Page 3 of GDL (BBA: Bad Boy Academy)

3

Sawyer

Oh, I've been watching all right.

It's the second day of my two-week assignment. After our initial meeting yesterday, I stayed for the rest of the shoot. Then Kynan had to leave, somewhat abruptly. I wasn't really clear on why, but that's okay. It's not like we have 24/7 access to him. Kynan is a busy guy and has a million projects on the go. I don't want to get in the way, but I am definitely keen to spend some more one-on-one time with him.

Today's shoot is taking place inside, in a studio made to look like a laundry room. Kynan's currently filming, so after Tharin let me into the closed set, I found an out-of-the-way spot off to the side, and I'm watching the magic unfold.

"Now if you've seen any of my videos, you'll know that one of my favorite hacks for clothes or sheets or towels to come out super soft is…" Kynan lifts a tablespoon heaped with a white powder in front of his bare chest and pauses. The camera zooms in. I'm captivated, even though I know what he's going to say because this is one of his favorite hacks.

"Bicarb soda," I mutter under my breath in time with him.

He flashes that megawatt smile of his at the camera, and heat engulfs my chest. I run my hand through my hair and chide myself for the way my body is reacting. I'm being silly. I'm here to do a job and salvage what's left of my career, not get turned on by my incredibly hot subject. That's what jerking off in the shower is for.

I also meant what I said to Kynan yesterday. I'm not here to score cheap shots or uncover some scandal. I genuinely think he's an interesting guy with an interesting story to tell, and I want to share it with the world. I want this piece to do well because I did a good job, not because I fucked someone over. I think he believed me.

I also couldn't help but notice how his eyes fell to my lips and he seemed to struggle with his words just before the cameraman called him over.

It was probably nothing. Again, if I want to read more into things and run off to some fantasy realm where Kynan could actually be interested in an old bastard like me, I can take care of that in the shower, too.

Kynan continues with the video, moving on to another favorite hack—essential oils. Five small bottles are arranged on the counter, so he goes through each of them, opening and sniffing them one at a time. I do not notice the way his biceps flex as he brings the bottles to his nose or how his abs contract as he breathes in.

He proceeds to load a basket full of clothes into the machine, then crouches down next to it. The camera person follows, and I gulp. Confession time. This shot is a guilty pleasure of mine. Kynan crouching down wearing short shorts is an image I can conjure in my mind on command.

I've watched and rewatched it so many times. His muscular thighs press together making his bulge bulge . There's something about it that’s so innocent yet incredibly sexy at the same time. A lot like the man himself. A contradiction of hard muscles and bright tattoos with a softness imbued by how excited and passionate he gets about something as mundane and run-of-the-mill as doing the laundry.

Steadying himself with one hand on the machine, the other draped over his well-toned thigh, he looks straight down the barrel of the camera. "Remember, cold water is your best friend if you're worried about shrinking or fading. This might be reopening a can of worms for the bajillionth time, but I firmly believe cold is the best temperature. It's the only setting I use. I don't mess with warm or hot. Same goes for my coffee order." He pauses to smile, and I find myself grinning, too. "But hey, if you're one of those folks who likes using warm or even hot water on things like bedding and sheets, I want you to know, I hold space for ya, too."

His fingers move to the dial, and he makes one or two more adjustments before pressing the Start button. Once the machine starts whirring, he rises to announce, "And now I'm gonna get me that cold brew. Catch ya next time!"

A few seconds later, the director yells, "Cut!," a bell rings, and the crew start scurrying around like ants.

I step out of the shadows. Kynan's talking to his assistant, but the instant he notices me, their conversation grinds to a halt, and he walks over to me. My eyes travel up his toned calves and massive thighs, taking in his vibrant red-and-white striped nylon shorts. His hair is tied back in a low ponytail, although a few wisps have fallen loose.

"I didn't know you were here," he greets me with a smile warm enough to almost make me believe he's glad to see me.

"I snuck in," I answer. "Tried to be as quiet as a mouse."

Kynan moves forward. "Well, you were definitely quiet…as a mouse." He shakes his head and sighs. "Sorry. I'm tired and haven't eaten all day." He taps his temple twice. "Brain no work."

"It's all good. How much more have you got to shoot?"

"Just a few more takes."

"Okay. Are you free for dinner later?"

His eyes light up. Or maybe it's the studio lighting. Yeah, it's probably just the lighting. "Actually, I am."

"Great. I'll hang around, quiet as a mouse , and then we can go grab something to eat."

Two and a half hours later, Kynan and I are finally walking out of the studio.

"They really work you hard," I say.

"We're shooting in advance," he explains, letting out a yawn. "It's not ideal, but we probably produced two weeks' worth of content today once we edit the videos into the smaller chunks we'll be posting online."

"I see."

He points to a side exit door, and we head toward it. "Have you watched any of my stuff?"

"No." I suppress a grin when he cocks his head in surprise. "I've watched all your stuff."

"All of it?"

"Yep. My clothes have never been cleaner."

He eyes me up and down. Correction, he eyes my clothes up and down. "I'm glad."

