Page 12 of The Anaconda Downstairs

About Everett Kingman.

With a yank, I hauled my door open and stared bleary-eyed at Kelsey, who was looking a bit disheveled herself. Except she’d probably been having real sex, with a real Kingman. Because she was a lucky lady like that.

“What’s wrong?”

Kelsey’s eyes were wide with a mix of panic and excitement. “The video shoot for ‘Curvy Confidence’ is a bust. The location we booked in LA just fell through. That one is important to me, Pen. What are we going to do?”

I blinked, my brain still foggy from sleep and that all-too-vivid dream. I grabbed my tablet, and sent a half dozen messages to my contacts in LA. I’d made more connections there since working for Kelsey than the twenty-some-odd years I’d lived there before. “Okay, I had a feeling about that venue, so I’ve just pulled in the backup location I had on hold. They can squeeze us in, but it’s got to be today.”

“You are a freaking godsend.” Kelsey hugged me. “Give me five minutes to throw some things in a bag.”

I sent messages to the flight crew to prep the plane and then rushed around my room, grabbing essentials and shoving them into a suitcase.

My phone buzzed with another incoming text. This one wasn’t work. It was from Everett, and I felt my face go hot. He didn’t have mental telepathy and knew I’d had a sex dream about him, did he?

Ready for lesson one?

Oh, phew. But also, dammit. I’d have to postpone our dating lessons. I quickly typed out a response explaining the situation.

His reply came almost instantly.

No worries. I can coach you over the phone just as well.

Declan appeared in the doorway, looking as disheveled as Kelsey but carrying her bags. I almost dropped my phone.

“Will you be back in time for the game in Florida?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.

Kelsey looked to me. I loved how hard the two of them supported each other’s careers, and while she had to miss a few games here and there, she hated to. Plus, to be honest, Declan played better when she was around, and no way I wanted to let down all of Mustang Nation because of some scheduling kerfuffles.

Not to mention, I kind of liked watching the games myself. There was something about those football butts. There was no wonder why they called Everett a tight end.

I mentally calculated dates and times, checked the shooting schedule to see how much was going to need to be rearranged, and tentatively nodded.

“We should be,” I assured them both, slipping into my role as coordinator extraordinaire. “The shoot shouldn’t take more than five days if we push it. I think we can be back on Saturday to fly with you all. But if needs be, we can fly straight from LA to Florida and meet you there.”

Declan visibly relaxed, and I felt a surge of pride. This was what I was good at—making things work, no matter the chaos.

We climbed into the car I’d ordered a few minutes later, bags and a sleepy Wiener the Pooh in tow. This was going to be a long day.

My phone buzzed with another text.

Here is your first assignment, my sweet Padawan. One night while you’re in LA, I want you to go out and practice some flirting.

Wait. No. No, no. