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)
But it’s always nerve-wracking, especially with traffic. Like the snarl I’m slogging through in Los Angeles currently. Watching the clock, I’m hoping I make my flight to New York even though it doesn’t take off for two and a half more hours.
Provided I don’t spend eternity on the highway, I should make my flight. I check work emails to pass the time when my boss calls.
I’m already tense, and now the man who signs my paychecks needs me. But it’s always best to put on a cheery hello, so I do when I answer immediately.
Bernard wastes no time. “Hunter, do you know anything about football?”
“Of course. I love it—”
“Blimey. Not our football. Everyone loves our football. I mean the other kind,” he says. “American football.” He sounds like he’s talking about turnips. “The one with the fifth downs and the right ends and the welcome backs, and what-the-hell-ever.”
That’s what I was referring to when I said I loved it—American football. I simply laugh and say, “Yes, I’m familiar with how it works. Touchdowns, extra points, holding penalties, pass interference and whatnot.”
“Oh, bless you. I had a feeling, since you spent that time in the US in uni and whatnot. Anyway, this is totally a last-minute thing but we’re expanding our team—ha ha, I’m getting into the sports analogies—for our coverage of the NFL games in Europe that we’re streaming. We need you on the production straightaway,” he says.
I knew Webflix had acquired the streaming rights to the NFL games in London, Paris, Vienna, and Prague, but this was not on my personal goals list because it seemed impossible. “You are?” I ask, confirming he’s for real before I go full holy fucking amazeballs.
“I’m taking you off the New York trip and I’m sending you to San Francisco right now. You’ll meet with the Hawks PR department tonight to go over the plans for the game next weekend.”
All at once, every system in my body slams into overdrive. My mind races around the bend. I can use this high-profile chance to show my boss what I’m capable of as a producer.
Hell, I can show my father that he’s not the only one in the family who knows what the hell he’s doing when it comes to TV creativity.
My libido races into overdrive too.
Since, well, that fucker is always busy. But c’mon. San Francisco was the site of my last hookup. San Francisco is where Nate ‘Strapping Stud’ Chandler lives. I hooked up with the pro athlete there a few months ago. Sure, there’s probably little chance he’s free after the game, but you never know. Maybe I could see him tonight? He did say to look him up if I was in town.
I will look him up so fast. I will text him faster than any man has texted another man.
Wait.
I slam on the horndog brakes.
Did Bernard mention a dinner tonight with the PR department?
I slump, all my dirty plans taking a backseat. Even if Nate’s free I won’t be able to see him tonight.
But…tomorrow is another day.
And where there’s an eager dick, there’s a way.
Perhaps I can see the American hunk in the morning. We have serious unfinished business. But when I’m on the phone with my boss it’s not the time to go down dirty rabbit holes. “Perfect. I would love to go,” I say to Bernard.
“Excellent. There’s a flight to San Francisco that leaves in two hours. Have you got enough time to make that? It’s thirty minutes earlier than your prior flight.”
I’m a bloody genius for giving myself extra time. “Absolutely,” I say, thanking the planner in me.
“Great. Consider it booked. And since we won’t need you in New York next week, we’ll bring you back to London right away to get working on the pre-game coverage. But we can’t get you out of San Francisco until Saturday morning now. Can you amuse yourself in San Francisco for a day?”
Does my dick get hard all the way to the tip and into the next county?
“I’m sure I can find a way,” I say diplomatically.
The moment we ring off, I stab open my contacts and search furiously for the man I’ve wanted to text ever since I met him at the carnival.
I find Nate’s deets and start a message.
Hunter: Hey gorgeous…Remember me? The guy who pied you?
Cringe. I erase that written monstrosity and start over.
Hunter: Hey handsome. It’s the guy who got down on his knees and blew you in your kitchen last summer.
But what if lots of guys blow him in his kitchen? He has both a really nice kitchen and a really nice dick. I could be one mouth among many.
I try again.
Hunter: Hey Nate. It’s Hunter. We met at the carnival in June, and you pitched me on a show idea and then rocked my world when I sucked you off.