Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I felt like I was inside a nonstop, churning tornado and I’d never escape. But I was always nice to fans of the TV show. I went through the motions, chatting with her and letting her get a photo.
It had been like this for the past few months. I’d gotten to experience a strange sliver of micro-fame. One second I was just a nobody, a construction worker in a tiny Colorado town, and then a couple of months ago, I’d made a random appearance in a pro football player’s TV show because I was helping renovate his house. The episode went viral online and for whatever reason, it made everyone want more of me. The show was Kace Tomlin’s, the mega-famous pro football player who was now dating my boss.
Now, because of those viral episodes, we were getting a shot at filming our own show, centered around the Fixer Brothers Construction Company.
People wanted more of us. More of me.
What a foreign concept. Nobody had ever asked for more of me before. I was always the one who was too much—too desperate, too clingy, even “too loving,” according to one of my past boyfriends.
I was someone that nobody had wanted, yet I had actual fans now—mostly online, but I’d been getting recognized more and more in person, too.
I chatted with a couple people at the bar for a few minutes as the camera crew got the shots they wanted. After the fans headed out I sat down at the bar, the barstool gently creaking.
Jax walked out behind the bar and my eyes were glued to him in an instant.
Oh, Jax. I found myself wishing I could be him, just for a moment, as I watched him carefully carrying a heavy plastic rack full of clean pint glasses, his biceps on full display.
Jax Walsh was always a breath of fresh air, and right now his life seemed like a fucking island paradise compared to mine—he was a tall, hot, straight frat boy in his senior year of college. He never seemed like he had a worry in the world, other than school, workouts, and frat parties.
Sure, people told me that I had a flair for exaggerating, but Jax was just fucking perfect. In every way.
Very unlike me.
And to call him eye candy would have been an understatement. I swore the chemical composition of my body changed every time I saw him. He was the bar’s resident heartthrob, and so straight, young, and out of my league that I’d given up hiding my attraction to him months ago. I could compliment Jax loudly and proudly, because both of us knew nothing would ever happen between us.
“Frat boy,” I said.
“Dracula,” he shot back, and I watched as he carefully set down the rack of glasses.
“Christ, put those biceps away,” I teased him. “You’re making all the other customers run away in fear.”
“They love it,” he said. “And you love it, too.”
“Can’t argue with that,” I said. “You are exactly what I need right now. My favorite frat boy, behind my favorite bar.”
He lifted an eyebrow at me. “Yeah? And how many guys do you know who are in fraternities?”
“I’m 29. So… zero, other than you.”
“So I’m not your favorite. I’m your one and only.”
I leaned an elbow on the wooden bar top, holding his gaze. “Argue all you want, but you’re still my favorite.”
I loved that his cheeks got a little flushed every time I tossed him a compliment. I’d become addicted to it over the last few months, and every time I came in, I lavished him with equal parts teasing and praise.
I didn’t know how it was possible for a tall, muscled frat guy to look so goddamn sweet all the time, but Jax managed it. He was probably every girl’s dream down at Boulder University, where he was in his final year of college. He was the total dreamboat package, with soft greyish-green eyes, dark brown hair, and the kind of body that could only belong to an athlete.
He took a quick break from organizing glasses behind the bar, and he looked me up and down. “Damn,” he said, meeting my gaze and then doing a double take down toward my fitted leather jacket. “You look good today.”
I gave him a nod. “I knew we’d be filming some extra day-in-the-life shots for the show, so I spruced up after work. You like the jacket?”
“I mean, you always look good,” he quickly added, even though he hadn’t been impolite at all. He cleared his throat, still gazing at my outfit. “No one rocks a hoodie like you do, most days. But yeah, um, tonight you look hot.”
Down, boy, I thought as my cock perked up under my jeans.
The straight guy’s just being nice to you.
I could tell he didn’t usually call other guys “hot,” though, and the awkward way it had come out of his mouth only served to turn me on a little more, against my better judgment.