I could see the humor in it. After all, I was nearly six and a half feet tall, and considering my line of work, I wasn’t out of shape by any stretch of the imagination. And yes, Terry was a two-foot-long reptile. I wasn’t ignorant to what it looked like to others when I walked him on a leash. But I did it to keep him from falling in the pool or taking off. As much as I wanted to argue that point—stressing that it was out of necessity, not fashion—I decided to give up and allow them to bond at my expense.
It didn’t take long for the two of them to start their own conversation, which—thankfully—didn’t involve making fun of me. I couldn’t complain, because it gave me the time to finish weeding Jessa’s flowerbeds. After only getting bits and pieces of what they talked about, I assumed they were discussing my sister’s experience with fostering kids and Tasha’s plan for the youth center.
Part of me loved the sight of their smiles and the sound of their laughter.
The other part of me feared the very real possibility that this could all disappear.
I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that relationships were easy. I knew they took a lot of hard work, which I was perfectly fine doing as long as it was a team effort. And it wasn’t that I doubted Tasha or thought she would screw me over. I was just a realist. I was very aware of the issues that stood between us. While minor to some people, there were aspects that left me hesitant—such as her being famous by association. I didn’t need that in my life.
Been there. Done that.
Spent the last twenty years trying to forget it.
After a bit, I interrupted the giggling girls to take Terry inside. Even though it wasn’t too hot out, I didn’t want him to overheat. But as I approached the patio on my way back, I noticed Tasha was gone. Jessa was the only one left on the swing.
She must’ve read the question on my face because she said, “She had to take a phone call.”
I glanced over my shoulder, in the direction my sister was pointing, and understood that to mean that she’d gone back to her place. I wasn’t worried—I knew she’d get ahold of me when she was finished. I just hated that she had to deal with this lie. Even on her day off, she still had to sneak off to take phone calls. In a way, it made me feel like the other man.
“How much longer does she have to do this?” Jessa asked, concern lining her brow.
I knew that was concern for me, not for what Tasha was doing, but either way, I didn’t like it. She may have been my older sister, and she may have taken care of me when we were younger, but now I was all grown. I didn’t need her to be apprehensive on my behalf.
“Until the show finishes filming. I think she said there are roughly twelve weeks on the schedule, and we’re in week one.”
Her eyes opened wide. “She has to do this for eleven more weeks?”
“At least. She doesn’t talk about it much. I’ve asked things, but she always seems hesitant to answer. I haven’t figured out why, though. Like, if she just doesn’t want to think about, or if she’s not allowed to discuss it. I have no idea.”
“What if her sister recovers before then?”
I plopped down next to her on the swing, already exhausted with this conversation. “I don’t know, Jess. I’m assuming she has to stick around until the end to keep everyone from asking questions. From what I gather, her sister has had extensive work done, and if she just randomly pops up in the middle of the season with big ol’ titties, duck lips, and a super tight face, people will start to dig. And if they dig, I doubt it’d take them long to find something.”
“So you two have to sneak around until she’s done, no matter what?”
I nodded, not sure why she even felt the need to ask that question. She knew the answer. Even if we hadn’t previously discussed it, she was aware of the repercussions both of us could face if we weren’t careful.
“Have you talked about what will happen when the filming ends?”
I loved my sister, but there were times when she got on my last nerve. And this was one of them. “I answered this the last time you asked,” I muttered, referring to the interrogation I got right after finding out the truth from Dave. “We’re not making any plans as of yet. Right now, our only goal is to get to know one another to even see if we want it to continue after this is all over.”
She held her hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. I was just checking. Sheesh.”
“Why? Are you trying to make plans for the pool house? Trying to get rid of me?” I teased, hoping to add a little light into our conversation. It wasn’t that it was a down or depressing talk. I just didn’t like to think about it—all the different ways it could go. I only wanted to enjoy the time I had with her, however long it may be.
“No, nothing like that. I just like seeing you smile, is all.”
I nudged her with my elbow. “I always smile. I’m a freaking happy individual.”
Jessa rolled her eyes, a hum of laughter passing her smiling lips. “Sure thing. Whatever you say, Captain Cheerful,” she said as she pushed off the swing. With one last smile in my direction, she headed inside, leaving me alone on the porch with my thoughts.
* * *
Just over an hour after leaving, Tasha texted me. She was waiting on a call from Ty, so she didn’t feel comfortable leaving the house until she heard from him. Not knowing when he’d call or how long the conversation would be, she invited me over to wait with her.
I most certainly was not going to pass up time with her.
“Who called you earlier? When you left my place?” I asked, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge. “I thought that was Ty, which was why you had to leave?”
“Oh, no. That was just Dave. I felt bad choosing to take that call over sitting with your sister, but between our schedules, it’s been almost two days since we last talked. I know I’ve been here for almost a month already, but I’m still not used to going that long without hearing from him.”
“You guys have lived together for ten years…you don’t have to explain anything to me, Tasha. I get it. And I’m sure if Jessa knew who it was, she’d get it, too. Trust me, she wasn’t offended.” I grabbed the bag of chips off the kitchen counter and followed her into the living room. “What did Dave have to say?”
