Chapter 5 #2
“I’m live,” I say, smiling at him. “Say hi.”
He flashes me a quick, apologetic grin before turning his attention to the phone. His recovery from surprise to swoonable is impressive. And hot as freaking hell.
A dark Henley—blue or black, I’m not sure—shows off the ridges of his shoulders and the thickness of his chest. His arms fill out the sleeves until the fabric stops, bunched just above his powerful forearms. His smirk is the classiest version of porn that I’ve ever watched.
And his tone? Thick, rich, and charming.
“How’s everyone this afternoon?” he asks.
His chuckle stirs something deep in my core. I blame it on exhaustion … and on calling off my date with Matthew last weekend. A girl has needs, and mine are currently unmet.
“You guys need to settle the fuck down,” he says, licking his bottom lip through a grin.
I can practically hear the women moaning through the screen. I almost want to drag the phone down his body as a treat for my fans, but I don’t. Asking for his consent while in front of the camera doesn’t feel fair. Although a part of me thinks he’d love the attention.
“Why do they need to settle down?” I ask it as if I’m oblivious to how they’re melting down right now.
“Let’s just say our demographics are very, very different.”
The sparkle in his eyes is downright dangerous.
“This is why you knock before barging into my office,” I say, setting the tripod on my desk as memories of Friday’s comment section cross my mind like a ticker tape.
“The door was open, first of all.” He rounds my desk and stands just off camera. “Second, I found your keys in the break room and thought I’d be a good Samaritan and return them before you spend two hours digging through that hefty bag of yours.”
I sit in my chair and scoot my phone toward me. The commentary is a shitstorm, as expected.
brEAK ROOM? LIAR.
Oh, nice try. We know how you got her keys!
I bet that dick is fire.
I knew you were dating! @photogirliepop18 Told you!
GO LEGENDS! #numbereightysevenforever
Your kids are gonna be so gorgeous.
Marry me, Drake!
“Let’s get one thing clear before rumors start,” I say, laughing. “Drake and I are not a thing.” I point at him as I talk to my audience. “We’re not dating, and I don’t know whether any part of him is ‘fire’ or not.”
“This is excellent for a man’s ego,” Drake says, crouching beside me as the comments speed out of control. “I’m all fire, thank you,” he says, chuckling. “No, her keys were in the break room. Not my bedroom. But thank you for thinking I could pull a woman like her.”
I knock him with my knee. That only deepens his smirk … and raises my body temperature about three thousand percent.
“I don’t even remember having them in the break room,” I say, forcing a swallow and regaining control of my thoughts.
“Why does that not surprise me?” he mumbles, eyes lighting up at the phone. “I missed your name, but yes—Go Legends. I’ll be back in Illinois soon for a game.”
I roll my eyes. “If you want to talk sports, go to your office. We talk about fun stuff here.”
“Then let’s talk about fun stuff.”
“Okay,” I say, laughing. “I thought you said that you listened to my podcast.”
“I do.”
“Then you should know that our definition of fun stuff is relationships. Breakups. Gossip.” I slide my gaze to him. “Sex.”
He looks at me over his shoulder with a smirk. “Sounds fun to me.”
Our gazes collide, the energy between us shifting.
In one way, it’s reminiscent of the way it feels when I look at Audrey or Astrid across a room.
We’re on the same page and have each other’s backs.
There’s a comfort, an ease that’s built into that kind of friendship.
But, in another way, it’s a lot like I’m looking at a man just before he rips my clothes off.
“Fine,” I say, meeting the challenge in his eyes. I’m not about to broach sex, but bantering a bit certainly won’t hurt my ratings. And who am I to deny the people what they want? “I was discussing flowers with my producer today.”
“What about them?”
“Do you think if you’re in a relationship and fuck all the way up, that sending a bouquet of roses helps your case? Or is it a distraction from the transgression?”
His lips press together as he thinks. “I mean, I think sending roses to your woman—or whatever flower she likes, if she likes them—is always a good idea. But do I think it helps my case if I’ve messed up?” He shrugs. “I guess it depends on what I did.”
“What offense do you think it would help?” I ask.
He grabs the edge of my seat and adjusts his crouching position. His knuckles brush against my thigh. I do my very best to ignore it as a flurry of goose bumps runs along my skin beneath my clothes.
“Let’s say we got into an argument over something small,” he says, “and the next day I want her to know that she’s on my mind and I care about her. Then, yeah, I think flowers help. Don’t you?”
“Oh, this isn’t about me,” I say, laughing.
He shrugs. “Sure, it is.”
“Trust me. We don’t have time for this to be about me.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t like flowers? Because I call bullshit.”
My jaw falls open, and I laugh again. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ll never have to apologize to me after a fight because I don’t like flowers.
They remind me of dead people. You walk into a funeral home, and what’s the first thing that hits you?
The smell of flowers. I love massive bouquets for the people who like them, but that person isn’t me. ”
He grins. “Funny. I thought I distinctly smelled roses when I walked in here.”
He’s right, of course, but damn him for noticing. Does this man notice everything? Still, I’m not about to concede his point. That would be too easy.
“Drake, I think I know if I like flowers or not.”
“I think you’d love to get them. You don’t want to have to ask for them, and you don’t want them only sent when you’re pissed. That’s what I think.”
His blue eyes peer into mine as he casts a smug grin my way. This bastard.
“Don’t you have sportsball to talk about somewhere else?” I ask, knocking my shoulder gently against his. He’s a rock and doesn’t budge. “It’s baseball season, you know.”
He holds my gaze for a split second longer before turning to the camera. “If you agree with me, drop my name in the comments. If you agree with Gianna, drop hers. I’ll personally go through and count them tonight and see what the people think.”
I laugh as he stands, towering over me, and try to remain unaffected by the whiffs of his cologne as he moves. He turns to the door. Each step he takes sends another wave of comments begging him to stay.
“Thanks for the keys,” I call out.
He stops in the doorway. For a moment, I think he’s going to say something—probably an innuendo that won’t do either of us any good—but he leaves with a smirk instead.
I clear my throat and remember that I’m live. Shit. I grab my phone, palms sweaty, and smile. “Now that we’ve been rudely interrupted, let’s go back to me teasing about how amazing Friday’s show is going to be. Any guesses?”
As the names roll in mixed with a slew of inappropriate comments, I try to clear my head of all things Drake.
Because he has a way of throwing everything off its axis.
Including me, apparently.