Page 31 of Breakaway
“You said only Henley could call you Blondie, so I improvised. I could call you GSW for gun-shot-wound if that makes you happier?”
Dax laughed as he tossed a pillow at Reed’s head, a smile on his face as he stroked his cat. I shook my head, not understanding male relationships at all, but took it to mean they liked one another. It seemed like they mostly communicated with barbs and farts.
“Whatever, Punchy. We should grab food from campus and stop at the hardware store to fix the door.”
“Do you know how to use a hammer?” Reed asked, lifting his brows. I discarded my attempt to find a shirt, finding their conversation a lot more stimulating.
“Pretty sure you know that answer. You’ve seen me in action, Bro.” Dax chuckled, bracing his hands behind his head. I didn’t miss the wince as his sides pulled where he was injured.
“Nope. I was too busy watching Henley,” Reed countered.
“Ready to go?” Fletcher asked as he stepped into the bedroom.
My body jolted, remembering I’d been doing something before I became distracted by the comedy duo. Both men had dropped so many walls, showing us who they were under their broody and grumpy exteriors. It was the best kind of peep show.
“Uh, yeah. One sec,” I said, pretending I hadn’t been staring at my two boyfriends and not getting dressed.
I grabbed the first hoodie I could find and pulled it over my head. Anything I needed to wear would be provided for me; I just had to make it to the car and back without scaring people. I stood, the hoodie dropping to my knees, and I realized it was one of the guys. Reed whistled, grabbing my attention as he licked his lips, his eyes on my chest.
“Damn. That’s hot. Can you wear that later with nothing underneath?” he asked, setting Lady to the side as he shifted his growing erection.
I looked down again and spotted the mascot for the Ice Breakers. Giving him a wink, I kissed both guys before skipping out of the room.
“I suddenly want to play a sport,” Dax muttered, making me laugh.
Fletcher took my hand as I neared the door, pulling me into his arms. His palms grasped my cheeks as he stared down at me.
“I need to kiss you because I have a feeling I won’t be able to for the next several hours. Watching you strut your stuff will be the best kind of torture, Baby Shaw.”
Fletcher pressed our lips together, not giving me a second to respond. His tongue demanded entry as he kept my face firmly in his grasp. I obeyed his direction, giving him exactly what he wanted as his tongue devoured me. A whiny moan raced up my throat as my hands fell to his hips and pulled him closer. Fletcher slowed the kiss, stepping back before I was ready, a knowing look on his face.
I panted, my heart racing as my body tried to follow him. My panties already felt damp, and I cursed him internally for making me have to be around people in this state.
“I’ll be right back.” I grimaced as I sprinted back to the bedroom, jumping over the suitcase that had tripped me earlier. “And move your stuff!” I hollered, letting out some of my sexual frustration.
Fletcher chuckled behind me, and the guys assessed me from head to toe as I reentered the bedroom. I quickly dug through my bag for some underwear, and shoved them into the hoodie pocket, and then sprinted out without a word.
Thankfully, Fletcher had moved his suitcase, and I made it safely to the hallway without another injury. His face was smug as we descended the stairs, his beard doing nothing to cover up the shit-eating grin. An idea built in my head, and I was more eager than ever to get to the shoot. Two could play this game, Fletch.
* * *
Reese yawned as the photographer moved them into a different pose, positioning their hockey stick in another direction. I had a new appreciation for models. This shit was hard. After a few hours of being poked and prodded as they fixed our hair, applied makeup, and dressed us in numerous outfits, I was beat. This might be fun for someone who enjoyed dressing up, but that wasn’t me. Reese, on the other hand, loved every second of it, and that was the only reason I put up with it.
“Henley, you’re frowning again. Remember that you love your sport,” the photographer said, winking at me.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t putting up with it as well as I thought.
Fletcher and Keaton snickered into their hands for the millionth time, loving that I had taken to this like a fish out of water.
“We’re almost done, Sis,” Reese encouraged, lifting their brows. The two other athletes smiled, making me blush.
Rohan Khatri, an Indian teen whose family had moved to the United States so he could pursue his dream, and Nova Hollace, the first African-American transgender woman to be appointed as the general manager of a professional team. Keaton had assembled an excellent representation of diversity, making me proud, and quite humbled, to be included. I felt so out of my league.
“That’s it, hold it there,” the photographer said.
I smiled, keeping my head tilted at an unnatural angle. It didn’t help that under all the lights, it was sweltering. The pound of makeup I had on kept any sweat from being visible, at least. As I faced the camera, I thought of all the things I could do after this that would be more enjoyable.
Filing my taxes.