Page 66 of Home Grown Talent

“Well, of a pineapple plant and you.”

Owen ran a hand through his hair again. “I don’t know…”

“Please?” He fluttered his lashes. “Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Owen laughed, shaking his head. “All right,” he said, sighing as he crouched down next to the pots, strong thighs stretching the fabric of his jeans.

“Very nice.” Mason gave him a long, lascivious look. “Very nice indeed.”

And it was nice because unlike in the previous pic, Owen’s genuine smile was back, the April sunshine glinting in his hair and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes as he gazed up at the camera. At Mason.

A soft, warming sensation filled Mason’s heart as he studied the photo.

Too good to post.

The odd idea came from nowhere—a silly, counterintuitive notion. As if there was such a thing as a photo being too good to post. If you didn’t post it, what was the point of taking it in the first place? Jettisoning the thought, he opened Insta.

Guess what @OwenHunterGardens grows in his greenhouse? (Don’t say eggplants!) #GrowYourOwn #HealthyLifestyles #love #me

He’d just posted it when a large hand closed over his phone, obscuring the screen.

Looking up, he smiled to find Owen watching him with a decidedly wicked gleam in his eyes. “I think it’s time you put that away,” he said in a voice that had Mason’s cock filling fast.

Breath catching, he whispered, “Are you going to make me?”

“Are you going to resist?”

Mason grinned. “Maybe.”

“Mmm.” Owen slid one arm around Mason’s waist, tugging him flush against his body. “That would be very, very naughty.”

Mason pouted dramatically. “Then you should probably do something about it.”

“Oh yeah,” Owen murmured, nuzzling his neck, just below his ear, close enough that the words caressed Mason’s skin. “I plan to…”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mason

Frankie Slade, Mason’s agent, was ecstatic about Weekend Wellness.

“Almost 9000 new followers!” he crowed when they met for breakfast a few days later. “And that’s after just one slot. You’re knocking on the door of 100K, Mase! And when we hit that magic number, we trigger the additional fee in the Masculin contract. Plus, Maya says there’s two new deals just out this week we can put you forward for.”

Mason poked at his egg white omelette. He’d ordered it to save himself a lecture—Frankie would have him living on oxygen and protein smoothies if it was up to him. “Yeah,” he said, pasting on a smile. “I’m pretty stoked.”

He was pretty stoked, actually, but that “we” Frankie used grated on him. Frankie had done nothing to help him with his influencer work. In fact, he’d been downright dismissive of it until Masculin had told him they were interested in Mason. That—well, the money they’d waved under his nose—had got Frankie’s attention.

Frankie was fundamentally old school. He’d been in the business for years, and modelling was what he knew best—and he did get Mason great modelling work; Mason had no complaints about him on that front—but whenever Mason tried to talk to him about developing his career in another direction, away from modelling, Frankie didn’t even bother to hide his lack of interest. Or, maybe, lack of knowledge. Mason had the uneasy feeling that his relationship with Frankie had reached its sell-by date, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

After breakfast, he headed out to Finchley for a casting. He didn’t have to go to a whole lot of castings these days, but this was for a big job: the Christmas shoot for a well-known fragrance line. There would only be a handful of models there, all hand-picked for the shortlist.

The casting went well. He was friendly with the casting director, Dev, and the clients seemed to like him. They certainly made sure they got plenty of shots and film of him.

“I saw you on TV the other day,” Dev said, as he walked him out, his hand on Mason’s shoulder. “That was a very cute little piece you did with that gardener hunk. Where did you find him?”

Mason laughed. “Owen? He’s Lewis Hunter’s brother.”

“Lewis that you used to…?” Dev trailed off meaningfully, his eyebrows raised.