that came to mind.
Had fun 2. Headed into a meeting. Text u later .
Even though I wouldn’t.
Double-teaming had been fun for getting my kicks, but no way would I be hooking up while shooting this new show. Not because I didn’t want the paparazzi finding out, but because I didn’t want any random girls showing up on set. It had happened to me more than once, and it was embarrassing, not to mention awkward.
I copied the text and pasted it into Angela’s message as well.
On my own time, my whereabouts were always private, but sometimes during filming, it became public knowledge. Anyone could find me, and they had in the past, which still unnerved me. I even changed my number two or three times since last summer. I hoped I didn’t have to do it again.
“Is that real cream cheese?” asked a light-toned, sweetly feminine voice that still managed to hint at confidence. It was an alluring combination.
“I believe it is,” another woman replied in a lower tone. “Least they could do for dragging us out here at the ass-crack of dawn.”
I let out an internal chuckle. Ass-crack. So true.
My attention snapped to the buffet table where two young women stood side by side, filling their plates with food. One towered above the other, tall and willowy, as though the lightest breeze could snap her in two. Her mousy blonde hair was pulled back into a disheveled bun. The sight of her struck a familiar chord, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen her before.
Pretty, I thought, but too wispy. The second girl cut a slender yet curvier figure—the athletic and outdoorsy type—with long, dark brown hair. She wore fitted black slacks and a matching blazer. From where I stood, I caught a glimpse of the blonde’s face but couldn’t check out the brunette without making my presence known, something I wasn’t quite ready to do. I leaned against the doorframe and listened instead.
“Good,” the brunette said. “My bagel will be doused with it by the time I’m done.”
The blonde bit into a mini cinnamon roll, wiping the corner of her lip with her pinkie finger. “No kidding. Glycemic index be damned.”
I predicted this would devolve into a rant about shared hatred of calories and the task of staying fit. Women always discussed such boring subjects.
True to her word, the brunette began to smother her bagel with cream cheese—my kind of girl. “I normally wouldn’t eat this way,” she said, stabbing the cream cheese with the knife again. “My dad was a health nut when I was younger.”
The blonde cringed. “One of those granola types?”
“You could say that. If it was processed or pre-packaged, it didn’t set foot in our house. So whenever I see food like this, I get stars in my eyes for it.” She giggled.
The blonde laughed. “Trust me, I get it. My mom was the same, but I’ve been eating super healthy for so long now, I’m just used to it.” She ladled a heaping spoonful of fruit from a punch bowl onto her plate.
The brunette nodded. “My dad was pretty hardcore. Is hardcore.”
“About food?”
“About everything,” the brunette said, and the blonde just nodded and picked at a few pieces of fruit. “He was Mr. Universe, so yeah, you could say I have to watch what I eat.”
Wasn’t that contest presided over by a bunch of guys from Long Beach, selling workout equipment? Note to self, never meet her father without some serious prep time in the gym. Not that I would. Meeting parents was never part of the equation anymore when it came to my conquests.
“Hell of a thing to have on a résumé if he wanted to apply somewhere intergalactically.”
The brunette laughed. “Right?”
I suppressed a chuckle. Maybe these girls would make fun friends if nothing else. Not that I kept many close friends. Now that my brother was out of the picture, Liam was the next closest thing, and even before he hit it big, he rarely answered his phone. Sometimes it got a bit lonely inside my head. Then again, the
Had fun 2. Headed into a meeting. Text u later .
Even though I wouldn’t.
Double-teaming had been fun for getting my kicks, but no way would I be hooking up while shooting this new show. Not because I didn’t want the paparazzi finding out, but because I didn’t want any random girls showing up on set. It had happened to me more than once, and it was embarrassing, not to mention awkward.
I copied the text and pasted it into Angela’s message as well.
On my own time, my whereabouts were always private, but sometimes during filming, it became public knowledge. Anyone could find me, and they had in the past, which still unnerved me. I even changed my number two or three times since last summer. I hoped I didn’t have to do it again.
“Is that real cream cheese?” asked a light-toned, sweetly feminine voice that still managed to hint at confidence. It was an alluring combination.
“I believe it is,” another woman replied in a lower tone. “Least they could do for dragging us out here at the ass-crack of dawn.”
I let out an internal chuckle. Ass-crack. So true.
My attention snapped to the buffet table where two young women stood side by side, filling their plates with food. One towered above the other, tall and willowy, as though the lightest breeze could snap her in two. Her mousy blonde hair was pulled back into a disheveled bun. The sight of her struck a familiar chord, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen her before.
Pretty, I thought, but too wispy. The second girl cut a slender yet curvier figure—the athletic and outdoorsy type—with long, dark brown hair. She wore fitted black slacks and a matching blazer. From where I stood, I caught a glimpse of the blonde’s face but couldn’t check out the brunette without making my presence known, something I wasn’t quite ready to do. I leaned against the doorframe and listened instead.
“Good,” the brunette said. “My bagel will be doused with it by the time I’m done.”
The blonde bit into a mini cinnamon roll, wiping the corner of her lip with her pinkie finger. “No kidding. Glycemic index be damned.”
I predicted this would devolve into a rant about shared hatred of calories and the task of staying fit. Women always discussed such boring subjects.
True to her word, the brunette began to smother her bagel with cream cheese—my kind of girl. “I normally wouldn’t eat this way,” she said, stabbing the cream cheese with the knife again. “My dad was a health nut when I was younger.”
The blonde cringed. “One of those granola types?”
“You could say that. If it was processed or pre-packaged, it didn’t set foot in our house. So whenever I see food like this, I get stars in my eyes for it.” She giggled.
The blonde laughed. “Trust me, I get it. My mom was the same, but I’ve been eating super healthy for so long now, I’m just used to it.” She ladled a heaping spoonful of fruit from a punch bowl onto her plate.
The brunette nodded. “My dad was pretty hardcore. Is hardcore.”
“About food?”
“About everything,” the brunette said, and the blonde just nodded and picked at a few pieces of fruit. “He was Mr. Universe, so yeah, you could say I have to watch what I eat.”
Wasn’t that contest presided over by a bunch of guys from Long Beach, selling workout equipment? Note to self, never meet her father without some serious prep time in the gym. Not that I would. Meeting parents was never part of the equation anymore when it came to my conquests.
“Hell of a thing to have on a résumé if he wanted to apply somewhere intergalactically.”
The brunette laughed. “Right?”
I suppressed a chuckle. Maybe these girls would make fun friends if nothing else. Not that I kept many close friends. Now that my brother was out of the picture, Liam was the next closest thing, and even before he hit it big, he rarely answered his phone. Sometimes it got a bit lonely inside my head. Then again, the
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