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THIRTY-TWO

Ella

GEORGE PHILLIPS IS one of those guys who knows anyone and everyone. Want to try out a new restaurant but there’s a four-month long wait list? No problem—he knows the chef and can get you a reservation at 7:00 p.m. on a Friday. Dying to go to an Arsenal F.C. game? It just so happens that he went to university with the general manager. If I wasn’t so impressed, I’d be mildly concerned by his mafia-level connections.

The moment I asked him if he knew anyone in the podcasting space—just so I could ask some questions and pick their brain—he put me in touch with Remi Barnes. The same Remi who hosts Josie’s favorite podcast: Dating and Dildos. Turns out George’s wife plays tennis with Remi’s mom. Go figure.

To say Remi and I have different areas of expertise is the understatement of the year—she knows about footjobs and I know about football—but I appreciate that she’s willing to sit down and chat. I’m all in favor of women supporting women.

We’re meeting for coffee in an hour, and I’ve changed about ten times already. I take off the sweater dress I’m wearing and add it to the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor. It’s a lost cause. Everything looks like I’m trying too hard or not trying hard enough. Blake walks into the bath-room, and I snatch up my robe from the ground, quickly putting it back on.

“Don’t go all shy on me now, El.” Blake chuckles gruffly. “I quite enjoy it when you’re naked. Did you forget I ate you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner yesterday?”

My cheeks turn pink at the memory. His kitchen table has seen some very explicit things. Hell, everywhere in his house has.

“I’m supposed to be dressed, not naked,” I remind him. “I still have to go over my notes, review my questions, and print out my résumé.”

My mind is going a million miles an hour, unable to stop spinning.

“It’s not an interview, love.” Blake walks over to where I’m standing and pulls me against him. “Stop stressing. You’re going to be brilliant.”

“Did you know there are over two million podcasts? And less than twenty percent of new podcasts survive the first year.” Burying my face into his chest, I sigh. “I just don’t want to fail again.”

“Eliana,” he says sternly. I flinch at the use of my full name. He never calls me that unless he’s dead serious. “You did not fail.”

I swallow the dryness from my throat. “What if I start a podcast and then have to compete against Connor?”

A flash of anger lights Blake’s eyes at the mention of Connor’s name.

“All he does is get drunk with his friends and record himself recapping games and events twice a week. Anyone with a brain and general sports knowledge can do that. What you do takes creativity, intelligence, and an ability to interview people without them wanting to murder you. He has absolutely none of that. You wouldn’t even be on the same playing field.”

I puff out my cheeks before releasing a deep breath. “I guess.”

“Stop fixating on what could go wrong,” he says gently. “Focus on what could go right. What if you become the number one sports podcast?”

I like the sound of that. “What if I become so successful that Nabisco wants to be my sponsor?”

“What if you become so successful that McAllister wants to be your sponsor?”

“What if I become more famous than you?”

“Impossible”—he chuckles—“but I like where your head is at.”

These what-ifs sit a lot more comfortably in my mind than the ones PlayMedia left me with. Before I can say anything else that’ll send me into a tailspin of self-doubt, Blake presses his warm lips against mine. Even a kiss is enough to weaken me. The light stubble on his chin grazes against my face, no doubt making my pale skin bright red. One of his hands slowly slides under my robe and I melt into his touch. My breasts warm beneath his cool touch as he runs his thumbs over my nipples, teasing them to stiff peaks. His hands continue to wander around, caressing every part of my body he can reach. He pulls back, watching me with dark, hungry eyes.

“You are so amazingly talented,” he says, his voice husky. “Stop questioning yourself.”

His pupils dilate with desire as he traces his fingers down my body, watching as my skin erupts in goose bumps. He pulls my thong to the side, his finger slipping easily between my wet folds. My hips instinctually begin to move, and I spread my legs wider, giving him more access.

“I need you,” Blake groans. His words send a lightning bolt straight to my core. I’m not sure if it’s how desperate he looks or the little pout I’ve grown so fond of, but I quickly say yes. Without another word, he spins me around so I’m facing the mirror. Our ragged breathing is the only sound as Blake slips on a condom.

“Want you to watch how sexy you are when I’m inside you,” Blake whispers as he slowly rocks into me. His tone is raspy, making my ache for him even stronger. A rush of air leaves my lungs as he stretches me full. My hands press against the counter in front of me, trying to steady myself so I don’t pass out from pleasure. His touch has the power to soothe me and set me on fire all at once. It’s overwhelming and he knows it. He tugs on my hair, forcing me to focus on the mirror.

“Feels so good, baby,” he murmurs, teasing my exposed neck with wet kisses. “Love how wet you get for me.”

