Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
I’d recently worked the press tour for the movie they’d chosen, an overwrought drama. I would be fine never seeing another gloomy farmhouse scene from the way-too-long saga. Even though it put me way closer to Ezra than I wanted, I checked out my assigned bunk. It was surprisingly luxurious with an oversize twin bed, memory foam mattress, cushy bedding, private TV screen, USB ports, and recessed lighting. After a long stint in the military, I had no modesty, but I wasn’t about to strip down with Ezra mere inches away, sitting cross-legged in his bunk with the curtain open. I settled for removing my shoes and dress shirt before hefting myself up the narrow ladder.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Ezra said from below me, and it took me a moment to realize he meant the bunks and not anything related to my body. “I let Kate handle a lot of the decorating choices for the bus, but I put my bid in for high thread count sheets.”
“Very nice. The sub outfitters of the navy should take notes from your setup.”
“Ha.” He laughed, then stuck his head out of his bunk, like a gopher popping up on a golf course. “If you’re not tired and want a different show than the one in the lounge, you could come sit down here with me, watch an episode of this paramedic reality series I’m addicted to. Since you’re a fellow adrenaline junkie and all.”
Oh hell no. We might be more friendly now, but there was friendly, and then there was stupid. And I wasn’t stupid. “Nah. I’m bushed. Night, Ezra.”
I drew the curtain, but the motion of the bus and hum of the engine did nothing to tire me out, even after the long-ass day. I checked my work email and responded to a few urgent queries. And a definitely non-urgent humble brag from my father about some big new deal and sly inquiry about whether I had enough business to keep myself busy. No questions about how I was, not that I expected that from him. Daryl Lubov didn’t do sloppy things like emotions and deep conversations.
Gah. I clicked away from email, instead reviewing my plans for the St. Louis venue, but I was still annoyingly awake when a tapping sound came from below me.
Bump. Bump. Bump. It was steady and deliberate, as if Ezra was banging his foot against the top of his bunk. I didn’t want to poke my head out and tell him to knock it off because that was undoubtedly what he was aiming for.
Tap. Tap. Tap. This time I paid a little more attention. Morse Code? Maybe Ezra wasn’t simply drumming. It wasn’t an SOS, so it took me back to O-school basics to decipher. Invitation to message. Smiling despite my irritation, I flipped to the messaging app on my phone.
Yes? You have a message? I typed.
It worked! Ezra’s near-instantaneous reply had several excited emoji accompanying it. That summer of outdoor camp was money well spent. I’ll tell my mom.
She’ll be proud. What do you need? I was amused despite my better intentions to not get sucked into whatever game Ezra was playing.
Need? That’s a loaded question, Lieutenant. His reply confirmed he was playing at something, and I could almost hear his flirty tone and see his hooded eyes.
How are you not tired after all that hopping around the stage? I asked, genuinely amazed at his endless energy. He could put a lot of SEALs to shame with his capacity to keep plowing ahead.
Were you watching?
Of course, I was watching. You’re paying me to watch. I knew perfectly well that wasn’t what he’d been implying, and a soft groan came from below me.
That’s not what I mean. Do you like watching me?
Now I was the one to groan. Are you seriously trying to sext me up?
Would it work?
My cock pulsed against my fly. I’d never been one for sexting because trading pics and texts was a piss-poor substitute for the real deal, but apparently, my cock was more opportunistic than my brain. I typed quickly. Your band members are inches away. I thought you don’t do public orgies?
His soft laugh was barely audible yet made me shiver nonetheless. There’s a whole lot of ground between flirting and orgy, Lieutenant. Surely you should know that.
Flirting with you is dangerous, I admitted.
Because you like it?
Yes, yes, I liked it. Way too much. I wasn’t even convinced his interest was genuine, but there was something utterly compelling about Ezra, every look, every flirty word. Because you’re a client, this is a job, and I need to remember that.
Such strict rules. I think if you relaxed your work/play boundaries, you’d be happier. People sleep around on the job all the time.
I frowned and replied, I know. My father is Daryl Lubov, after all. For all his Hollywood power, my dad was also notorious for his affairs. My ears buzzed, the memory of school taunts about his exploits never fully fading. The revolving door parade of stepmothers had made me an easy target. In recent years, there had been multiple long-form expose articles about his behavior and public questioning about why he continued to have such power and influence. I’d chosen the navy because I wanted to be better than him as a person, have honor and respectability, but he made it damn hard to outrun his shadow.