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)
“Uhm, your shorts too,” I tell him.
He’s still pulling me along, trying to get us out of public view, but that gives him pause. He glances down, seeing what I’ve already seen . . . the same way my shirt’s hugging my breasts, his shorts are highlighting the outline of his dick. And it’s apparent that my breasts and maybe that kiss are still having quite an effect on him.
In a flash, my work brain takes over. “We just did damage repair on your reputation. We have to get you out of sight or the next headline’s gonna be ‘Carson Steen, pervert flasher,’ with a close-up of your dick.”
He groans, covering himself with his other hand. “Stop talking about my dick so it’ll go down.”
I can’t help but giggle. “You said ‘go down’.” Shaking my head, I say more seriously, “Not the time, got it.”
“This way,” he says, leading me straight into a railing. But then he scoops me up and sets me down carefully on the other side. He hops the railing after me and explains, “There’s one of those big dryers on the other side of this line of shrubbery.”
The situation hits me fully. We’re dripping wet, fully involved in an open and shut case of public indecency, ducking though bushes in the middle of an amusement park, hoping not to be seen. This is not my life. This is the kind of shit I save people from.
But here I am.
And I’m not regretting it. In fact, I’m trying to not laugh at the crazy predicament that all started with something as normal as a kiss on a bridge.
We pop out of the bushes, and thankfully, there’s no one in line to use the huge dryer. We step into it, and the machine turns on, nearly blowing me back with its roaringly loud warm air. I peel my tank top from my skin, hoping it’ll dry a bit faster that way, and Carson pulls his shorts out so you can’t see how much he’s tenting them.
Our eyes meet, and then we both burst out laughing. “You think anyone saw us?” I manage to bark out between laughs, hoping the answer’s no. “Anyone with a phone, at least?”
Carson looks at me incredulously. “Jayme, everyone saw us. But the funny thing is, I don’t think anyone cared about who I am. They were just laughing along with us.”
“Shit. I’m so getting fired,” I tease.
“Maybe next time we go out, we wear something a little less see-through?” he suggests, moving in close to block me from any passerby’s view. “The souvenir shop does offer this stuff in blue.”
“Hey! You bought it for me. Maybe this was your grand plan all along?” I joke, knowing full well that he had zero intention of flashing my nipples or his dick to the entirety of Americana Land. Then what he said hits me. “Next time?” I echo with a sly smile, letting my fingers trace over the bumps of his abs that I can still see through his shirt.
“The Americana Land charity event. Would you be my date?” Carson asks formally.
This is more than a simple question. Potentially, Carson won’t be my client by the time the event happens in two weeks, so any appearance together would be acceptable. But depending on how the numbers from yesterday’s festival pan out, I might still be needed as a PR consultant for Americana Land, which would make a public outing like that a bad idea. Today, running around the park together is one thing, but an event like that will have photographers and media, and we’ll be labeled as a couple simply by walking in together. Either that, or they’ll imply that Carson is on such a short leash that he can’t attend an event without a chaperone to keep him on the right path.
I don’t know what to do. Obviously, I want to go with Carson. But I have to put his well-being first. Mine too, though that’s secondary at best.
“I don’t know what people will say about us,” I confess, wanting him to understand that I’m not hesitating because of us, but rather because I’m worried about our images.
“When have I ever given a fuck what they say?” he observes baitingly. “Come on, live dangerously, Jayme. Gamble on me this time.”
He makes zero debatable points, but nevertheless, he wins me over easily.
“I would love to.”
CHAPTER 22
CARSON
I order in a full celebration spread for our Monday meeting—bagels, muffins, donuts, and even some bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits. Plus high-octane coffee, of course. Even though it’s early, everyone rolls in with smiles and excited greetings. They know the Freedom Fest was a rip-roaring success too.
“Please help yourself to breakfast,” I offer. “It’s a small token of appreciation for all your hard work on the Freedom Fest project. I can’t wait to hear everyone’s take on how it went.”