Each thrust becomes more urgent than the last. I whimper as Blake drags his hand down my body until his thumb is pressed against my clit, rubbing it in circles that match his pace. Some sort of noise slips through my lips, urging him on. I can’t think, let alone speak. My brain’s shutting down, letting my body do the talking instead. Blake readjusts his stance to support my shaking legs and the new position hits my sweet spot. I’m putty in Blake’s hands as he guides my hips back to meet his. He looks stunning. Sliding his tongue over his full lips, watching himself disappear inside of me with each stutter of his hips.

When he looks up to find me staring, he smiles so guilelessly it makes me tighten around him. We’re both desperate for release and when our eyes lock again in the mirror, heat floods my body as I’m pushed over the edge. Every nerve sparks and then fades out. Blake holds me tightly against him, not letting my body slump as he continues to thrust into me. Shortly after, he shudders before stiffening in release. He presses a kiss between my shoulder blades before sliding out of me.

I turn around and slide my hands through his hair, capturing his lips for a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

“For what? Giving you an orgasm?”

If I thanked Blake after every orgasm he gave me, I’d be a record on repeat. “Sure, but I meant for supporting me.”

“Of course, love,” he says, kissing my temple. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“What if … you made me pancakes?” I shoot him a hopeful smile. “That’d be nice.”

Blake lets out a deep chuckle before heading downstairs to get breakfast started. I finish getting dressed, coming up with as many positive what-if scenarios in my head. There’s a chance that my new hypothetical podcast may explode like the Hindenburg. But what if it doesn’t?

I WAIT until I see Josie in Mexico to tell her about my meeting with Remi. My expectation that she’ll start singing “Happy” by Pharrell or “Oh My God” by Adele is so far off base, it’s not even in a baseball stadium. Instead, she hits me with some of Justin Bieber’s “That Should Be Me.” Not letting her tag along to meet her idol was sacrilege and the highest offense I could’ve possibly committed.

We’re eating lunch in the cafeteria before afternoon practice when Josie says, “I cannot believe you didn’t invite me.”

She’s said the same thing ten times in the past two minutes.

“It was a business meeting!” I argue. I’ve never been to a business meeting where someone said “nipples” so many times, but there’s a first time for everything. I tried keeping a mental count but gave up after reaching eight.

“So unfair.” Josie aggressively dunks her grilled cheese into her tomato soup. Red drops splash onto the cafeteria table. “You got to meet with Remi Barnes, and I had to teach a man-child how to do a bloody TikTok dance.”

As much as Josie complains about Theo, the two of them are thick as thieves.

“It got over ten million views,” I remind her. “That’s pretty cool, Jos.”

Theo’s not a dancer, but the enthusiasm he put into his performance on McAllister’s TikTok account was award-winning. It took Josie over an hour to teach him three simple moves, but it was well worth it. I think I’ve watched the video over a hundred times. Hell will freeze over before Blake participates in anything like that, but at least she has one driver willing to go along with the social media trends.

Josie sighs in defeat. “Was she as cool in person as she is on her podcast?”

“She suggested I let Blake use nipple clamps on me to enhance my orgasms.” I cringe at the memory. “And then told me that a lot of athletes like being called daddy and asked if Blake was one of them.”

If I can survive an interrogation from Remi, I’m positive I’ll be able to handle the paparazzi and reporters who will no doubt hound me the moment my relationship with Blake goes public. Remi’s questions didn’t offend me, but they did almost knock me right out of my chair. The way she casually talked about butt plugs and anal sex made me feel like a prude.

Josie’s mouth falls open and her spoon clatters onto the table. “You asked her for sex advice?”

“Shh! I didn’t ask,” I whisper-yell. “It was an unsolicited recommendation.”

“I don’t know!” Josie says back, lowering her voice. “Those seem like awfully specific suggestions, babes.”

We stare at each other for a solid fifteen seconds before dissolving into laughter, clutching the table as we fight for air. It takes five minutes before either of us can speak without gasping for breath. I don’t even know why we’re laughing, which somehow makes it funnier.

“Okay, now tell me everything,” Josie finally manages to say. She claps her hands together before stealing a few parmesan garlic fries off my plate. Albie’s fries have made my favorite pair of jeans a little too tight, but it’s so worth it. “And don’t spare a single detail.”

Warmth radiates through my body as I tell her about how our coffee meeting turned into cocktails. Remi and I have a lot more in common than I initially thought. She’s a firecracker who says dick as often as people say because , but she’s business-savvy and smart. I’ve already downloaded a business plan template she emailed me, and she’s connecting me with a freelance producer she knows.

She reminded me that I’ve already mastered how to do the hard stuff. Researching and asking the right questions, connecting with the listeners and creating a community, building good rapport with the guests. The things that Play-Media did for me—editing, producing, marketing—can be learned. Or outsourced, as Josie reminds me. She’s offered to help me with branding and social media.

“Do you want to have a similar format to your last podcast?” Josie asks after she’s satisfied I’ve given her every last detail. “Or completely start over and do something new?”

My nerves buzz with excited energy as if I just downed a double espresso. In the words of the nipple queen, “I’m not starting over. I’m simply redirecting.”