My jaw falls open as I gasp. Then I clamp my mouth shut once more, reminding myself that I need to be quiet, that there are people in this shared condo trying to sleep, and I absolutely cannot make any noise.
So I close my eyes. I clench my jaw and work my hand along my body, moving in those quick, small circles that I always make when I’m so turned on and orgasm is only a minute away.
My phone vibrates with another text from Drew.
Drew: Are you close?
Instead of trying to type in my distracted state, I use the record option in my text message. “So, so close. It feels so good. You make this feel so good,” I say in a whiny whimper.
When I send it, there’s an immediate buzz in response.
Drew: Fuck, that’s hot.
I smile to myself as my body begins to clench. I’d bet a million dollars Drew is in his room right now, working himself up too.
I pant, then moan, then whimper. I’m almost to the edge—I just need one more dirty text.
I do another voice text message saying exactly this in that desperate, breathy tone that drives him out of his mind with lust.
Drew: I’d ask for your hands . . . then I’d pin them behind your back . . . and I’d fuck you until you come all over me, screaming my name until your throat was hoarse.
My hand moves with renewed fury as I quickly skim his words on my phone screen. I’m barely to the end of his text when my body seizes and I’m thrashing through climax. The pleasure crashes through me like a tidal wave. All the muscles in my legs cramp, my back arches, my head falls back, and my phone falls away. I use that hand to cover my mouth, muffling the animal sounds I make as I thrash against the bed.
When I finally come down a minute later, I feel like I’ve sprinted a race. My lungs are raw and burning, and my heartbeat is through the roof. My chest heaves as I glance at the phone, now at the edge of the bed. I start to wring out my legs and arms, wincing at the immediate soreness.
All that from just Drew’s words.
I smirk to myself as I pick up the phone and skim his newest text.
Drew: How was that?
Me: I came so hard.
Drew: Good
Me: You?
Drew: Those breathy voice texts of yours drove me wild. Many thanks.
I snuggle into my pillow while chuckling. When I blink I realize just how heavy my eyelids feel and how drowsy I am.
Me: Nothing is ever as good as being with you physically of course . . . but damn, can you do some damage with texts. That was . . . an experience.
Me: I don’t even know how to follow that.
Drew: I do. Eggs Benedict. Best way to refuel after a night like that
I laugh into my pillow.
Me: Mmm my favorite!
Me: You’re the greatest, I swear. Goodnight.
Drew: Aww shucks. Goodnight, Dunn.
I have just enough energy to put my phone on the nightstand before I’m sound asleep.
16
When I walk into the kitchen the next morning, I’m greeted with Drew standing at the stove in a T-shirt and gym shorts, his back to me as he cooks. Everyone else is up and milling around at the small dining table and the kitchen island in their pajamas.
I fall onto a stool, my legs and my brain still groggy. Despite the sleep fog I’m fighting, I’m tingling in Drew’s presence. Even though he’s standing a few feet away and not looking at me, just being in the same room has my entire body on high alert. Every part of me, from the goose bumps on my skin to the pulse between my legs, remembers what his sexy texts did to me last night.
I shove the thought aside while I try to focus on the chatter around me. Wyatt is on the phone with, I assume, his mom, judging by his irritated tone and the fact that he’s talking about rosaries and Hail Marys.
“I promise I’m being careful.” He tosses his head back and slouches in his chair at the dining table. “Yes, I have a snakebite kit, just in case. Yes, I have sunscreen. Yes, tell Lolo I always have at least a half tank of gas so I don’t get stranded in the middle of the desert and die.” There’s a long pause. “Of course I’m saying the rosary! I say it every day! Well then, you say it for me if I’m not doing it enough times.”
I bite back a laugh as I down a glass of water that Haley sets in front of me. I thank her for the cup of coffee she deposits right after. I catch Rylan smiling down at her phone as she texts. She must be talking to Colton.
Out of the corner of my eye I watch as Haley looks at me, then at Drew, then at me again. I roll my eyes.
While drinking, I inhale the aroma of whatever scrumptious dish Drew is whipping up at the stove. I smile at Joe, who’s FaceTiming with his kindergarten-age son and girlfriend.
His son holds up a sheet of paper that he painted on at school.
“Wow, way to go, pal! That looks just like me.”
I beam wide while holding back an “aww” sound. Joe’s little guy sports a wide grin and a mass of long blond hair, which is tied back into a bun, just like Joe’s.
“Have a good day at school. I’ll call you again tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy!”
Joe’s son makes a kissing noise, and Joe makes one in return before they end the call.
“Your son looks just like you,” I say to him.
He beams at his phone screen while closing out of the app. “He’s way cuter, though.”
“My ovaries are exploding over here, Joe,” Haley says as she tops off her coffee. “Your son is the cutest and your family should be in a commercial; you’re so perfect. And that’s coming from a stone-cold workaholic who never, ever wants to have kids.”
Joe blushes at Haley’s words. “I’m a pretty lucky guy.”
Just then Drew spins around. “Who’s hungry?”
“Smile, Drew!” Rylan says from the dining table while she aims her phone at him.
