Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Kaden
When the Warm-Up Feels Like the Game
While we eat—or while she eats and I push chicken around my plate—Valentina goes on about the different things I can do to clean up the media mess. Apparently, my “bad boy” reputation needs more than a quick fix.
“Start smiling in public. Genuine smiles, not the ‘I’m-gonna-kill-you’ ones you’ve got mastered,” she says, waving her fork at me like a teacher scolding a naughty student. “And stop ignoring fans who approach you. Take a picture or sign something—even if you’re in a shitty mood.”
I grunt in response, stabbing a piece of broccoli. I could tell her about the valet parking guy or how I do stop when is just one or two people. It’s when things happen in masses that I freak out, but I choose not to say a word.
She keeps going. “Charity events would help too. Get your face out there in a good way. Smile at some puppies, hold a baby or two—just don’t look like you’re in pain while doing it.”
By the time she finishes her cake, we’ve gone over about a dozen ways for me to change my image: public appearances, community outreach, maybe even a viral TikTok moment. She has the right people who can create these moments without me being on social media—or having my own account.
She plans to coordinate with the Barracudas publicists and the PR department. I’ll agree to whatever she wants if it means I can escape this meeting. Honestly, she may be a little unprofessional with the way she practically fucks her cake, but damn if she doesn’t know what she’s doing. I actually don’t mind leaving this up to her. That’s saying a lot because I’m usually a control freak about my career.
“While talking to Jacob,” she starts, carefully placing her fork on her empty plate, “we decided I should go wherever you go. Unless it’s something directly related to the team, I’m there.”
“No,” I say flatly, crossing my arms.
She rolls her eyes. “Believe me, I’m not a fan of the idea either, but it makes sense. If people are going to believe we’re together, we need to actually be seen together. Restaurants, events, casual outings. The works. A relationship doesn’t stay secret when it’s real, Kaden.”
“Great, so I get to hang out with you while pretending we’re madly in love? That sounds fucking amazing,” I mutter, pretending is a burden. It’s not like I don’t want to, I’m afraid of what can happen if I’m with her alone for too long.
“Hey, I’m not thrilled about giving up my life to follow you around either. But if you’d like to keep your sponsors and your reputation—whatever’s left of it—you’ll deal with it,” she retorts.
“Sounds a lot like you’re getting the better end of this deal.”
Her lips quirk up in a smirk. “Oh, absolutely. I’m thrilled to be spending my days tied to a grumpy man-child. Truly, it’s a dream come true.”
I glare at her, but she just raises an eyebrow like she’s daring me to argue. I grind my teeth for a second before throwing my fork onto the plate with a loud clatter. “Fine. Whatever.”
Her grin widens like she’s won the fucking lottery. “See? This wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
That’s when I notice the smudge of chocolate frosting at the corner of her mouth. “You’ve got cake on your face,” I huff, gesturing vaguely.
Her eyes widen, and she fumbles for her napkin. “Oh no, really? Where?”
“Left side,” I say, watching as she dabs at her cheek. Her brows knit together in concentration, her frantic movements only making it worse.
“Did I get it?” she asks, looking at me expectantly.
“Missed it,” I mutter, shaking my head. She tries again, smearing the frosting even further.
I sigh, leaning forward before I can stop myself. “Here. Let me.”
Her eyes widen slightly as I reach out, my thumb brushing her cheek. Her skin is soft, warm, and for a moment, the air between us shifts. My touch lingers a second too long, and I swear I hear the faint hitch of her breath.
Then my mind derails, spiraling into dangerous territory. The thought sneaks in, unbidden: what if she licked my finger? Took it into her mouth, her tongue warm and slow as she cleaned it. Those lips of hers, soft and defiant, wrapping around me with that little smirk she always wears.
Fuck.
I almost ask her to do it—to watch her lips close around me, to call her my good girl and see how she reacts. But that’s not where it ends. No, my thoughts spiral deeper, darker.
I picture her spread out on this very table, her tits smeared with chocolate, her body mine to devour. Her legs open wide, her pussy slick and inviting as I paint her with frosting, only to replace every trace of sweetness with my tongue. Her breathless moans would echo in my ears, her fingers gripping my hair as I tasted every inch of her, the chocolate nothing compared to the way she’d come undone beneath me.
Or maybe it’s my cock I’d coat with that frosting, thick and aching as I slide it between her lips, watching as she takes me deep, deeper, all the way until she chokes on it. Until her mascara runs and she looks up at me with a filthy smile, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks harder. Then I’d come, spilling into her mouth, making her swallow every last drop, turning her into my dirty slut. Mine. Completely and utterly mine.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I force myself to pull my hand back, shoving the thoughts away as hard as I can. The last thing I need is for my publicist—and fake girlfriend, for fuck’s sake—to know what I want to do to her. To know how badly I want to ruin her in every possible way.
“Got it,” I say, my voice low, rough around the edges, as if I haven’t just had the filthiest fantasies of my life in the span of ten seconds.
She blinks, her lips parting slightly like she’s about to say something, but the words don’t come. Her cheeks flush, a soft pink spreading across her skin, and I feel a sharp pang of smug satisfaction.
She’s not unaffected.
Good.
But fuck if that doesn’t make me want her even more.
“See?” I add, leaning back in my chair. “Not so hard.”
She swallows, regaining her composure with a small shake of her head. “Well, aren’t you just my knight in shining armor?”
