by Tracey Ward
“Well, shit, if I’d known that I would have asked.”
She nods her head solemnly as she turns back to her powders.
“Anyway,” Rona continues slowly, “it’s the first time Lilly’s talked about a guy in months. She hasn’t had sex for almost a year.”
“Ro!”
“What?!”
“Dude. Boundaries.”
“I’m nervous!” she cries defensively. “You know I get chatty when I’m nervous.”
“Chat about your own shit.”
“You spent a half hour in a closed pantry with a guy off the cover of Playgirl. My last date was with a dentist from Bakersfield. Your shit is so much more interesting than mine.”
“More interesting than the fact that you fart when you orgasm?”
“Lilly!”
I smile, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah. Not so great on the receiving end, is it?”
“Maybe we should all just shut up,” she grumbles.
The door behind me bursts open, knocking me forward. A member of the camera crew, a young guy with an ironically skeevy mustache, reaches out to catch me as I stumble forward.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry!”
I wave him away, catching my footing before I eat floor with my face. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Are you Lilly?”
“Yeah.”
“The one who refuses to go on camera?”
I shrug irreverently. “It’s what I’m famous for.”
His eyes dart to the producer behind me. “Can you talk her into it?”
“Don’t you think I tried?” she fires back, uninterested.
“We all tried,” Rona tells him.
He backs out of the doorway, looking to the right at someone out of view. “Nah, she’s not going to, but maybe you can convince her.”
I hear a chuckle, low and vibrant. Unnervingly familiar.
“I doubt that, man, but I’ll try.”
My body goes cold. “No fucking way.”
Rona stands in my peripheral, taking a step toward me. “Lilly, what’s – Oh, my God.”
The doorframe fills with him. It’s nearly too small, everything in the world seemingly inadequate in his presence. Nothing is bright enough, large enough, fast enough to keep up with him.
With the pulsing presence of Colt Avery.
He smiles when he spots me. It’s crooked, one side of his mouth rising higher than the other. It makes me feel like I’m tilting. Falling.
“What’s up, Hendricks?”
“No.”
His body jerks with a silent chuckle, his smile widening. “What?”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what I want to say, not exactly. I’m too stunned by the fact that he’s here, live and in the flesh. In my world. My normal, average, everyday world that looks Technicolor bright with him standing in it.
I wasn’t supposed to see him again. What the hell is happening?
A cameraman moves behind him. He’s filming this, and I’m in the shot.
I shake my head at him. “You can’t use any of this. I haven’t signed the waiver.”
Colt glances behind himself at the camera. “Yeah, they told me about that.” He turns back to me, his smile going smug. “What’s the matter? You don’t want to be famous?”
“The store is closed right now,” I tell him, ignoring his question. “How did you get in?”
“For real?”
“Because you’re famous?” I ask dryly.
“It has its perks. You should try it.” He steps around me, his hand outstretched. “You must be Rona.”
Rona is nicer than I am. Most people are. She smiles at him pleasantly, shaking his hand and managing to look only mildly star struck. “Yeah. I’m— yeah. Nice to meet you.”
“Colt,” he supplies unnecessarily, at least having the decency to pretend we don’t all know his name and nearly every contour of his naked body. “Good to meet you. I love the store. Your cake was the best part of the party yesterday.”
Rona flushes pink all the way to the roots of her hair. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”
The makeup artist offers her hand next. “Kendra,” she purrs.
He nods, taking her hand only briefly.
He introduces himself to the producer next. Sandra. That’s her name. He’s charming when he greets her, effortlessly dropping the sexy act in favor of the boy next door show. She absolutely eats it up.
Under thirty seconds in the room and Colt has every girl sitting pretty in the palm of his hand.
“What are you doing here?” I ask bluntly.
Rona looks at me with big eyes, silently begging me to chill.
I ignore her. I can’t chill. This guy is an electrical wire to my body, destroying my regular functions. I’m still stunned by the fact that he’s here.
“I, uh,” he laughs at himself softly, dipping his chin. The gesture is so adorable I can taste the estrogen spike in the room. “I’m a little addicted to those Oreos you made. The chocolate coated ones. I smuggled out a few handfuls from the party yesterday but I ate the last one this morning and I can’t get them out of my head.”
“We don’t keep those in stock. We made them for the party. Sorry,” I apologize, the sentiment feeling obligatory.
I’m not sorry. I’m confused. And torn. And turned on? And mad, but at what or who I don’t know. Me? Him? Harrison Ford?
Be real; Crystal Skull was shit. We’re all a little mad about it. All day, every day.
The problem is that the longer I look at him, the longer he stands there looking at me, the more convinced I am that the cookies aren’t all he came here for. It’s me. He wanted to see me, and as the realization hits home, a very girlish, giddy part of me wants to rise up to meet him, elated and flattered to find him here looking for me.
The rest of me, though, it sees what’s happening. It can feel the storm coming. It can read the danger written in the perfect plains of his face.
His smiles are clouds on my horizon.
His voice thunder rumbling in the distance.