“Not much. He mainly wanted to hear about filming and the other women on the show.”
Feigning offense, I clutched my chest and gasped. “You tell him those details but not me?”
For a moment, it looked like she wasn’t sure how to respond. But as soon as she caught my smile, she relaxed. “It’s not that simple. The contract that Tiff had to sign for the show is very restrictive. Even though I won’t technically be the one who gets penalized, it will come back on me in the end thanks to the detailed nondisclosure agreement.”
“What do you mean the contract is restrictive?” I immediately realized how I sounded, so I waved my hands between us, shaking my head while I finished swallowing a chip. “Never mind. You don’t have to explain anything. I was just curious.”
“No, it’s fine. But if any of this comes back to bite me in the butt, I’m coming after you.”
Crossing my fingers over my chest, I said, “I won’t say anything, I swear.”
“Well, the contract prevents her—aka, me—from discussing the details of the show. That includes conversations that occur during get-togethers, drama between cast members, as well as what happens behind the scenes. The only reason Dave knows any of that is because he had to sign the NDA as well, and it’s all spelled out on that document. So naturally, he asked questions before signing it.”
“And since no one knows that I’m aware of the switch-a-roo…”
She nodded. “Exactly. You’re a huge liability. Not that I think you’ll blab or—”
“Tasha,” I interrupted, grabbing her hand to gain her full attention. “I get it. You don’t have to explain anything to me. You have to watch your own back. I completely understand that. Whatever you say to me will never be repeated, so if you�
��re worried about what little I already know about the show, don’t. I promise, I’m way too confused over the whole thing to even know what it all means. There’s a reason I don’t watch that crap.”
“Honestly, Jacoby…it’s not that I don’t want to tell you.”
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t. Now that I have a better grasp of the bigger picture, it doesn’t bother me. Well, not that it ever bothered me, but you know…” I hoped she understood what I was trying to say.
Thankfully, it seemed that she did. With a soft, gentle smile, she leaned closer and lightly kissed my lips. It was short and very PG, but it was enough to settle many of the concerns that had invaded my thoughts earlier.
Before I had a chance to return the sentiment, her phone rang, Ty’s name flashing on the screen. Tasha’s body grew rigid as she answered the call. To the untrained ear, she sounded unfazed, but to me, I could hear the apprehension in her voice. Maybe that was because I was looking at her, the visual aiding my observance. Or maybe it was proof that I was starting to appreciate her on a deeper level, to the point I could pick out the subtle nuances in her tone.
It was more than likely the fact that I could see her face.
Tasha wasn’t saying much other than a yeah here and an uh-huh there. I had no idea what Ty was saying, but whatever it was had her visibly anxious. She sat back on the couch with her hand covering her face, her eyes likely closed. Her lips were pursed, and her nostrils flared with every breath.
I hated seeing her like this.
So I did something about it.
I slid onto the floor, ignoring the pinch of the hard tile beneath my knees as I positioned myself between her legs. Obviously startled, she moved her hand to the side to see what I was doing. But the second I ran my palm over her bare thigh, my thumb grazing the sensitive skin between her legs, she dropped her hand to the couch.
Her body had relaxed so much that her legs were practically limp on either side of me. And as I bent over to taste her skin, her breathing had changed as well. No longer were they strained inhales and hesitant exhales. Now they seemed to flow in and out of her chest like waves in the ocean—effortless and natural.
It didn’t take long for her uh-huhs to turn into mmhmms. The few words she did have to give in response to whatever he said were slow, dragged out, and partially mumbled. How he didn’t question her was beyond me.
I’d only meant to relax her, maybe help take away some of her stress. But once I had my face between her legs, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to back away. It definitely took major restraint to stay over her shorts when all I wanted to do was taste her.
A few mumbles later, she disconnected the call and tossed her phone onto the cushion next to her. With the most contented smile I’d ever seen her wear, she ran her fingers through the sides of my hair and held me captive in her slate-colored eyes.
She was so damn sexy.
All I wanted to do was bury my face between her legs and let her grind herself into my mouth. And while I was sure she’d be up for that if I initiated it, I could tell by her expression that she had heavier things on her mind. Her grin was soft, not reaching her eyes—which were a paler shade than I was used to seeing. Rather than the faint, light cyan color that had the ability to silence the world with a single glance, they were more of a pale blue, like a heavily diluted watercolor. I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but it wasn’t a reaction to my sexual advances. I knew, without a doubt, exactly what shade of grey her eyes were when she was aroused.
Which was how I could tell that, while not opposed to taking this further, she had other things on her mind. And the first time I tasted her, the first time I felt her, the first time I pushed inside her…I wanted her complete, undivided attention. If that meant I’d have to wait until the show finished filming and she was back to living her own life then so be it.
“Need a beer?” I asked, giving both of us an easy out without making it awkward or obvious.
