"So…you saw the photos?" I tease, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward me until she's right in front of me, her head level with my chest. I don't know why I thought she was taller. Maybe it was her fuck-me heels at the party, but I'm damn near a foot taller than she is. "Gotta say, I'm jealous as hell that I didn't see your ass from that angle before the rest of the world did, princess."
I wonder if she'll make that same adorable sound when she's bouncing on my cock?
"You did not just say that," she hisses, her eyes flashing dangerously as she wrestles her hand out of my grip. I let her go, mostly because I don't want her hurting herself.
"I did." I pause, grinning at her. "But I can say it again if it helps."
"You're insane!"
"So you said. I believe you also said I was off my rocker, concussed, and delusional."
"All still true," she snaps.
"I so missed that smart mouth of yours."
"Austin, my ass is all over the internet!" she growls between clenched teeth. "Like, my whole ass. All over it! My brother called me because he saw my ass on the internet."
"It's a great ass. Five stars." I smirk at her. "Want me to write a Yelp review?"
Who knew her face could go that red without her head actually exploding? Christ, I love the way she looks at me when she wants to kill me. It's sexy as hell. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'll be jerking off to the memory for the next few days.
"I swear to God, if you don't fix this, I'm going to tell the whole world that you have a shrimp dick."
"A shrimp dick?" I cock a brow at her, choking on laughter.
She holds her finger and thumb a millimeter apart. "Tiny. Minuscule. Can't see it from space."
"Those photos tell a different story about my MVP, princess." Her ass isn't the only thing all over the internet. I've already been offered three different brand endorsements for underwear. It's been two days!
"I hate you so much." She fishes in her pocket before yanking out her phone.
I watch in amusement as she shoots me a baleful glare and then types in her code and clears her throat. Her tone is dry as she reads. "'I can't believe what a desperate, bottom-feeding trollop she is. I hope she steps on Legos every single day for the rest of her miserable life. Also, her hair looks like something died on her head.'"
Jesus H. Christ. Whoever wrote that shit needs therapy, and lots of it. Parasocial relationships are terrifying.
"That's savage," I say.
"It's your fault!" She jabs me in the chest again, harder than before. "You're letting them think I was…"
"What?"
"Servicingyou," she growls.
I groan at the thought of her servicing me, which is apparently the wrong reaction. She stomps on my foot with the heel of her boot and then hits me in the stomach, growling wordlessly.
I double over, laughing my ass off while she glares at me like she's about to tackle me to the floor and choke the life out of me.
"Serena, you know how to fix this," I say when I can breathe again, ignoring the throbbing pain in my foot where she stomped on it. "We go out. You get photographed on my arm, and they'll think you're my girlfriend. Suddenly, it's not a big deal anymore. It's just a nosy reporter catching two people in a relationship in a private moment in a not-so-ideal place. The trolls can eat shit."
She gives me a look so withering it's almost frightening. "Or—and this is just a crazy, off-the-wall idea—you could tell the truth about what happened. Preferably on camera."
"No can do," I say, mock regret in my voice. "I'm riding this out. I like my plan better."
She makes a strangled sound, half fury and half despair. "I would rather step on Legos for the rest of my life than be seen with you in public again, Austin. I hope you get a paper cut on your tongue and then have to eat a whole bag of salt and vinegar chips."
Ouch. She's big mad.
I lean in, placing my mouth next to her ear. "I'd rather eat you."
