Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
And yes, I knew it wasn’t a bright idea, but I was officially out of fucks. I found Silas’s contact information, attached the pic, and typed,
Frosty.
I pushed Send, smiling to myself like an idiot.
If it made him smile too, it was worth it.
CHAPTER 9
SILAS
Frosty.
I stared at the photo and double-checked the source.
Cooper.
My heart pinged and jackhammered in my chest at the sight of his name. I glanced in the general direction of the restrooms for my agent, but the coast was clear. I started to reply with an enthusiastic How’ve you been? I was just thinking about you. But if I really got going, I might add, I’ve missed you.
No, no, I wouldn’t go there. I wasn’t that big of a sap. Although…it was a thousand percent true that I thought of Cooper way more than I should have. Which probably made sense.
Spending a few intense days in isolation with the sexy lumberjack had made an impression. I hadn’t returned to LA flying a bi banner or anything, but the blinders were off. Mostly. I’d given myself permission to explore my queer side a bit. So far, that had amounted to a renewed interest in gay porn and jerking it to a couple of hot guys going at it like bunnies.
I hoped I’d eventually build up the confidence to try a dating app and meet someone real, but I hadn’t worked up the nerve required, and being back in LA didn’t make it easy.
My agent, Ger, who happened to be a friend of mine, had been in my dish, wanting to “bounce ideas around” and get a feel for my next career move.
“You’re a hot commodity, baby. Think of the football greats who retired decades ago and are still in the public eye. With those cheekbones, you can make bank doing commercials,” Ger had enthused. “Not just in the US. We’re talking Europe, Japan, Australia.”
He’d arranged meetings with a dozen brands looking for new representation. I’d been wined and dined by a hodgepodge of firms that sold everything from toothpaste to sparkling water. Interesting and possibly lucrative but not exactly satisfying.
Tonight, Ger supposedly had an exciting development that he couldn’t wait to share—after he’d grabbed the digits from the cute guy he’d been low-key flirting with before I’d shown up.
Of course, I’d acted as though I hadn’t noticed ’cause Ger wasn’t out and I wasn’t supposed to know he was queer. He probably assumed I was too self-absorbed to pick up on sly once-overs between two men anyway. I could have been offended, but I understood. Ger’s biggest clients were professional athletes who swam in toxic masculine waters. This was a culture of posturing, posing, and rough play…on and off the field.
It was exhausting to manage my own turbulent headspace, let alone worry about someone else’s.
It hadn’t been like that with Cooper. No bullshit, no sugarcoating, no pretense. So fucking refreshing.
But I was back to reality now, and Cooper’s name on my cell was so unexpected that pleasure was accompanied by a flash of suspicion. What did he want? Why now? Was he planning to screw me over somehow? Maybe he’d taken secret photos or an incriminating video, and it was time to pay up.
Okay…no.
It was terrible that I was wired to assume the worst in people. Sure, everyone wanted something, everyone had an agenda. Cooper, though? Nah. It was just a snowman.
My snowman, I corrected, my lips curling into a reluctant smile.
Frosty’s lookin’ good. Except for the Boston hat. WTAF?
Red Sox fans here. Sorry.
You should be, I typed, adding five angry emojis for the hell of it.
Three dancing dots appeared and then faded once, twice, then…nothing.
“Hey, sorry about that.” Ger slapped my shoulder and slid into the private booth tucked in the corner of his favorite West Hollywood eatery.
“No prob.” I flipped my cell upside down, thanking the server for the beer and the plate of tofu nachos…or something equally unappealing. “What did you order?”
“Vegan nachos. Try one. I swear you can’t tell the difference,” Ger insisted, scooping a heap of faux cheese and veggies onto a chip.
“Yeah fucking right.”
His boyish grin split his face in half and made him look ten years younger than the big four-oh he’d been griping about for months. Ger was an attractive guy with short dark hair, the physique of a swimmer, the personality of a game-show host, and the instincts of a seasoned politician.
He’d been my agent from the beginning when we’d both been total newbies. Now he had an impressive clientele, a knowledgeable staff, and a fancy office on Wilshire. I was happy for him, and I knew that Ger viewed me as a friend and an integral part of his success. And Ger took care of his friends.
“They have a great filet mignon. Get the works. The twice-baked potato is fuckin’ unreal. They’re small, though…so order two. And the creamed spinach. You’ve had that, right? Amazing. Get that,” he urged.