Ihave a lot of clothes. Style's part of my image and brands send me shit for free all the time. Most of them are basics—plain t-shirts, jeans, joggers, boots—all way too expensive for what they are, but it comes with the territory.
I was never really attached to any specific piece, though. I don't have lucky socks or a hoodie that reminds me of a particular moment. But the second my black v-neck landed on Brooke's shoulders, I had a new favorite.
Her leather jacket was wiped clean, her jeans somehow blocked by the wall of the island. But her sweater? There was no saving that thing after the smoothie explosion. I gave Brooke her pick and let her look through my closet for whatever she needed. But she came out with exactly what I assumed she would choose—because it's what I would have chosen for her.
When she entered my living room with it knotted at her waist, one sleeve pulled lower than the other so the V of the neck fell just slightly off-center, you would have thought she was in lingerie—or that same black bra from our one night together. That on top of the fact thatour mess making might sadly be the first time in months that I've had genuine fun, and I was once again reminded of why I'm drawn to her.
Now, sitting in my chair on set, in the steel button-up shirt and black jeans from wardrobe, with a woman named Melissa dabbing my face with a brush, I still can't take my eyes off of her. We keep having these moments. Ones where I act so out of character, yet more myself than I ever get to be. Brief blips of time where I think she may finally lean into this—tous—or where I might finally convince her. But she doesn't. And I won't force it either.
"Alright, Drew, we're ready for you." Jane, my P.R. manager, struts over with her earpiece in as always and both of her phones stacked in one hand. She glances at Brooke standing in the corner of the room, whose big eyes are wandering the set like she's in a magical forest. "I still can't believe you're letting the social media girl follow you around."
I watch as Brooke walks over to the product table, leans in to smell the cologne, then looks around like she hopes no one saw her sniffing the bottles. I smile as her eyes find mine, and she tries to act like it never happened.
"Why's that?" I ask, my eyes still on Brooke.
Jane snaps her gum and folds her arms over her chest. "Uh… because I've strongly advised against it since you made the best decision of your life and hired me six years ago. Not to mention, you never want yourreallife discussed in anything we do."
I peer up at her and her teasing smile. "There's not much going on today that could cause any issues."
"What about the date with Cheyanne tonight?"
I exhale heavily, dropping my forehead between my thumb and forefinger. "I forgot."
Jane adjusts her footing, jutting her hip out. "Drew," she says bluntly.
"Jane, honestly, I'd rather spray that cologne into my eyeballs."
Jane sucks in a deep breath. "Yeah, well..." she says, blowing through her lips. "We have a deal, remember? I keep you relevant, which in turn, makes it so you can continue playing for whichever team you'd like. And you… well, and you listen. Besides, just give the people what they want, ya know what I mean?"
"There is no way thepeoplewant to see me out with Cheyanne Sinclair, which is one hundred percent a fake name by the way."
Jane creases her brows and nods her head rapidly. "Oh, no doubt." She looks me up and down, then pops one more button open on my shirt. "But fake name or not, your fans want to see you out. With girls. Painting the town that sexy Flames' red."
She winks, and I slip my chain under my thumb and run my finger along the cool metal. "Yeah," I sigh. "I guess."
Jane claps me on the shoulder, her way of telling me that my side of the conversation's over. "Besides, she co-starred in that alien movie that just came out. That's kind of cool."
"It was zombies," I deadpan.
"See!" she squeals. "It's like you know her already."
"Drew, I'm ready when you are." Isaac, the photographer for today, waves me over. I hop out of my chair and take my spot on the X marked on the floor where I'm supposed to be standing.
"I'm ready," I say, shoving one hand into the front pocket of my jeans.
Isaac nods, his camera in hand, then turns around and calls over his shoulder. "Hey, iPhone girl." I follow his gaze to see he's talking to Brooke. "No photos besides mine. And hand him that black bottle, would ya?"
Brooke's perfect chocolate eyes grow before she attempts to regain her composure, quickly slipping her phone into her pocket and moving back toward the table. She grabs the only black bottle of cologne and walks toward me hesitantly. When she's just a foot away, she holds it out.
"Thanks," I say, taking it. I toss the bottle and catch it again in the palm of my hand. "My shirt looks good on you by the way." She rolls her eyes unconvincingly. "Sorry you can't take pictures."
She shakes her head. "No, that's okay. Just good to see you in your element."
I scoff.My element."Right."
"Alright you two, we have work to do." Isaac stares at us impatiently, his camera now hanging around his neck.
Brooke purses her lips, then fades into the background. I spend the next twenty minutes twisting my body into different positions—neckturned, shoulders squared, some with the bottle and some without. I peek at Brooke every once in a while, but I don't let my gaze linger long enough to read her expression.
