Page 37 of King of Hollywood

“I…what?” I repeated, brain broken.

“Barry said he already signed you up, because he’d been certain you’d say yes, seeing as it was for charity—and you occasionally work for a non-profit on the weekends.” For a moment I was tempted to call bullshit. But then I remembered that I had actually told Barry that—one summer nearly five years ago when I’d been heading out to stalk my yearly kill and I’d needed an excuse to be gone for several weeks.

He hadn’t bothered me ever since.

Oops.

Don’t look at me like that.

I never claimed to be a good person.

Shame on you.

“Right…the non-profit,” I agreed numbly. “But I…uh.”

Uh, uh, idi-uh-t, I chided myself for stumbling over my words.

“The dunk booth is Friday,” Felix was watching me, his tone gentle. “Tomorrow.”

“But what about—” I glanced at him, then Barry, grimacing. I’d asked Felix out, but that didn’t necessarily mean I wanted Barry to know about it. Not because I was ashamed—but because Barry was actually the worst. The fucking worst. And I didn’t want him to know about anything that I did—especially stuff I cared about.

“Why don’t you come with me?” Felix was still watching me, and he was acting so…so sweet. My chivalrous little gremlin man. His shoulders were squared, his arms tucked into his armpits. His pecs looked especially likable today with his arms crossed. I could see the supple curve of them through the clingy fabric of his oh-so-soft sweater. I kind of wanted to grab them to see how they felt as solid as they looked.

“Okay,” I agreed, bitterly aware that we’d been cockblocked. Date-blocked? By Barry of all people. What an asshole.

Felix’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his attention turning from me back to Barry. “So. Is that fine?”

Already, he was leagues more confident than he’d been when we’d been together with Winnie. Like he was finally coming out of his shell.

I was seeing the true Felix, and he was just as gorgeous as his pitiful, needy monster had been.

Barry squinted at him, his permanent sunburn looking ruddier than normal as he scratched his head thoughtfully. He had Hair with a capital H. And by that, I meant—he was the kind of man who made his hair his entire personality, despite looking like a toe-thumb.

“You’ll take the whole shift I signed him up for?” Barry was eyeing Felix warily, like he wasn’t sure what to make of him. Almost like he was…scared of him.

Oh, god.

That made my dick twitch.

Or maybe—what made my dick react was the look Felix was giving him. Like he wanted to squash him beneath the heel of his lovely, vintage shoe. God, I’d pay good money to see that.

“Absolutely not,” Felix’s sunglasses slipped down his nose, his gaze threatening. I shivered, observing him with barely concealed lust. “I’ll work the booth for an hour—out of courtesy to you and the charity you’re working for. You’ll have to fill the other three hours.”

Barry had been planning on making me work four hours in the booth?

Goddammit. I had never been more tempted to murder someone.

Don’t shit where you eat, don’t shit where you eat, don’t shit where you eat.

“But—”

“No buts,” Felix’s gaze was positively chilly. “You didn’t ask for Marshall’s consent before signing him up. That was incredibly inconsiderate. This is your problem. You fix it. I think taking an hour shift—considering the fact that you were the one that was rude in this situation—is more than enough.”

Barry’s glare was not nearly as pretty as Felix’s.

“Fine,” Barry frowned as he stepped away from the hood of my car. Victory tasted like Felix’s shampoo. Especially when I leaned down to surreptitiously sniff him as he twisted to glare at Barry all the way off the property.

My rabid little chihuahua man.