“Don’t get used to it,” I grumble, grabbing my water and focusing on the glass as if it holds the secrets of the universe. Anything to avoid looking directly at her. My thumb still tingles where it touched her.
I hate that I’m still thinking about it.
She chuckles softly, and this time, it’s not the triumphant sound I’ve grown used to. It’s lighter, almost . . . shy. My gaze flickers to her, catching the faint blush still dusting her cheeks, and a thought slams into me with the subtlety of a freight train.
Does she blush like that everywhere?
The image takes over, unbidden and unstoppable. I picture her across my lap, her skirt hitched up, panties pulled aside. My palm leaves a red mark on her ass, her skin warm and sensitive as she squirms, her breath hitching with every smack.
“More,” she’d moan, her voice breathy and full of need.
My fingers would slide between her thighs, finding her slick and ready, her body arching against mine as I bury two fingers deep inside her. She’d grind against my hand, her ass still stinging from my palm, her soft moans turning into desperate pleas.
“Please,” she’d beg, her head thrown back, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her blush would spread—across her chest, down her neck, everywhere. The most beautiful fucking shade of red, like I’d claimed her completely.
I’d take my time with her, making her come on my fingers, over and over, until she’s shaking in my arms, panting and broken in the best way.
Fuck.
I clear my throat, the sound too loud in the quiet space between us. My fingers twitch, and I drop my napkin, hoping the action will shake me out of this goddamn spiral.
It’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid. That’s the problem. Definitely the problem. And I need to rectify it. Soon.
“We should probably go,” I mutter before I do something stupid—like try to fuck her on this table.
Valentina rises, brushing imaginary crumbs off her skirt, and begins gathering her things. The scattered array of papers disappears into her briefcase with surprising efficiency.
“Well, I guess that’s everything,” she says cheerfully, slinging the strap over her shoulder. “Thanks for the cake.”
I raise an eyebrow as she heads for the door. “Wait—you’re not paying for this?”
She pauses mid-step, glancing back with a mischievous grin. “No, big man. You got it.” Then, with a wink that’s equal parts infuriating and sexy, she walks away like she owns the fucking place, leaving me staring at the check on the corner of the table.
My mouth hangs open for a second, disbelief freezing me in place. The audacity.
I finally grab my wallet and drop a hundred dollar bill on the table, when I hear it.
A dramatic gasp echoes from the doorway, loud enough to turn heads. “Oh my God,” Valentina exclaims, her voice dripping with exaggerated wonder. “It’s Kaden Crawford. I can’t believe he’s here.”
The minute the words leave her mouth, the restaurant erupts. Fans rush toward me, their voices blending into a chaotic blur of “Kaden. Can I get a picture?” and “Sign this, please.” I barely have time to process what’s happening before I’m surrounded, a sea of eager faces pushing closer.
I glance toward the door, and there she is, laughing as she walks out, her shoulders shaking with amusement. She planned this.
I bite back a curse, forcing a tight smile as someone shoves a napkin in my face. Anxiety twists in my gut, but there’s no escape. Not without making a scene.
“Sure,” I say through gritted teeth, taking the pen offered to me and scrawling my name. Someone else hands me their phone for a selfie, and I oblige, my jaw aching from how hard I’m clenching it.
“Alright, people, let’s give him some space.” Valentina’s voice cuts through the noise, authoritative and calm. She’s back in the restaurant, her hands raised like she’s corralling a herd of overexcited puppies. “One at a time, please. He’ll get to everyone, but we need to keep it orderly.”
I blink, surprised as the crowd actually listens to her. Somehow, she manages to organize the chaos into a manageable line.
“Deep breath,” she murmurs as she passes by me, her voice low and soothing. “You’ve got this.”
Her words settle in my chest, quiet but grounding, like she knows exactly what I need to hear. I didn’t even realize how tight my chest felt until now, and suddenly, I’m breathing easier. I take a shaky breath, focusing on the here and now. Somehow, with her steady presence, it feels manageable.
I steal a glance at her as she keeps the line moving. She’s in control, completely unfazed, her mouth curving in a faint smile that’s half professional, half knowing. It hits me: she’s not just managing the crowd—she’s managing me. She’s anchoring me, reeling me back every time my anxiety starts to spike.
And it works. By the time the last selfie is snapped and the crowd disperses, I’m drained but calm, my nerves unraveled in a way I didn’t think possible.
Valentina turns to me, a triumphant grin lighting up her face. She’s far too pleased with herself, and damn if it doesn’t look good on her. “See? That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
I glare at her, though it’s all for show. There’s no heat behind it—not when she’s looking at me like that. “You’re evil.”
“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, her eyes sparkling with that same maddening confidence. “But it worked, didn’t it?”
I want to be annoyed, really I do. But instead, all I feel is . . . intrigued. Challenged, even. It’s been a long time since someone’s gotten under my skin in a way that didn’t just irritate me but also made me better. She doesn’t bark orders or demand compliance; she just steps in like it’s second nature, a quiet force pushing me forward.
It’s not the usual: do this and figure it out. With her, it’s: we’re doing this together, and we’re going to make it happen.
I watch her brush a stray lock of hair out of her face, her cheeks slightly flushed from the effort. She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow, daring me to say something. Instead, I just shake my head and look away, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
As much as I hate to admit it, this little arrangement with Valentina might just be the most fun I’ve had in years. And maybe—just maybe—I don’t mind it as much as I pretend to.