Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“And I sure hope that thanks will be mutual,” I add.
Hunter makes a show of looking at his watch. “I’m sure it will be. In about two hours. By my estimate, that’s when we should be at the hotel room,” he says.
Fuck yes.
Hunter’s exactly what I need. No strings. All in. I’m going to seriously reward this man. I inch closer, dipping my head to whisper in his ear, “The second the door closes to the suite, I’m gonna push you up against the wall and get my hands and mouth all over you.”
I step back so I can take in his reaction. Quickened breath. Darkened eyes.
Nice.
“Have I mentioned I’m really glad I got the last seat on this flight?” he asks.
I smile, then tug on his short-sleeve shirt, a trim, work button-down. Mmm. I’m feeling all kinds of PDA right now, even at the gate. “Vegas, baby. We’ve got the luck today,” I say.
“Seems we do.”
“Do you like poker, or blackjack, or roulette?”
“All of the above.”
This just keeps getting better. “Good.”
“I didn’t even ask if you were into the band we’re seeing.”
“Lettuce Pray? What do you take me for? Someone without taste?”
I laugh, then drape an arm around his shoulder. “This okay?”
He chuckles. “God. Affection from a hot hunk? How terrible. Wait. A hot hunk who’s taking me to see one of my favorite bands tonight?”
Suddenly I’m like, Oliver who? “You’re the perfect travel companion. I’m going to have a hard time resisting you when we’re on that plane.” Shit. We probably aren’t sitting together. “You said you got the last seat. Where is it?”
He clears his throat. “Row twenty-eight.”
I flinch. “That’s not okay.”
He shrugs easily. “That’s where I usually sit. I don’t mind.”
But I do. “I’m in row two. That won’t work.”
“I swear it’s okay,” he says, a little clipped. I’m not sure what to make of his reply. Maybe it’s the money or he feels awkward, but it’s just wrong to let your date sit in coach when you’re in first class. “You’re my date tonight. I’m six four and two hundred forty pounds. I don’t fit well in coach,” I say. “I would really like to upgrade you. Would you please let me?”
He takes a few seconds, nibbling on his bottom lip, then he nods. Like it costs him something. “What if there’s not a seat in first class though?”
“But what if there is?” I counter with a cocky grin that I hope convinces him.
Hunter draws a deep breath, then smiles. “Okay, Mister Bossy.”
“Good. But you’re going to have to tell me your last name finally.”
“Yes, I was keeping it a secret.” He takes a beat. “Colburn. Hunter Colburn.”
“Good name,” I say.
“Thanks. I’ll let my mum know,” he says.
I squint, doing the math. He has his mom’s name. Not his dad’s. There’s a story there, but I doubt it’s one he’ll want to dive into today.
I head to the gate a few feet away and smile at the brunette working at the counter, reading her name tag. “Hi Alice. I’d love to upgrade my date, Hunter Colburn, to first class. Next to me.”
She smiles. “Let me see if there’s an open seat, Mr. Chandler. Also, that third quarter call last night? That so should have been pass interference. But it didn’t stop you.”
I smile at the memory of the bad call. “Yeah, but it’s part of the game. You gotta run with it.”
“To the end zone,” she says.
“Only place I want to be,” I say.
After a minute or two of intense focus as she studies the monitor in front of her, she brightens, then looks up at the two of us. “You’re all set, Mr. Chandler and Mr. Colburn.”
“Thanks, Alice. I can’t wait to get to Vegas,” I say, stealing a wicked glance Hunter’s way.
He grins back.
Alice winces. “But I should let you know the flight’s been delayed two hours.”
12
THE SEX PAGE
Hunter
Two hours later, we’re still in San Francisco and I’m pacing in front of the window, staring at the tarmac, wrapped up in a work call.
“Right, then we’ll want to make sure we have a full package for each athlete,” I say into my mobile before I realize my faux pas. That sounded really dirty. So dirty that my traveling companion, who’s standing by my side, looks up from his e-reader and shoots me a did you say that glance. I grimace, then say to my colleague Harry, “We’ll run them on the sub-channel. That’s what Ilene wants. Then we’ll also run them in the pre-game shows.”
“And where will I find this footage?” Harry’s an assistant producer, so I’m higher up than him. That’s still a weird thought, that anyone works for me. Took me a few years to land a job here. I applied post-uni, but no one gave me the time of day until Sarah passed along my CV earlier this year. I still feel like the new guy at Webflix. Mostly I am, but I snagged a promotion at the end of the summer.