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)
Jordan hardly eats. He’s too busy looking at some of the footage he shot today.
A nervous ball sits in the pit of my stomach, though I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s anticipation mixed with hesitation.
I don’t care about the stupid bet, I don’t care what it means to be with Jordan, but I do care about what it will do to us as friends.
Our whole careers, us Eleven guys have been told to watch what we do or say because all of it can be misconstrued. It’s made us evaluate every situation before doing something or making a move.
Everything we’ve done has been calculated. This? Planning to hook up with Jordan? There’s nothing calculated about it.
I want him.
End of story.
There’s no way it’ll get out, and even if it does, the media is painting us in this light anyway. That we went behind Ben’s back, not the other way around. There’s no point defending it because in the age of social media, there are people with opinions and others with even more opinions. And there’s no changing them no matter how truthful and raw you are with your fans.
If Jordan was to say, “Ben cheated, and there’s nothing going on between me and Blake Monroe,” people would assume he’s either, one, lying; two, hooked up with me for payback; or three, trying to pull sympathy from Ben’s infidelity. There is no winning in this situation.
So people publicly thinking that Jordan and I have had sex isn’t a big deal.
And other than that, I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t hook up with him.
After dinner, we lounge by the fireplace, and I use the excuse that I’m still working on the casual-affection thing as to why I sit next to Jordan on the couch and throw my legs over his lap.
The guys bicker and fight among themselves, while my focus stays on the fireplace and the flickering flames. I need to distract myself from Jordan’s hand on my thigh. He’s not even moving it. It’s just there, giving off enough heat to warm my entire body.
Arousal simmers in my gut, and I can’t wait until that blessed moment when the others will call it a night.
When Ryder and Lyric go first, I give Jordan a nudge, but he doesn’t move. He might not be tired, but he’s not getting the hint that I don’t actually want to go to sleep.
Out of nowhere, a cushion comes flying at my head.
“What?” I turn to where it came from.
Harley’s smiling from ear to ear. “I asked if there are any more Coby movies coming up that you know of?”
“They want to do another one, but I’ve told them I couldn’t keep doing them back-to-back like the first three. I need time for other projects. They’ll probably schedule one for after the Encore tour.”
“Are you okay with doing that?” Jordan asks.
“Yep. That franchise got my foot in the door. I don’t want to be one of those actors who turns on the thing that made them famous.”
Jordan squeezes my leg. “How did you get to be so down-to-earth?”
“Blake has always been that way,” Harley says for me. “Almost like he doesn’t believe his fame, even though there have been many times where a horde of a million screaming teenage girls are running after us.”
“They were running after you guys more. I swear one time, this chick—she must’ve run track or something—she caught up to me, totally bypassed me, and tried to tackle Ryder to the ground.”
Jordan snorts. “I don’t think I could ever comprehend that kind of level of fame.”
“You’ll get there,” I say. “Only instead of teenage girls, it’ll be gay boys of all ages running after you.”
“Mm, one could dream.”
“With how hot he is, he’d probably have all the straight guys running after him too,” Denver says.
Jordan’s hand tenses on my thigh.
Denver doesn’t know what Jordan told me, but Jordan glares at me like I’ve spilled all his secrets. He looks hurt. And betrayed.
I lean in and whisper in his ear, “I didn’t say anything. I promise.”
His frown lessens, and then he turns his attention back to Denver and Mason, who aren’t giving two shits about what we’re talking about over here. They’re too busy arguing over Denver’s sexuality.
“How you hadn’t worked out you were bi before we got together is really amazing. Your denial must’ve been made out of Kevlar or something.”
“Pretty much, but even you, Mr. Pansexuality, can admit that Jordan might not be your type, but he’s fucking hot. He’s got this smolder that looks just like …” Denver clicks. “You know who he looks like? If Flynn Ryder from Tangled was a real human.” He gestures to Jordan.
Jordan turns to me. “Should I be flattered or insulted? I’m not actually sure.”
“We should let them argue among themselves. I want to go to bed.”