CHAPTER SEVEN
COLT
She’s annoyed. Or hungry. Or hangry. Horny? It’s hard to tell.
I don’t know what kind of greeting I expected to get ambushing her like this, but when I see her standing there with her eyes like a half-cocked revolver directed right at me, I think this is it. This is what I wanted. Her frost. Her cold shoulder. It’s hotter than the open flame in the makeup chick’s eyes. This look from Lilly is a myriad of things that clash and war with each other across her face – shock, excitement, irritation, joy – and it’s so genuine I can hardly stand it.
Lilly watches me carefully. Cautiously. Like she’s afraid of what I’ll do. Like I’m a lion in her home and she’s worried I’ll go bat shit and murder everyone. Or worse, that I’ll curl up on the couch and make myself at home.
“Did I come at a bad time?” I ask with a knowing grin.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You knew this was happening today.”
“Would you believe me if I said I forgot?”
“Sure.”
I point at her mildly. “Sarcasm. I definitely hear it this time.”
“Really?”
“There it is again.” I look over the kitchen absently. “What are you making for the segment? Oreos by any chance?”
“We could,” Rona offers affably. “You could help.”
Lilly swerves her eyes to her friend, issuing a silent warning.
Rona is unaffected, utterly unafraid of the venom in Lilly’s eyes. “They’re easy to make.”
“It’d be great publicity for the bakery and a huge boost for the episode,” Sandra agrees readily. “That is, if you’d be willing to participate, Mr. Avery.”
“What about the host?” Lilly argues. “What about Ron?”
“Don.”
“Right, yeah, Don. What about him.”
“He’s gone,” Captain Mustache tells
her. “He did his intro out front and took off.”
“He ditched his own show before we even started filming back here?”
The guy shrugs at her. “He said he had a tee time.”
I check my watch. It’s eight-forty. I don’t have to be to practice until noon. I have plenty of time, and I never turn down a chance to get in front of a camera. If I want to stay on the minds of coaches, fans, and sponsors, if I want my career to last longer than a minute, then I need to stay in the spotlight. I have to be visible. It’s why I’m on TVs across the country with ice cream on my dick. It’s why I agreed to do an interview with Vogue where I talked about my favorite sex positions and cold called Taylor Swift asking her to be my date for the Teen Choice Awards. She said yes because, come on. Why wouldn’t she?
“I got the time to jump in,” I agree, slipping my hands into my pockets, settling in. I look at Lilly with a smirk. “What about you, Hendricks? Are you in?”
“No,” she answers immediately.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not going on camera.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
She sighs impatiently, her arms crossing over her chest. “Because I don’t like celebrities.”
I chuckle. “Kind of a big assumption that being on one episode of Tastetastic is going to make you a celebrity, don’t you think?”
Her cheeks burn a pale pink. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what it sounded like.”
“I’m not at all surprised that you misunderstood me.”
“Why? Because I’m a dumb jock?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you implied it, the same way you implied being on one episode of Tastetastic was going to make you a celebrity.”
She glares at me, her eyes an open flame.
It warms my heart to see it.
“Are we doing this?” Rona asks uncomfortably, looking between the two of us.
Lilly backs into a corner, away from the center island. “You guys go ahead.”
“You’re really not gonna do it?”
“No, I’m really not.”
I drop down onto a stool next to her, my shoulder bumping against hers. “Well, I guess I’m not doing it either.”
Her blushing, pink lips pull into a straight, disapproving line. “You won’t do it if I won’t?”
“I came here for two things. You and cookies. If you’re not baking ‘em, I don’t want ‘em.”
“Rona made the ones you ate at the party.”
“No, I didn’t,” Rona calls to us.
She’s watching. They all are. Rona, the producer, the makeup girl eye-fucking me, Mr. Mustache. The camera. All eyes are on us but I keep mine focused on hers. On Lilly’s.
“Why are you here? Really?” she insists bluntly.
“I told you. Cookies and your smiling face.”
“That’s insane.”
“So is not wanting to be on TV.”
She rolls her eyes. It’s a reason not to look at me. She tries two more times to avoid it, but her eyes always come back to mine.
“Give it one hour,” I bargain, dipping my voice low and persuasive. “Think of what it will do for the bakery having me on the episode. Of what kind of publicity you’ll get when I take the cookies to practice and hand them out to the press.”
She’s skeptical. Her tone tells me as much when she asks, “The press will be at your practice?”
“We’re Super Bowl contenders. They’re everywhere we are. I’ll tell them about the episode. When to watch. Hell, have you got a t-shirt? I’ll wear it.”
“I’ll get one!” Rona offers. “Green or purple?”
I think back to yesterday, to what Lilly was wearing. A purple sweater to match their van. “Purple. Extra-large if you’ve got it.”
Lilly jitters her leg impatiently. “You’ll really do it if I go on camera? You’ll be in the episode and tell the press about us?”
“I swear it.”
She frowns, her eyes on the glare being cast across the stainless steel top of the island. “What do you want in return?”
