Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
Lo cued up her phone and handed it to me. This clip showed the fanboys on the street. I was in the background. Brett was shielding me. I hadn’t remembered him doing that in the moment, and snapping at one of the guys. It showed Brett’s statement to the guy, not what the guy had said to him.
“He’s protecting you,” Lo said. “That’s mega sweet.”
“No, they didn’t include the beginning part. The guy asked if Broudou was rivals with Mason Kade because of Mason Kade’s woman. Broudou knows both of them.”
“What?” Lo hiccupped, which made her start laughing all over again. “You mean that second clip has nothing to do with you?”
I had to grin a little. I’d been in a dark hole, stinging more from Brett’s utter and complete rejection than anything else. I’d almost forgotten about the trending clip, now clips. “This one is really trending?”
She shrugged. “Not as much, but it got some juice yesterday. Assholes, though. They’re capitalizing on your shitty situation.”
When I’d gotten home after the disastrous interview, I’d made my excuses to skip Wine Roger night, wanting to do just this: hide out in my dark room. But Lo being Lo, she hadn’t gone for that. She’d dragged me back to the patio table and gotten the story out of me. She kept up to date on anything viral and trending. She would’ve found out about the clip no matter what. Roger had actually been the one who found it first, nearly spitting out his second glass of wine as he jerked forward in his chair. He’d been leaning it back so the front two legs were in the air, which Lo and I and his mother-in-law always told him not to do, but after the first glass of wine, he always forgot.
“Why were you guys on the street together? Were you walking to your cars or something?”
Lo knew me, knew I wouldn’t have been walking with him for any other reason, because let’s face it. Brett Broudou was Brett Broudou. Super famous. Super hot.
And super out of my league.
Except he said he was interested, a tiny voice whispered in my head.
I’d not told them about the coffee date that almost happened.
Pain sliced through me.
Gah. The way he’d looked at me at the end, as if he hated me.
There was no con. I couldn’t believe that’s what he thought. That made me ache for him. What had happened to make him think like that? Though, he was a celebrity professional athlete. I’m sure all sorts of people tried to target him for money, attention, or whatever other reasons people target people.
It was laughable how far I was on the opposite end of being a person like that.
I ran away from attention. In my life, attention never brought anything good.
I shrugged. “Just wrong place, wrong time kind of thing. I was trying to get to the food truck.”
Lo snorted. “Are you serious? That’s even more hilarious. Also, I looked up this Mason Kade guy. Holy effin hotness, man. He looks like a way rougher Superman Henry Cavill kind of guy. I’ve been sleeping on football. You watch the sport. Who are the other supreme hotties?” She poked my shoulder before settling beside me, lying on her back. “Man, and those uniforms. They knew what they were doing, accentuating their shoulders. Then how tight it gets on the bottom? Those asses.” She sighed. “Next Halloween, Roger’s going as an NFL player. We’ll have some good sex that night.”
A corner of my lip curved up.
“I prefer a guy with a beard.” Such as Brett Broudou.
Lo shared a smile with me. “Roger’s been hinting that he wants to grow a beard. He’s been trying with his mustache, but it just makes him look like a super villain in some cartoon movie.”
I barked out a laugh. “Not a cartoon movie.”
“I mean, he can’t even look like a villain from a cool movie. He’s got cartoon vibes.”
“Tell him about the football costume tonight when you tell him he can’t grow a beard.”
She smiled. “He’ll go out and buy it tomorrow. And he’ll wear it around the house. God. He’ll so totally do that. He’ll pose, asking how he looks in this position or that. He might even carry a football around the house with him, trying to make it look all casual, as if he’s just getting home from practice.”
We were laughing all over again.
Then we fell into a comfortable pocket of silence.
“All jokes aside, you got the dark-room effect going here,” Lo noted. “Should Vicky start making a meal plan for you? Scheduling who brings you your tray for breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack, and dinner?”
“Afternoon snack?”
“Everyone needs an afternoon snack. No shame in that.”
Her concern was disguised as a joke, but she was gauging how upset I was about the trending videos. Any attention tended to bring more fanatics out to find me—reporters, bloggers, writers convinced their book about the Midwest Butcher would land them a deal.