I’ve been known to play both. Recent revelation of mine.”
Smartass.
I glare at Jordan. “Do you see what you’ve done?”
He throws up his hands like a busted perp. “Hey, they’re helping me, so I’m not going to complain.”
“Well, it’s totally working. My dick loves nothing more than the feeling of being put on display and watched all the time. Quick, take me now!”
I have to admit, with all this betting business going on, Jordan seems perkier than he has since the Ben thing, so that’s a bonus.