“Okay, asshole.”
With a chuckle, I decide not to push her too much more, instead getting up and carefully unzipping her dress, wishing I could see it on my bedroom floor.
Hell, I’d take seeing it on this hideous rug.
She grasps the top of the bust as she turns back to me. “Goodnight, Henry.”
“Goodnight, Sweetheart.”
CHAPTER 25
AMARA
“I’m not doing it,” I tell her.
Lindsey shifts uncomfortably on her feet, the jersey gripped tightly in her hands.
“You have to,” she says softly, trailing off.
“I’m not sure that’s true,” I raise an eyebrow.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about producers, it's that they have the fuckingaudacity.If there’s one other thing I’ve learned, it’s that they will take advantage of literally anything they can. No matter what it is.
So when they learned who my friends are and that we’re a close-knit group, they jumped into researching them and making plans for this season.
Which included me going to games. Not only am I going to games, but I'm going to games wearing Cooper’s jersey. Something I vowed I would never ever touch with a ten-foot pole.
Football has never really been my thing. I supported Cooper when he started playing in high school, but I wasn’t afan.When he came to the Cobras, I realized that I actually hated it. Or, well, maybe I just hated it because he was on the team. Who knows.
But I’ve been to a few games with the girls, and despite sitting in a heated box for most of it, it hasn’t exactly been my favorite outing.
Today is a preseason game, and I know that essentially means that this game isn’t even important anyway. What does it matter if I’m there or not?
Thinking about being in front of cameras, with my friends, trying to pretend to like football so I don’t come across like a total asshole, just isn’t something I’m willing to do.
But it sounds like they don’t really care what I’m willing to do, so long as they’re happy with the content they’re filming.
And if I’m really honest with myself, which I’m not sure I want to be, we reallyhaven’tgiven them much, still.
Sure, there was that little moment where I let my jealousy loose at the party. That was a big one. Other than that, we’ve been fairly boring.
The thought is like being thrown into the freezing ocean, and I know I’m being unreasonable.
But since when did I feel bad for producers? Screw the man, right?
Except for the silly little fact that I agreed to this, knowing what I was getting into.
Lindsey watches my entire thought process, and judging by the look on her face, she catches the exact moment I realize I’m fucked.
I snatch the jersey from her hands with an eye roll, heading into my room.
“Okay,” she says to one of the crew. “She’s going to get partly dressed, and then we’re going to film her doing her makeup and ask her a few questions, alright?”
I slam the door closed, pulling off my sweater, replacing it with the stupid, scratchy, oversized jersey.
I shouldn’t be complaining. I love oversized clothing.
I grab a pair of jeans and pull them on, tucking part of the jersey into the waist.