Drew grins, and she takes a photo.
“I’m posting this to your Twitter and Instagram right now,” she says.
“You’re a social media wizard, Rylan,” Drew says as he grabs some plates from the nearby cupboard.
When everyone on the crew decided that Drew taking over as host was a go, establishing a social media presence for him was the next most important item on our collective to-do list. Rylan offered to run the accounts for him, which I was more than happy to let her do. Given she’s ten years younger than the rest of us thirty-somethings, she’s more social-media savvy than anyone else.
Rylan shrugs at Drew’s compliment as if to brush it off, but the smile on her face remains. “Your accounts are already a few thousand followers strong.”
“Wow, that’s amazing, Rylan,” I say. “I shouldn’t be surprised, though. You have a Twitter and Instagram following that’s in the thousands.”
She squints down at her phone screen. “I can only take partial credit. Drew, you’re still trending in New York from that subway gentleman hashtag from weeks ago. Whoever did that deserves credit too.”
I hide behind my mug of coffee while taking a long sip. It’s better if the crew doesn’t find out about how I creeped on Drew. Haley is the only person who knows, and when I told her about my history with him at the beginning of this shoot, I swore her to secrecy.
Drew’s eyes cut to me, the smile on his face taking on a deviant edge. “I definitely owe that person a big thanks.”
“What’s for breakfast?” Wyatt asks from the table, through a yawn, while running a hand through his floppy jet-black hair.
“Eggs Benedict,” Drew says.
My stomach does ten somersaults in the second that he makes eye contact with me. In this shared space where we have minimal privacy, Drew found a way to make the morning after our text shenanigans special for the two of us even though we can’t be alone. My heart flutters. This is one of the sweetest—and m
ost creative—things someone has ever done for me.
“Eggs Benedict sounds yummy,” I say.
Drew spins around, a prepared plate in hand. He sets a plate of English muffins, Canadian bacon, poached eggs, and hollandaise sauce in front of me.
His eyebrow lifts the tiniest bit, a gentle gleam in his eye. “I heard this was your favorite.”
“It is.”
I break the perfectly poached egg yolk with my fork. The bright-yellow liquid spills down the plate. My mouth waters, and not just for the food.
When I take a bite, I hum quietly to myself. It’s the perfect bite of richness and fattiness from the egg and sauce, saltiness from the bacon, and carby goodness from the toasted English muffin.
“Damn, Drew,” Wyatt moans from the table. Rylan nods along while chewing.
“You think you can work as my personal chef?” Wyatt jokes. “I can’t afford to pay you a proper salary, but I can pay you in Hail Marys.”
We all laugh with our mouths full.
Drew takes a bite from his own plate while leaning against the granite kitchen island. He chuckles, then swallows, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I don’t know.” He looks at me. “I’m already gainfully employed. Gotta check with the boss to see if she’s interested in giving me up.”
There’s the slightest lift of his brow as he gazes at me. His hazel-brown eyes pin me from above the rim of his orange juice glass as he takes a sip.
“Not a chance,” I say, the slightest hint of a growl in my voice that is thankfully subtle enough that I’m sure no one picked up on—other than Drew, judging by the way his eyes dazzle.
I turn to Wyatt. “He’s too good of a field coordinator. Sorry, Wyatt.”
Everyone chuckles. As I finish my breakfast, I admire just how well Drew has managed to fit in with the crew. He’s only known us for weeks and yet he jokes and chats with everyone like they’ve been friends for years. But he’s not just a charmer—he’s a genuinely good person with a work ethic that meshes amazingly with every member of this crew. And I feel lucky to be with him.
We finish eating, then run through the plans for the day. Joe and Wyatt are filming landscape shots of Bryce Canyon. Haley and Rylan will assist them.
Haley mentions going over the script for the rest of the Bryce and the Capitol Reef shoots when they’re back from filming landscape shots, but I shake my head. “I can do that. I’ll be stuck at the computer answering emails and reviewing footage anyway. No sense in bogging you down with that,” I say. “You guys should all go out and unwind a little when you wrap up. Explore the tiny towns around here, come back to the condo and take a nap, whatever you want.”
Everyone’s faces perk up except for Haley’s. “You sure? That means you’ll be stuck here all day staring at your laptop.”
“She’ll have help,” Drew says from the kitchen sink. He turns around and smooths a hand over the rumpled white T-shirt that’s clinging quite nicely to his chest. “I’ll be working next to her the whole day.”
The corner of Haley’s mouth quirks up. “You two, always working so hard. I’m sure you’ll make the best of it.”
No one else seems to notice the undertone of Haley’s comment because they’re all rinsing their dishes or walking away to their rooms.
Haley is the last to leave the kitchen, but not before winking at me while Drew is turned around loading the dishes into the dishwasher. I walk up to him and he turns to me, then takes a step forward so that we’re nearly touching.
He reaches a hand to my face and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Excited to work hard with you today, Dunn. Extra, extra hard.”
A sheet of goose bumps flies across my skin. It’s just a few seconds of contact, but I can’t help it. Every bit of Drew I can get—his words, his breakfast, his knowing eye contact, his smiles—is enough to send me into a flutter every single time.
