Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
“Work. Oh, is that what you kids are calling it nowadays?” Maryanne chuckled. “Go on, then. Have fun.”
I followed Mitch outside with a laugh. “What does she think we’re doing?”
He paused under the oak tree and gave me a funny look. “Having sex. What else?”
“Like real sex?”
“As opposed to fake sex?”
“You know what I mean. Geez, this feels weird,” I grumbled, raking my hand through my hair.
Mitch chuckled. “Grow up, Evan. If she thinks we’re in a relationship, she’ll assume we’re doing it.”
“Doing what exactly?”
“How should I know? Maybe she thinks I’m gonna blow you.”
“Are you?” I asked in a mock serious tone.
Mitch laughed and gave me one of his slow-moving mischievous grins. “If we can record some decent material in less than an hour, I just might.”
I stared after him as he bounded up the stairs, two at a time, and adjusted my dick. I knew he was joking, but the mere thought of him on his knees with his lips around my—oh, fuck.
Filming our inaugural episode seemed fairly painless after our recent conversations. Mitch set up a slick professional-looking camera on a tripod facing his kitchenette. We sat side-by-side on the barstools. I wore a black T-shirt as instructed, and Mitch wore blue. I made a crack about us looking like a bruise and was rewarded with a long explanation about the complementary palette of the entire room. Blue eyes, blue shirt, blue tea kettle on the stovetop. Black shirt, my dark eyes, and black and white photos on the wall behind us. I fixed him with a deadpan look until he busted up laughing and ran over a brief itinerary.
“The idea is to keep viewers off-balance from the start. I’ll handle the intro before we launch into the questions. Feel free to jump in whenever. We’ll wrap up with our dance and a quick kiss like we discussed. Sound good?”
I made a face. “I’m cool with everything but the dance.”
“Oh, it’ll be fun! You’ll see. Just follow my lead. This isn’t live TV. We can pause whenever we want. It’s just easier to keep the action going. Plus it feels more natural. Ready?”
When I nodded in agreement, Mitch shifted on his barstool, clicked a button on the remote, and smiled at the camera.
“Hi, everyone. Sorry for the post delay. I’ve been swamped this summer with my internship, training, and general life stuff. But I’m back! I have a project to tell you about and someone special to introduce. This is Evan. He’s a fifth-year senior like me. We go to different schools, but he graciously agreed to help me…”
I sat back and listened as Mitch gave a brief rundown of his project based on his own observations of social media trends in recent years. He recited data and statistics, then outlined our history and the recent changes in our relationship.
“We met through mutual friends four years ago, but we’ve started spending time together on our own too. We’re going to ask you to join us once a week as we outline our journey. Subscribe below and please weigh in. What do you think? Is Evan really my boyfriend or is this all faux?” His dramatic intonation struck the perfect chord between playful and earnest, I mused when he paused and turned to me expectantly. “Tell everyone about yourself, hon.”
“Uh…”
Mitch rolled his eyes playfully and hooked his thumb toward me. “He’s camera-shy. I’ll start. Evan plays football,” he gushed in a campier than normal voice. “The football player and the yell leader. It’s kind of delish, right?”
I snickered at his over-the-top squeal and impulsively put my arm around his shoulder. He leaned against me briefly, then sat up and got to work.
We talked for twenty minutes or more about mundane get-to-know-you topics that were supposedly meant for our audience but were helpful to me too. I didn’t know Mitch started gymnastics when he was five or that he’d competed seriously in his teens. And he didn’t know that my obsession with football began when I was roughly the same age.
“Do you remember what you liked about the sport when you were a kid?” he asked.
“Well, the first thing I remembered liking was the uniform,” I replied with a laugh. “I got a helmet when I was four, and I used to sleep in it. My mom would come in my room at night to take it off ’cause she was afraid I’d hurt my neck. But then I loved the game. I understood the rules and what made certain players better than others. And I wanted to be one of them. I couldn’t wait to join a team and wear the gear.”
“What’s your number?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“That’s my favorite number!” Mitch gasped. He snickered when I rolled my eyes and then continued. “What position do you play?”
“Fullback or tight end.”
“Tight end, eh?” He waggled his brows lasciviously, then asked, “Why not quarterback? They seem to get all the love.”