Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“Oh, I’m sure there’s lotion in the bathroom. And these look baggy enough, you can probably flop back and forth without ever touching cotton.”
Jayme disappears back into the bathroom, and I grab the sweats from the bed where she tossed them. Slipping them on, they’re a little short, but she’s right, the hips and crotch are very baggy. And thankfully, the inside of the cotton is fluffy and soft, so it’s not too rough on my sensitive dick or butt crack.
A picture frame on the dresser catches my attention, and I move closer to check it out. It’s Jayme . . . with someone I never would’ve expected. Taya. She’s an artist major enough to only need one name. The T on the sweats suddenly makes more sense.
Taya is Jayme’s friend? Her best friend? I never would’ve guessed that in a million years. Jayme is such a professional, analytical and strategic, and Taya has a reputation for being a wild child who does whatever she wants, when she wants. She’s earned her nickname of La Loca. It seems an odd pairing, but from what Jayme has said about her best friend, it seems like a close, happy friendship.
I feel a little closer to Jayme, privy to one of her secrets, even if it's not directly from her. I understand that she has to maintain a degree of privacy, especially if their friendship is rooted in a professional client-PR relationship. But she felt safe enough with me to bring me here, and I appreciate the peek behind the curtain of her heart.
“Found it!” she exclaims from the doorway.
I take the offered lotion and shake it up. Dropping the waistband of the sweats below my balls, I squirt a bit of it directly to my cock. Feeling Jayme’s eyes on me as I work it into the skin, I look up to find her focusing intently on my movements. “You like watching me?”
She offers a smile full of dirty thoughts, nodding slowly.
I feel myself growing hard and groan . . . in pain.
“Oh! Sorry!” she squeaks, turning around. “I’ll grab our clothes, though I think they’re beyond saving. My skirt ripped, and your shirt is completely stained. It has sandy ass prints ground into it.”
“Just toss them,” I say.
“Consider it done,” Jayme answers. “And there’s a shirt in the top drawer.”
I open it to grab the shirt and find that we’re totally matching. I guess we’re flying home as Taya super fans.
CHAPTER 16
JAYME
Walking around the grounds for the festival, I look for any potential issues or concerns, along with any last-minute things we could add to make it even more spectacular. We’ve gotten so much done in the weeks since our trip to LA, but it’s taken around-the-clock work by the entire team. I’ve enjoyed working side-by-side with them all, especially Carson. We’ve gotten to know each other better over spreadsheets and checklists, as well as late-night dinners and conversations.
“What do you think about the lights in the trees? Do we need more?” I mumble, eyeing the strands of LED lights critically. They’re electronically controlled and can be programmed to switch colors with the beat of the music, dance randomly, or light sequentially.
Spencer does the same, lifting her glasses to her forehead and then lowering them again as if she’ll see something different with and without the lenses. The experienced marketing executive has been essential in all of the planning for the festival, and I’ve been happy to work with her, especially today. “What about disco balls? They’re fun and would reflect the light.”
“That’s brilliant!” I exclaim. “Do you think we can buy some and get them hung in time?”
She gives me a sly look. “At this point, I just toss out Carson’s name and things get done. People here are willing to help him because he’s willing to help them.”
It’s working. All of my hard work at repairing Carson’s reputation is having the desired effect.
The social media around ‘Grandma Barbara’ has grown to the point that park visitors want pictures with her as much as they do Freddy Freebird. And with the video showing Carson saving the beloved Grandma Barb, the Abby Burks effect is diminishing greatly. Carson is basically considered a hero at this point who stood up to an entitled brat who was creating drama for clout.
We just need this festival to be perfect too, and then the Americana Land reputation will be restored.
“What else?” Carson asks.
Spencer turns to Kyleigh in a silent ‘show ’em what you got’ move. They seem like a great team, with Kyleigh willing to jump in and get her hands dirty and Spencer willing to share her experience and mentor the young intern. Kyleigh checks her iPad, confidently rattling off the details of her list. “Stage preparation – electrical cords run and taped down, amps in position and sound checked, instrument spots marked, pyrotechnics being triple verified tonight and rechecked in the morning before the opening act. Effects – laser lights have been checked, and we’ll get on adding disco balls.” She dips her head at Spencer. “The bubble machine and fog machine are ready, and the glitter bombs are in place, though we have to trust those to work because there’s no pre-check without it looking like a glitter explosion.”