There's a beat of silence as a current of electricity passes between us.

Stay professional, Sawyer.

Right, professional. I can do that. "I've even watched the stuff you've deleted thanks to a guy I know who can work his way around the interwebs."

Kynan lets out a groan that makes sticking to my resolution to stay professional impossible, my mind racing, imagining a number of very un professional scenarios where I could draw similar sounds out of him.

"I kind of hate that, but then again, I also expected it," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"You're thorough. Like when you interviewed the Prime Minister of Australia after the contentious election in 2009. You really did your research."

We've reached the exit. "How do you know about that?"

Kynan brushes up next to me and smirks, so close I can see the tiny flecks of gray in his deep-blue eyes. "Let's just say I know my way around the interwebs, too, and I wasn't about to be profiled by someone I knew nothing about."

I press down on the metal push bar, and the door swings open with a loud click. "You're an intriguing young man, Kynan." I wave for him to go first. "An intriguing young man, indeed."

We walk through the mostly empty lot, the last light of the day a thin strip on the horizon.

"There's a cool retro diner a few miles from here," he says. "Does that work for you?"

"It does. You seem to be into retro at the moment," I say, thinking back to the location of yesterday's shoot. Unfortunately, his retro short shorts from today's shoot have been replaced by black track pants.

"Retro is in. We'll run with it for a while before moving on to something else."

"When will you release the content you're working on now?"

"Probably after the holidays. Might go with a new year, old vibes theme."

"You're very organized."

"That's because I take this seriously. You may think it's silly?—"

He stops talking when I latch onto his arm. "I don't think it's silly."

His eyes narrow. "You don't?"

"No. I've scoured social media extensively these past few months, and believe me, there is some absolutely mind-numbingly stupid shit out there. What you do is a cut above. Several cuts above. Unlike my own TikTok," I concede with a laugh.

His lips stretch into a sly grin. "Oh, I don't know about that. Never underestimate the value of a good thirst trap."

As he's talking, I realize I'm still holding on to him. His skin is so soft, so warm, and I can't think of a good reason to let him go.

Uh, hi. It's me, Professionalism. Debbie from HR just called and asked me to give you a kick up the backside and to remind you — again — that you're old enough to be his father.

Yep, that'll do it. I release my grip, and we start walking again.

After a few moments, he says, "It's not only my livelihood anymore, either. I have a team I support, too."

"That's a lot of responsibility," I say, thinking back to my peak era when I had an agent, a PR firm, lawyers, the whole shebang. They're all gone. Grayson's the only one who's stuck around.

We reach an oversized black SUV. Kynan lifts the key fob, and the car beeps twice. He opens the back door then almost immediately slams it shut. "Uh, we can't take my car."

"Why not?"

His eyes dart left to right. "It's broken."

"Broken?"

"Yeah. I just remembered. It conked out on me this morning right as I pulled up."

I run my eyes over the late-model Cadillac Escalade. Cars like this don't just conk out .

Before I can say anything else, Kynan has taken out his phone. "I'll order us a ride. I have a partnership with Ridrrr. I can take some photos on the way over to the diner."

Something's not adding up here. "If you're worried about your car being messy, I have two grown sons, so a bit of clutter doesn't bother me," I offer with a smile, wondering if that might be the reason he doesn't want me in his car.

He's engrossed in his phone, ordering us a lift, so he doesn't say anything. When he does, it's to confirm we'll be picked up in two minutes.

Hmm. It's odd, but I decide not to push it. We're still in the early stages of getting to know each other. I know from experience how difficult it can be to earn an interviewee's trust. If there's something in his car he doesn't want me to see, I can drop it. It probably doesn't matter anyway.

Our ride arrives. Kynan snaps a few photos of him in front of it before sliding into the back seat next to me. He waves his phone in the air as we take off. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all. What would you like?"

He swallows. "Let's keep it simple. A selfie?"

"Sure."

Due to the lack of room in the back seat and the restraint of the seat belts, Kynan slides in front of me, pressing into my right shoulder. I lean against him, loving the closeness way more than a professional should. At least I'm keeping my hands to myself. I should earn some credit for that.

He's almost done taking the pics when the car screeches to a halt. The driver smashes down on the horn as Kynan and I get shoved forward. Instinctively, I reach my arm out to brace him from the impact.

"Sorry, guys," the driver hisses over his shoulder. "Some asshole just cut me off."

"It's fine," I tell him, my arm still covering Kynan's chest.

Kynan's fingers curl around my forearm, and I think he's going to move me away. But he keeps his hand on me, the touch flaring a warmth that runs the entire length of my arm.

Time seems to stop. We remain connected, neither of us seemingly willing to be the first one to break away. Kynan turns slowly so we're facing each other. Pulled by an invisible force, our mouths inch closer, closer, closer ?—

"We're here," the driver announces, just as our lips are about to meet.

Damn the short drive.

Pull yourself together, Sawyer. This is business, not a date.

Unfortunately, my dick doesn't get the memo, and I bustle out of the car with a steel rod in my pants.