“My plans changed. Now get dressed.”
“Do you really think you can come in here and boss me around?” Her n**ples are hard now, and it’s next to impossible not to at least glance at them.
“I’m not bossing you around. I’m telling you that you signed a contract, and now I’m expecting you to live up to that.”
“It was a napkin. I could have wiped my nose with it if I wanted to.” She folds her arms together and poses in the most defiant stance I think I’ve ever witnessed.
“A deal is a deal. Now get f**king dressed before I do it for you.”
“And what if I don’t?” she asks.
I prepared for this question, knowing damn well she would put up a fight. And I hate to do this to her, but she needs to come with me tonight. I need the defense.
“If you don’t, then I’m going to go to the owner of the Agitators and tell him about the article.”
Her face falls, and her arms drop to her sides. “You wouldn’t.”
“You don’t want to test me.”
She stares me down for a few seconds before she huffs and turns toward her closet. “You realize I’m going to hate you until the end of time, right?”
“Whatever gets you dressed up, babe,” I say as I make my way into her dorm and sit on her bed. I watch as she digs around in her closet. She tosses a pair of black strappy heels toward the center of the room and then retrieves a long black outfit.
When I think she’s going to head into the bathroom to get changed, she doesn’t. With her back turned toward me, she pulls her crop top over her head before pushing her sweatpants down, revealing her thin black thong.
My mouth waters at the sight of that rear end again and her bare, muscular back with the rarest of glimpses of side b**b as she fits her outfit on. She pulls it up, revealing a black one-piece of sorts with pant legs and a tight-fitted top.
“I need you to zip me up,” she says, her back still toward me.
Pushing off the bed, I walk up behind her. I drape her long hair over one shoulder, then rest my hand on her waist. Her back stiffens, and as I grip the small black zipper, I move my hand up her rib cage until I pause right below her br***t. Holding tightly, I slowly pull the zipper up, the entire time feeling her breath inflate and deflate her lungs until she’s all the way zipped up, and I pull away.
Without a word, she storms off into the bathroom and closes the door.
She wants to play with fire by stripping in front of me? She’s going to get it in return.
I sit on her bed again and pull out my phone. I scroll through emails for the next ten minutes, and when she’s finally ready and opens the bathroom door, she emerges with her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, a heavy smoky eye, and what looks like fake eyelashes. She topped the look off with bright red l*pstick.
Yup . . . she’s f**king hot.
Not to mention, the neckline of her outfit cuts down to the spot just below her br***ts, once again offering an abundance of cleavage for all to see. It must be her signature move, to show off her br***ts whenever she gets a chance. And I’m going to tell you right now, it f**king works.
As she sl*ps her shoes on, I realize one thing. I hate that even though I’m mad at her, I still think she’s hot. I don’t want to be attracted to her, but it’s inevitable. I can’t stop it. And I can’t stop the way my eyes scan her, resting for a moment too long on her br***ts, on her l*ps, on those eyes.
She stands tall, fl*ps her ponytail over her shoulder, and snatches a clutch from her closet before stuffing her phone, wallet, l*pstick, and key in it. She tucks the clutch under her arm and says, “Let’s go, master.”
Better than fart face. Guess I’ll take it.
We’re silent the entire trip out of the dorm. I honestly expected nothing less than her glacial attitude.
When we reach my car, I open the door for her and watch her get in, then, taking her seat belt, I loop it over her and cl**k it in. When I pull back, I hear her sharp inhale, only for her eyes to connect with mine in confusion.
“Just want to make sure you don’t bolt.”
Her face falls. “Aren’t you a funny guy?” No. Just a bit desperate it seems.
She doesn’t bother talking to me, and I don’t bother talking to her until we’re five minutes from the event.
“You’re going to have to act like you like me in there.”
“This is not my first rodeo, Potato.”
Ah, so we’ve sunk to that level of pettiness. Guess it’s fair, given what I had to say to get her in this car.
“There will be major sponsors here, people who pay me a lot of f**king money, so no donkey pervert story. Just say we ran into each other at the zoo.”
“And shield them from the true story of who you are? That’s doing them a disservice.”
“The real story would be you assaulting me in a bar, but I have enough class to hold back on telling that tale.”
She wh*ps her head toward me. “Are you saying I don’t have class?”
“Take it as you want,” I say as I pull up to valet.
“Well, if that’s the way you want to play the game,” she says.
“Don’t, Oliana,” I say in a stern voice. “I swear to f**k, if you embarrass me in there, you won’t like the repercussions.”
“Oh Potato, I have zero plans of embarrassing you.”
Why do I find that incredibly hard to believe? But I don’t have time to hash it out with her because the valet is opening our doors.
I hand them the key and then make my way around the car where I meet up with Ollie. She takes my hand and snuggles in close to my side just in time for a few cameras to flash in our direction.
F**k, I completely forgot about the p**ss.
I turn to Ollie and say, “Don’t talk to anyone. Just smile, and I’ll guide you inside.”
Surprisingly, she does as she’s told, and we make it past the p**ss box and into the venue, where we’re immediately greeted by Hector Fuentes, the CEO of Skin Leisure, the clothing brand that I recently signed a seven-figure deal with.
“Silas Taters, glad you could make it,” Hector says while patting me on the back. “And who did you bring with you tonight?”
“Hector, it’s great to see you,” I say, turning on the charm. “This is my girlfriend, Ollie Owens.”
“Ollie, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Ollie says.
“Well, help yourself to drinks and food. There are gift bags for everyone as well. Enjoy the night. We’re looking forward to cheering you on this season, Silas.”
“Thank you. We’re looking good. I feel like we have another shot at the cup this year.” I give him a handshake, and then I p**ss my hand to Ollie’s back and guide her into the main ballroom. “Need a drink?” I ask her.
“As if you care,” she says, smiling up at me, and then grips my hand in hers. “But yes, I’m thirsty.”
I don’t give in to her need to p**ss my b**tons, so hand in hand, we walk over to the bar, where I find a very familiar face.
“Silas Taters, holy shit.” JP Cane walks up to me and holds his hand out.
We shake, and I say, “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“I’m not alone. Brought Ryot Bisley with me. You know us. If there’s a place where sponsors are gathering with athletes, we want to be there.”
“That’s why you own the leading sports app in the world.” I bring Ollie forward and say, “JP, this is my girlfriend, Ollie Owens. Ollie, this is JP Cane. He and his brothers, Huxley and Breaker, invested in The Jock Report, something started by Ryot Bisley, his brother Banner, and Penn Cutler. Penn and Ryot both played for the Chicago Bobbies.”
“Oh, yes,” Ollie says. “I heard about The Jock Report.” That’s surprising, given she hasn’t heard about me. “Wasn’t it started because of poor reporting in the media?” Aah, that’s why she’s heard of it.
JP nods. “It was. Now the athletes have their own voice and can interact with fans without having to worry about an algorithm or having their words turned around on them. Trying to get your boyfriend to join.”
“Just haven’t had time yet. I promise I will. I’m sure I’ll need something to scroll through on our away trips.”
JP chuckles, then turns his attention back to Ollie. “What do you do, Ollie?”
“Majoring in journalism, actually,” she says with a smile and then leans forward. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of reporting on sports or twisting anyone’s words. I prefer how-to lifestyle stuff.”
And for some reason, I feel like that’s a dig at me.
“Lifestyle?” JP asks. “Do you ever cover charitable organizations? Because I have one that could really use some more people backing it.”
“Not really, but I know some people who do.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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