Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Yes, I do,” Josh says, then claps my shoulder.
We go inside and order drinks, then I can’t wait any longer. “Bring it on,” I say, beckoning for him to tell me the news.
Josh holds up one finger. “First. Boyfriend Material sent me the terms of the deal today,” he says.
When he rattles them off, I whistle. “Hot damn, that’ll cover pretty much a year of medical school.”
Josh looks pleased. “And you want to know why they were so keen on it? Why they wanted to lock it in?”
The server brings our drinks and I thank her. Then Josh and I clink glasses.
“Because of the thirst trap I sent?” I ask, answering him as I take a drink of my bourbon.
“Yes, exactly. But also because Boyfriend Material is the exclusive dating app partner for Rafe Rodman,” he says.
I freeze, the glass midair, the condensation sliding down the side. “What?”
Why the hell did he just mention . . . my lover’s company?
“Rafe Rodman. The underwear you modeled in the thirst trap. You were flirting with the owner online,” Josh says, like he needs to jog my memory.
Yeah, I know who he is, thank you very much.
“But what does his company have to do with Boyfriend Material?” I ask heavily, an anchor sinking in my gut.
“Boyfriend Material is a corporate partner of Rafe Rodman, and they use the same marketing agency. Not only does Boyfriend Material want you to create some fun content on making a thirst trap, but the agency wants you for a new marketing campaign for the underwear.” He punctuates his deal-making with a rocker salute. “Boom. Who looks out for you, Gun?”
I gulp, the heat draining from my face. “Rafe Rodman wants me?”
The double meaning. Oh, the fucking double meaning.
“Yes,” Josh says.
Still, something doesn’t add up. “Are you sure?”
Josh grins, wide and proud. “I got you two deals, man. Who’s the best agent ever?”
“You are,” I say, but I’m not feeling it. I should be jumping up and dancing on the bar. Sponsorship deals pay mortgages. They fund retirements. They pay tuition.
“They totally want you. Apparently, Rafe’s company is launching a whole new marketing campaign and they want you to be the face of the You Do You campaign.” Josh scratches his chin. “Oh wait, is it the butt? Do they want you to be the butt of it? Or the pelvis? Or the cock of it?”
I can’t even laugh. My head spins with questions like, Is this really happening? And, Did my agent seriously just offer me a deal to partner with my lover’s company?
Rafe’s obsessed with honesty, but he’s been working a deal for me without letting on? Is he trying to buy me?
“Is this for real?” I press. “Are you sure?”
Josh laughs. “I am this sure,” he says, then gives me the dollar amount.
This double offer is real, indeed, to the tune of . . . a fuck-ton of money. But something else will collapse. I know it. Because there’s no way I can have it all.
Josh and I leave the bar, and when he takes off, I stand on the street corner in a daze, trying to figure out where I’m going next.
My phone buzzes, and I check it with a sense of foreboding.
Rafe: Here’s the code to my building. 5512.
I stare at it for endless minutes, debating where to go, what to do, and how much to say to the man who’s trying to buy me.
30
THE PRICE OF ME
Gunnar
I am not for sale.
I can’t be bought for thirty days or for even one night. But it sure looks like that’s what Rafe is trying to do.
What other explanation is there for the timing of this deal to be the face—or cock—of his brand? I march back toward my house, building up a new head of steam as I go. The man made such a song and dance about honesty and then . . . this. This deal that makes it seem as if he’d own me.
I huff out a breath. I want to hit the treadmill. I want to lift weights. I want to move. I need to burn off this annoyance with a run that makes my thighs scream.
But I also need to see Rafe and get to the bottom of this latest move in his game of sex chess.
I stop by my place for my car, then peel away from Hayes Valley and cut across town. The route takes me toward the ballpark. My home away from home. The place where I feel most like myself.
Rafe lives near there, and when his building comes into view, I let out a long exhale of begrudging admiration. The dude is loaded, no doubt. He lives in the most exclusive skyscraper in the city, in the penthouse, of course. I drive into the parking garage, pull into a visitor spot, and cut the engine. In the elevator, I punch in Rafe’s key code.