“Dario already told me,” Rocco said. “I’m not interested.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The photoshoot. I’m not interested.”
“Well,” Celeste said, “that’s good because neither are they. They don’t want you. They want Nico. And Nico doesn’t want you there either. So, it turns out perfect. Everyone’s happy.”
Celeste’s phone buzzed. “This is them. I’ve got to take this.” She pulled open the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony.
Rocco stewed.
They only want Nico? She doesn’t want me there?Where does Nico Angelini get off, demanding I not be there?
The balcony door opened, and Celeste stepped inside.
“That was fast,” Dario said.
Celeste nodded. “Now they want Rocco to do the photospread too. Maybe because of that photo on social media and all the comments. But don’t worry, Rocco, I told them you didn’t want to do it.”
Rocco frowned. “Why’d you tell them that?”
Celeste and Dario were looking at him like he’d suddenly turned green, had horns coming out of his head and a tail sprouting out his butt.
“Uh,” Celeste said as her jaw dropped to the floor and she looked with gaping eyes over at Dario, “maybe because you hate that kind of thing; never want to do that kind of thing; and just seconds before I took the call, told me you didn’t want to dothat particularkind of thing.”
“I changed my mind. Call them back and tell them I’ll do it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
NICO
Nico sat waiting for them to finish setting up the lighting in the studio.
She sighed. Even though she’d had her usual dose of caffeine this morning, she felt tired. She hadn’t slept well.
After that coffee stunt, even sleep wasn’t a prick-free zone. She kept dreaming about him. And it was always the same dream. Her hair got stuck in his zipper. But instead of him disengaging it, he pulled her down and rolled her over, pinning her shoulders to the ground. His eyes drifted down to her breasts, and it was as though there were some kind of direct connection like an on-off switch between his eyes, her nipples, and that arrogant grin.
Eyes on breasts—check. Nipples engaged—check. Arrogant grin blast off—check.
Rinse. Repeat. Check.
She sighed.
When her hair had gotten stuck like it had, she’d been close enough to smell him. She remembered that smell when her body was pressed into his while she’d checked his pockets and when she’d kissed him outside Drink and Dive—a woodsy, wildlife kind of scent—part cedar and part animal.
Why did you bend over just because he asked? And now that I think about it, he didn’t ask. You could have remained standing. Then he would have been forced to stand up.
Why did you let him put you in that position?
What position? Vulnerable?
No, not exactly. But, something.
She knew what the annoying, arrogant, asshole, prick was doing. He was trying to mess with her head. Undermine her racing before the season even started. Make her lose her confidence.
Just as I expected.
No, that wasn’t right. Not exactly.