“I told you; an hour.”
“An hour baking.”
“That’s it. Do we have a deal?”
“Yeah,” she agrees guardedly. “It’s a deal.”
“You won’t regret it.”
Her eyes turn to me so they can be impatient with me. “You better hope that’s true or it’s your ass.”
“I love it when you’re ruthless. It turns me on.” I clap my hands together, jumping off the stool to address the room. “Get your aprons on, ladies! It’s about to get sticky up in here.”
Lilly snorts indelicately. “And right out the gate you gave them something they’ll have to edit out.”
“Are you kidding me?” I laugh. “I just gave them their opening sequence.”
It takes a while for everyone to set up. Almost an hour. Lilly has a hurried, whispered discussion with Rona before she signs the waiver, and even though I don’t know the reason why she doesn’t want to do it, I understand the reason why she will. She’s doing it for the bakery, for her friend, and I hope in some small way that she’s doing it for me. That she wants to spend this time with me because I could spend all day with her if she’d let me. I’m hooked on her in the craziest way, a way that brought me down here first thing in the morning to get close to her again, and I’m already regretting the fact that I’ll have to leave in a couple hours.
As the girls get the ingredients set up I make a show of pulling my red plaid shirt off over my head and tossing it to Sandra off camera. I’m not wearing anything underneath. Nothing but tan skin, a cut core, and a smile.
Rona and Kendra slow clap. Someone tosses a dollar onto the table in front of me.
Lilly throws my new purple t-shirt in my face.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” she accuses, but she’s smiling. It’s beautiful on her. Like a rose in winter.
I slowly pull the shirt over my head, stepping in close to her. “You could, you know. Help yourself to this.”
She looks up into my eyes, carefully avoiding my chest. My still naked abs. “I’d rather not.”
“You’d rather kiss me.”
She laughs at my boldness. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”
“You’re right, you don’t want to kiss me.” I tug the shirt down to the hem of my jeans, closing in another step. “You want me to kiss you.”
“Your lines are better today. Way off base, but less offensive.”
“I wanna lick you.”
She grins. “And we’re back.”
I slowly put a hand on the counter next to her hip. “I thought about you all last night.”
“I know for a fact this is not a story I’m going to enjoy.”
“I was watching Game of Thrones. Have you seen it?”
“I do live in America, yes.”
“Cersei Lannister was being a bitch, her kid was acting insane, and I was starting to wonder why I was watching the show. Then Daenerys Targaryen showed up.”
She smiles despite herself. “I like her.”
I slide my hand along the counter, closing the distance between us. “I love her.”
“You mean you would love to bang her,” she chuckles.
“I mean she’s a badass woman with more backbone than half the characters on that show,” I reply seriously. “And do you know who she reminds me of?”
“I have an idea.”
“My mom.”
She blinks, surprised. “Oh.”
“Who’d you think I meant?” I ask innocently.
Lilly’s eyes burn with silent irritation.
“Anyway, she’d like you,” I continue.
“The Mother of Dragons?”
“My mom.”
“The Mother of Arrogant Asses?”
“The one and only.”
Her mouth quirks on the ri
ght, sardonic and subtle. “Why’s that?”
“Because you tell me no. She thinks more people, mainly women, should tell me no.”
“I like her already.”
“She’s very likeable. It’s in the Avery blood.”
Lilly looks to her right, noticing my hand on the counter less than an inch from her hip. She takes a deliberate step back, her face taking on that worried-over-the-lion look she wore earlier.
“No,” she says simply.
“No what?”
“No to whatever it is you’re thinking right now.”
“I’m thinking you smell nice. What is that? Dior?”
“No.”
“Hilfiger?”
“No.”
“Hermes?”
“No.”
I grin. “Are you going to say no to everything I ask?”
Her eyes dance playfully. “No.”
“Are you mad I’m here?”
Lilly pauses, her face falling serious. “No.”
“Do you want me to go?”
She hesitates. “No.”
“Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?”
“No.”
Despite her pattern, I’m not ready for that answer. It throws me for a loop. Stumbles my step.
I honestly can’t remember the last time I got turned down for a date. I don’t know for sure that it’s ever happened before. It definitely feels new.
“Are you sure?” I ask, searching for my footing.
“Yes.”
“Now you know the word.”
She smiles. “Sorry.”
I groan affectedly. “Don’t apologize. That’s salt on the wound. It makes it so much worse.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she laughs.
“I want you to be real with me. If you’re saying no, you’re saying no. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop trying, though.”
“It’s a free country.”
I study her closely. “Do you want me to quit trying?”
She looks away. “I’m done playing Twenty Questions.”
“No way! I want my answer.”
“Nobody gets everything they want, Avery.”
“I do.”
She grins artfully. “Not today you don’t.”
Five minutes later and we’re filming. I’ve been on TV before, this isn’t my first rodeo, but I can tell the girls are nervous. They giggle a lot, something I wouldn’t have thought Lilly was capable of doing. I like it, though. I like everything she does, even when she’s shutting me down.
