Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Dex tilts his head and inspects me as if I’m some sort of exotic bug that flew in through the window. Shit, I can’t think of bugs. It pulls my attention back to the uncomfortable prickling in my gut.
“And now?” he asks. “You gonna admit what’s getting to you in this situation?” The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I mean, I know what it is, but are you going to admit to it?”
Cursing, I lean against the rough exposed brick wall of the loft and let my gaze wander around Chester Copper’s living area.
Chester Copper. Despite my discomfort, I want to smile. God, she’s a handful—the type who will bite your hand off. It’s kind of hot, in a pissed-off gloom and doom way. I guess I’d be pretty pissy if my parents named me Chester.
My smile fades. It’s clear she thinks I’m an asshole. I’m usually better at charming women. My game is off today. But I was expecting an old guy name Chester, someone who I might have been able to talk football with and maybe convince him to take just a few quick photos before I fled. Not a blunt woman with dark green eyes that seem to flay my skin and see right under it.
She had assessed and dismissed me in a glance. While I’m used to being judged on my looks, I’m usually not found wanting. I shouldn’t give one great fuck. And I don’t really, except now I’m supposed to strip down in front of her and pose before the unyielding glare of her lens.
The photo studio is cordoned off by massive rolling wall panels that block my view of the photo session going on. I stare hard at those panels. The harsh lights she’s using set the ceiling aglow, a beacon of my impending doom. Music throbs through the loft, some techno beat with a woman singing in a sultry voice. It started up as soon as Jake had begun his shoot.
“What the hell is that music?” I mutter.
“Goldfrapp,” Dex says easily. “‘Strict Machine’ to be precise. Great song. But I expected Jake to go for AC/DC or something like that.”
“This is dance music.” I squeeze the back of my stiff neck. “I’m now imagining Jake strutting around on a catwalk.”
Dex cracks a smile. “Don’t give me that visual.”
“If I’m haunted by it, I’m sharing.” I roll my shoulders. “Jesus, why the music, anyway?”
“You get a choice. Whatever makes you comfortable.” He shrugs again. “It was surprisingly easy.”
“I feel like I’m about to be offered up like a side of beef.”
“Grade A, prime, quarterback ass.” This from Rolondo, who exits the bathroom, where we’ve been offered the use of the showers to clean off the oil they’re rubbing all over our bodies. Jesus.
He huffs out a laugh. “You look like you’re about to toss your Wheaties. What’s the problem, Manny? Shit, you’ve given interviews in your birthday suit plenty of times.”
Yeah, I have. Nudity is not the problem.
“Is it your junk?” Rolondo flashes a grin. “You worried it won’t stack up—”
“You do realize I’ve seen your junk, Ro. Worrying about stacking up is not a problem for me.”
His grin only gets bigger. “So, you have been looking.”
Dex shakes his head at me. “You walked right into that one, friend.”
On any other occasion, I might have smiled. Now I only wave them off. “Play your reindeer games with someone else, boys.”
“Shit,” Rolondo says with a drawl. “You must be suffering if I can’t get your ass riled up.”
From the far end of the loft, I hear Ms. Copper tell Jake he did a great job. Which means James will be coming to get me any second. My heart starts to pound, and I run a cold hand over my hot face. “I’m uncomfortable with this, all right?” I tell my friends. “And I don’t really give a shit what that says about me.”
Silence greets me. Dex and Rolondo are both wearing somber expressions.
“Dude,” Dex finally says. “If you don’t want to do this, don’t. We aren’t machines. Say no.”
I glance at the partition, and shift my weight, the urge to turn tail and run creeping up the backs of my thighs. “The team agreed, so I agreed.”
“Woodson isn’t participating,” Rolondo points out. “Wife put her foot down.”
“Woodson is a kicker. I’m the quarterback. I say no, fans get disappointed. Besides, I already committed. Backing out wouldn’t be right.”
It’s too late, anyway. James strolls out from behind the partition. “Mr. Mannus,” he says, all business now. “Let’s get you ready.”
“Great,” I mutter.
I follow him to the changing area, and he gestures to a table covered with lumps of fabric, ranging from pale beige to dark brown. “If it makes you more comfortable, you can wear one of these.”
I frown down at the lumps. “These?”
James picks up a light brown cloth and shows me.