“Especially after last night,” he whispers. “We’re going to have an empty condo. Just you and me—finally.”
I go breathless at the memory. “You better be excited. Because once our work is finished and everyone is gone, I’m expecting you to live out exactly what you described to me in those texts you sent last night.”
His brow lifts slightly. “You’re willing to throw out the ‘nothing happens in Bryce’ rule you were so adamant about last week? You have a weak resolve, Dunn.”
“I tried. I really, really did.” I tug at the hem of his shirt, breathless. “I can’t help it. You bring out the naughty rule breaker in me.”
That cheeky smile tugs at his lips once more. “Let the rule breaking begin.”
* * *
• • •
Working side by side with Drew all morning and afternoon has garnered us impressive results. My inbox count is down to three and we’re nearly finished going through the scripts for the remaining episodes.
My phone buzzes with a text from Wyatt.
Wyatt: Just wrapped. Sure you guys don’t want to join us?
Me: No, you go without us. We’ve still got some edits to the script we’re working on.
Wyatt: Don’t work too hard.
Drew squints at his laptop as he sits across from me at the kitchen table. “Do I have to say, ‘For bonus footage, check out our website’ at the end of the episode?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s kind of . . . unexciting.”
I lightly kick his chair. He chuckles and holds both hands up. “It’s not an insult to your script writing, I swear.”
I narrow my gaze at him in mock annoyance. “What would you rather say?”
“How about, ‘Explore even more by visiting our website for bonus footage’?”
“That’s cute. Catchy. It even rhymes. Sure, go with that.”
He grins and types quickly on his laptop. “We make a hell of a team, Dunn.”
“We do.”
Collaborating with Drew makes me feel even more confident about the series.
And even if all we do for the rest of the day is work, I’d be one hundred percent content. Because no matter what I’m doing with Drew—flirting, working, fooling around, riding in the car, eating breakfast—it’s always the best. Because it’s with him.
My phone rings with an incoming FaceTime call. When I see it’s my mom calling, I tell Drew to wait just a second.
I answer and see her and Dad sitting next to each other on their living room couch, smiling. They greet me at the same time.
“Hi, anak!”
“Hi, honeybun!”
“Hey. Great to see you, guys.”
“I know you’re busy working, anak, but we just wanted to say a quick hi.”
Then in their signature adorable style, they ask a bunch of questions in a row without waiting for me to answer.
“How are things going for you?”
“Is the weather holding out? Have you had to use that rain gear I sent you?”
“You’re getting enough sleep, right, anak?”
“Did you get the extended travel insurance like I recommended, honey?”
I bite back a groan and keep smiling. I have the best, most supportive parents in the world, but they always insist on FaceTiming together and talking at the same time, making it nearly impossible to have a clear conversation.
“Things are good. The weather has been mild so far, perfect for filming. Yes, I’m getting enough sleep. And I didn’t need the extra travel insurance, Dad. Work covered everything.”
They both mention again how proud they are of me for working on my first series.
“I told all the ladies in my aerobics class about my brilliant daughter’s amazing new show and they can’t wait to watch it, anak.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
“Apong would be so happy and proud to know
that you’re filming in Utah. She had so much fun taking you kids on that road trip when you were little. She talked about that vacation all the time.”
My chest warms at just how proud and happy she sounds. Dad nods along.
“You’re going to knock this series out of the park, honeybun,” Dad says. “This is gonna be the first of so many big hits for you, I just know it.”
I hold in the surprise dedication for Apong Lita that I plan to air with the Needles episodes. I’m dying to tell them, but I know that it’ll be a million times more impactful if they see the dedication when they’re watching the actual show.
Seeing their excitement has me the tiniest bit more hopeful. If this series goes well, I’ll be one step closer to hopefully someday filming a travel series in the Philippines—that would be another surprise for my family. I take a quiet second and wish as hard as I can that this all works out and that someday I can make my island getaway series a reality.
“You’re eating enough too, right, anak? And sleeping? Do you need me to mail you a care package of vitamins and snacks? I used to do that for you when you went off to college, remember?”
“Promise I’m doing just fine, Mom.”
Off to the side, Drew laughs quietly.
“Is someone there with you?” she asks.
“Oh, um, yeah.” I pivot the phone slightly so they can see him. “This is Drew; he’s the field coordinator on the crew. He’s amazing.”
I bite my tongue as soon as those final two words go tumbling out of my mouth. I can tell by the way Mom’s thick and shapely eyebrows raise that she’s caught on to the something extra that rests in my tone when I talk about Drew.
His cheeks are pink as he smiles and tells my parents how nice it is to meet them.
“Your daughter has been a pleasure to work with. The whole crew loves her.”
They beam at his praise.
“She gets her work ethic from her mom and her good looks from me,” Dad jokes as he points to his short-buzzed gray hair.
Mom swipes her long, wavy, black hair over one shoulder and laughs as she pats Dad’s arm. “Ay, you stop. We both know she looks like me. Her dark hair, those brown eyes, that nose, her tan. That’s all me.”
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