A despondent groan vibrated past her lips as she scrunched her nose. It was the most pathetic whine I’d ever seen—so pathetic that she didn’t even open her mouth to release the sound. One side of her top lip quirked up in a scowl, completing the image of absolute misery on her face right before she muttered, “I think it’s going to be a rum night.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, other than it wasn’t good.
“Straight or mixed?”
Sadness blanketed her face. “In hot cocoa.”
“Are you sure? Because it doesn’t sound like that’s what you want.”
“It is, it’s just that Dave always makes it for me, and he does it perfect. I have no idea how he does it, and he’s not here to make it for me.”
I never thought I’d be competing with a gay man for the love of a woman.
Yet here I was.
“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.” I gave her hips a squeeze and then pushed myself onto my feet. My dick might’ve been sad that I was walking away, but my knees couldn’t have been happier to be off the tile floor.
It was probably close to ten minutes before I returned to the living room with one mug of spiked hot chocolate for Tasha and a bottle of water for myself. It had taken a bit to locate the box of cocoa in the pantry, and then I had to make it. I also needed a minute or two to get my blood pumping north again.
Tasha locked her phone screen and then set it next to her. She was more than likely texting Dave, which made me slightly jealous. I wanted her to talk to me, open up to me, but I couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, I’d go to either Jessa or Marcus, not because I didn’t trust Tasha, but because my sister and her husband could offer me a level of comfort that she simply couldn’t match…yet.
She took a sip to taste it, hummed, nodded, and then set the mug on the coffee table. Turning her body to face me, she tucked her feet beneath her bottom and propped her elbow on the back of the couch, resting her head in her open palm. The element of stress was still in her eyes, though the rest of her body language insinuated that she’d begun to relax—at least a little.
“You hummed and nodded…does that mean you like it?”
“It’ll do.” She shrugged and playfully sucked her teeth, yet it didn’t hide the smirk that tugged at one side of her mouth. There was no reason for her to deny it if she thought it was good—or possibly as good as Dave’s—which meant her blasé attitude was in jest. And that meant she was on her way to being herself again.
“How do you spell especially?”
My random question clearly caught her by surprise. However, that didn’t stop her from rolling with it—just one more thing added to the list of what I really like about her. With a furrowed brow, she spelled it out, mouthing each letter to herself before saying it out loud. “Why? Do you really not know how to spell it?”
“Oh, no…I do. I wasn’t sure if you did or not. You say exspecially, so I thought maybe you add an X. I was just curious.”
Her immediate smile let me know that she hadn’t taken me too seriously. Technically, she did pronounce it with an X at the beginning of the word, something I’d noticed the handful of times I’d heard her say it. And based on the way she palmed her face and shook her head, as if hiding in shame, I assumed she was already aware of this.
“Where in the world did that even come from?” Laughter carried her words past widely smiling lips. “I’m trying to recall everything I’ve said since you got here, and for the life of me, I can’t recall even saying that word.”
“You didn’t.”
I waited for her to playfully smack my arm or roll her eyes, but instead, she whispered, “Oh, Lord,” beneath her breath.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t going to ask you about your phone call, so I had to come up with something. It was the first thing that came to mind.” Technically, the feel of her soft lips and the warmth of her tongue was the first thing that came to mind, but I couldn’t bring that up, either.
She lifted her gaze to t
he ceiling, licking her lips in thought. “Ty’s just being super paranoid, and it’s annoying the crap out of me.” When she settled her attention back on me, I knew she was ready to confide in me. “Apparently, the show hired my sister to be the ‘resident bitch,’ which isn’t surprising since Tiff is a monster to everyone around her.”
“That’s an understatement,” I mumbled to myself.
“He said the contract states that she is to assume that role in the group, and if she doesn’t—or doesn’t do it well enough—they could end up cutting her from the entire show. If my sister gets cut or is pushed to a side character, then I’m screwed. My agreement specifically states that I am not to do anything that could put her career in jeopardy. By being too nice to the other cast members, I’m risking her spot on the show, which would be seen as jeopardizing her career.”
“I don’t get it. If she’s a model, how is this show her career?” I doubted I’d ever understand the working parts of celebrities. There were people who were literally famous for nothing other than being on some drama-driven reality show. I didn’t see how that required any talent.
“Ty never explained the entire situation to me, but I guess she’s planning to start her own brand, which I took to mean a clothing line of some sort. She’s using this opportunity to get her name out there and to stay current. I guess being on TV would make it easier to sell her crap. Although, to be fair, I don’t understand how she could possibly think that people would want to buy her stuff if she’s nasty to everyone all the time. I certainly wouldn’t want to support someone like that.”
That was the million-dollar question. “People are drawn to drama and chaos. It’s like a car crash—everyone slows down to look, to get a glimpse of what happened. Why? It wasn’t their car that was hit. They weren’t the ones in the accident. And aside from a traffic jam, it has no bearing on their lives whatsoever, yet that doesn’t stop them from looking.”
Dealing with that as a kid and into my early teens, I understood that train wrecks caught a lot of attention. What I could never comprehend, though, was the why. Aside from natural curiosity, why were people so obsessed with tragedy? Unfortunately, most would never understand the backside of that coin.
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