Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“And where will I find this footage?” Harry’s an assistant producer, so I’m higher up than him. That’s still a weird thought, that anyone works for me. Took me a few years to land a job here. I applied post-uni, but no one gave me the time of day until Sarah passed along my CV earlier this year. I still feel like the new guy at Webflix. Mostly I am, but I snagged a promotion at the end of the summer.
If only the promotion would help me remember where that damn footage is. Think, Hunter, think. I snap my fingers. “It’s on the hard drive,” I say, more victorious than the matter calls for.
Nate snickers.
“The shared hard drive,” I add, stifling a laugh that’s Nate’s fault.
I hear a louder snicker from his direction.
“Thanks. I’ll look there,” Harry says. “And you’ll be back for the Sunday morning breakfast meeting?”
“Of course,” I say, quickly calculating the time difference between Vegas and London, then the flight length. “Thanks so much, Harry,” I say, then hang up.
Nate arches a brow. “So, Harry should be able to find the package on the hard drive?”
“Well, where else does one put packages?”
“I’ve got a few ideas,” he says, all low and sexy.
A blush creeps across my cheeks. “Me too,” I say.
I have so many ideas that have fueled so many solo flights. I’m dying to bring them up. But here at the airport, surrounded by tired, annoyed travelers, is not the time to break out the hey, are we going to bang tonight, and when, and how should we prep and plan for it, and sex with you is going to be so much better than porn, but I’m also mildly freaking out because I don’t want to mess it up.
But I’ll have to broach the subject soon because the heat of the moment won’t be the ideal time, either.
Nate nudges my elbow, and my insides jump.
“So is this a new gig for you, working in sports?” he asks.
“Yes, it is,” I say, grateful to talk about something other than the myriad questions I have for this man. Like, how exactly do you want your hands and mouth all over me? “It all came about unexpectedly, but a lot of my colleagues figure I know something about sports since I went to uni in San Francisco.”
That sparks his interest. “Oh yeah?”
“Let’s just say I was eager to get away from home,” I say. Translation—I wanted to be far away from my dad.
“You picked really far,” Nate says, and he probably assumes I mean England, but I don’t add that my father lives in New York. I only applied to schools in London and California—since neither are quick car rides away from New York.
“Yes, definitely far enough,” I say, a little evasively.
“When did you graduate?”
“Three years ago.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, man. You’re young.”
Is that a problem for him? “I’m not that much younger than you,” I point out.
He arches a brow. “You know my age?”
“Well, we are covering you now. It’s part of the full media package on you,” I say, and he laughs. Then I add, “So, I looked you up.”
That’s not the whole truth. I looked Nate up the second I left his home last summer after our fantastic afternoon. I looked him up again yesterday, along with the other athletes, as I traveled to San Francisco. “You’re twenty-nine. Does it bother you that I’m twenty-four?”
The question comes out full of tension. If he’s bothered by this small age difference, will he be bothered by the experience gap?
Nate moves closer, bumping his shoulder to mine. “Shoot. No, sorry. Didn’t mean to make it sound that way. But I played a rough game last night. I always feel old the day after a game.”
Ah, that makes sense. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you looked super sexy all sweaty and banged up.”
“I’d like to see you all sweaty,” he says in a low rumble.
Maybe this is the moment. Maybe the moment doesn’t need to be big and weighty. Just tell him this is all new to you. He likes you.
I’m working out the best way to start when the crackle of the loudspeaker interrupts my thoughts.
“The flight to Vegas is delayed another hour.”
There’s a collective grumble from the passengers including me. The delay is eating away at the time we have together.
Just say it.
But my phone trills with another work call. “Better take this.”
“Go for it, handsome,” he says.
Handsome. I’ve officially earned a nickname, and it’s a sexy yet classy one too.
Oh, settle down.
But I turn away so he can’t see how much I like it when he calls me handsome.
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