Page 55 of Dedicated
“You have a show soon?”
“No.” He colored faintly. “I meant at my place.” He inclined his chin a fraction, whatever hint of sheepishness he’d just displayed now overridden by that defiant lift, a hint of both challenge and promise in his eyes. Shit, I was slow on the uptake today. Owen was cute, but no way. I’d told Evan the truth; he’d destroyed me. New territory for me, because I rarely said no. Rarely wanted to.
“Not a fucking chance.” Speak of the devil; Evan’s arm latched around my waist and squeezed like a boa constrictor. His tone of voice had “mine” stamped all over it. Vocal territoriality. I could get into that.
Owen’s cheeks flamed in full blush, and he shook his head quickly. “My bad, dude. I thought that shit was fake.”
“What gave you that impression?” I was curious, even if he was kind of right.
“Adam Slade had this whole piece on PR hacks that was up on Tattletales this morning. I mean, he didn’t call it out blatantly, but he suggested it, so I just thought…” Owen winced and fidgeted.
“Was your cock in my ass last night, or did I dream that?” Evan said, cocking his head to the side like he was confused.
My jaw threatened to drop. “It was definitely buried deep inside you. And you’redefinitelybeing a dick right now.” I picked up my bag from the counter and leaned in toward Owen. “Sorry. He’s not usually a dick, and I will listen to your stuff, but by myself. I don’t know what that article says, but trust me, it’s an oversimplification.”
Outside,I started laughing. “What the hell was that?”
“I want to know what this article says.” Evan glowered as he reached into his pocket for his phone.
“All right. Can you drop the alpha-hole mode for a while? Dude was just flirting.” And then I got it. “Shit, you were jealous. Awww, sweetheart.”
“I warned you,” Evan groused as I chuckled.
I darted after him as he stalked toward the car. Halfway through the parking lot I shouldered into him. He huffed out a breath, his expression heated and stern when I clenched his shirt in my fist.
“I had no interest in hooking up with that guy, Porter. I can still taste you, and as soon as we get back to the cabin, I’m gonna help myself to more.”
His eyes flashed as he pushed me off him, but that shove came accompanied by a smile and the quick streak of his mouth across my jaw. He was slow to release the waistband of my jeans.
When we got back to the cabin, I fully intended to strip him painfully slowly and ride him until we both fell apart.
Except that didn’t happen, because Evan looked up that stupid article on the ride home.
Chapter 32
“He could have said a lot worse, I guess.” Les tossed his plastic bag of records on the floor and flopped onto the couch. He plucked restlessly at some loose threads on the worn plaid cushions.
“I haven’t gotten all the way through it, yet.” I had the article open on my phone and scrolled down to continue reading. “‘This time-honored tradition of PR stunts that manipulate the listening public for ratings stretches from movie star pairings and reality shows and trickles all the way down to beloved alt-rock musicians who pride themselves on their gritty, honest, down-home sound, yet have no problem faking a relationship in the hopes of boosting lagging sales.’” I glanced up at Les to find his expression souring. “‘I’m looking at you, Porter & Graves, who’ve been careful not to precisely confirm one thing or another, but have been conveniently spotted around a small Tennessee town in very cozy company with each other.’”
“Technically it’s supposition,” he said. And it felt like we were back at the beginning.
“Technically, his evidence is as solid as your dick down the back of his throat,” I pointed out.
“He didn’t say that, though, the fucker. Would’ve jeopardized his journalistic integrity. Fuck him.”
“Too bad you did.” I didn’t mean for it to come out as snappishly as it did.
Les made a face. “He’s just bitter because I didn’t return the favor. And stop harping on me about that. It’s over and done with.”
I continued to quote, “‘And while it’s easy to buy into a high-profile, top-of-the-tier pair like bubbly film star Leah Price and crowd-pleasing pop singer, Justin Wolf, pairings like mercurial, megawatt creative Evan Porter and his bad-boy, train-wreck-waiting-to-happen counterpart, Les Graves, is a ridiculous notion that asks us to suspend far too much disbelief. Porter is too calculated and business-minded to get involved with that mess.’ So yeah, he’s definitely a little bitter.”
Les bolted upright on the couch. “That piece of shit. That’s gotta be slander.”
“It’s op-ed and we’re public figures. He’s untouchable on this.” I tried to hold back my amusement at Les’s sudden indignation, but it was helping me avoid thinking about how quickly this was all getting out of hand, both in public and private.
“Sounds like he’s got a boner for you. Maybe you should’ve been the one sucking his cock.”
I took the verbal jab on the chin while Les paced in front of the couch, biting the corner of his thumbnail so hard and fast, the sound of his teeth clicking filled the air. “So what do we do now?”