She scowled at him even though he couldn’t see it, and then flattened the bag on his head by pressing it down with her palm. With a victorious smile, she then skipped away from us and into the vanity area.
“Is she gone?” Kenneth asked.
I quickly grabbed my phone and took a picture of him, and then sent it to Zaira. She wasn’t on set but with her parents for a family-only day. Sucked for me, but she was excited to finally spend some time with her mom and dad as the lockdown thing had cooled down a bit.
“Yeah, she left,” Dylan told Kenneth, who pulled the bag off of his head and threw it in the bin behind him.
“Phew. Well, that was an experience.” He swiped his fingers over his now-oily face and scrunched up his nose.
My phone dinged with a new message. I looked down at it, and chuckled as I read Zaira’s response to Kenneth’s photo.
Zaira:Tell him that I dig the new look. Total serial killer vibes.
I showed the message to Kenneth, who laughed and gave me a two-finger salute.
“Dude, you’re…greasy,” Dylan said to Kenneth, and grabbed a box of tissues from the nearby snack table before helping him clean up.
Ding.
I looked at my phone.
Zaira:Will you wear a paper bag for me, and also roam around your house naked while you're at it?
I grinned and shook my head at the screen.
Me:Do you want me to fall and crack my skull open?
Zaira:No. I want you to fall and crack your dick open.
I coughed to hide my surprised laughter.
Me:You're crazy, babe.
Zaira:I know, but that’s one of the reasons why you love me.
I smiled.
Me:True that.
She sent me a picture.
I tapped on it, and almost groaned when I saw herveryteasing selfie.
She’d opened the top buttons of her red flannel shirt, which gave me a full view of her bomb-ass tits. She’d tilted her head to the side, which clearly showed me the hickey I’d given her yesterday. Her glasses were lowered to the tip of her nose; her lips were painted cherry-red. And the smile she gave the camera – it was all sorts of sinful and tantalizing. And of course, my dick very much appreciated every part of it.
God damnit, that woman was a glass of Macallan on a winter evening. She tasted like luxury; she felt like the best fucking sensation to have ever been experienced.
After giving her selfie another thorough assessment, I clicked on the message bar and began typing.
Me:Is that a new tattoo on your neck, or do you have a very passionate and thirsty-for-you boyfriend?
Zaira:Oh-my-God, seriously???!!!
I laughed. Kenneth and Dylan gave me knowing smirks, but I flipped them off and got back to texting.
Me:What?
Zaira:I’m disowning you, Gallan Underwood. RIGHT FUCKING NOW.
