‘Look at Jason Blackwell’s Instagram.’ She turned the phone to him. He took it begrudgingly.
‘He posts about random things, not just football. And he’s super popular with fans because they feel like they can connect with him.’
Oliver’s disgruntled expression didn’t soften. But I could see the wheels in his head turning.
‘You don’t need to bleed out serious stuff online. Just start off slow, post a picture of your coffee order.’
Oliver’s eyes lifted from the screen to the two of us. ‘People really care about what coffee I drink?’ he asked incredulously.
‘You’d be surprised.’ I shrugged.
40
FALLON
After half an hour of deliberation, Oliver relented and decided to post a picture of his coffee without a caption and just the hashtags: #peoplereallygiveashitabouthowmycoffeelooks? #peepingcoffeetoms
George had returned not long after with four large coffees. Rosie frowned when he handed hers over. ‘How’d you know what coffee I like?’
He jutted his head to me. ‘I know she likes her coffee with a shit ton of sugar in it, so I hedged my bets.’
She lifted the cup to her lips, eyeing him dubiously. Whatever she tasted made her eyes pop open in surprise. George smiled stiffly and walked away to give Oliver his coffee.
I wasn’t sure how George had known that Rosie only drinks her coffee black, but whatever powers of ESP he was exhibiting was making my friend blush. Something Rosieneverdid. She used men for one purpose and that was to get her monthly fix of dick—as she called it—so she could focus on the important things. Her work.
So seeing the way she shifted on the sofa, angling herbody towards George when he came to sit down next to her, intrigued me. The two were talking in an undertone on the other end of the sofa—Rosie showing him Oliver’s recent post, completely enveloped in their own bubble.
It allowed me the opportunity to pick up my overactive libido and give it a talking to.
Whatever the female equivalent of blue balls happened to be—I was suffering from it badly. My entire lower half coiled, ready to take off at any moment. Every time Oliver brushed my arm it tightened the spring. I did my best to ignore it, however every so often Oliver would shift beside me and I’d get a whiff of his scent and have to squeeze my thighs together to soothe the ache that was steadily building.
I was supposed to be telling him that I was leaving. I needed to grab my stuff, and Rosie, and head to the front door, leaving the last bizarre twenty-four hours in the past. I absolutely shouldn’t be lounging in the living room with Oliver on my left, his thick thigh pressed right up against mine as he scrolled through his phone. Despite Rosie’s suggestion, he had decided to leave the comments on. I saw him scanning them. My curiosity was almost as out of control as my sex drive because I leaned over, not caring about being subtle and started reading some of the comments people had left under his picture.
Instead of shifting away, hiding it so I couldn’t see, Oliver readjusted his position, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa, letting me tuck myself into his side.
God, he smelled incredible.One quick look and then I would leave.
The comments were a mixed bag.
‘Finally! Oliver, when are you coming back to the field the team needs you?’
‘MVP!!’
‘Druggy.’
‘Pathetic. Trying to act like nothing’s wrong. #abuser
The last comment seemed to be the final straw for Oliver, he clicked the button on the side of his phone and the screen went black. I leaned back enough so I could see his face.
It was all hard lines and stormy blue eyes.
I slipped my hand into his. ‘It’ll be okay. It’s why we’re writing the book. Setting the record straight,’ I said softly.
The tension in Oliver’s shoulders didn’t dissipate. He stared transfixed at my hand in his. ‘Won’t make a difference. She’s still spouting all this bullshit to the press. She’s still withhim.’
It took a moment for it to click. ‘Cole? Your manager.’ Oliver rarely opened up about him. Every time I attempted to bring it up, he’d clam up. Turning back into the surly prick I’d first met.
He nodded, jaw clenching. Trusting my gut, I prodded further.
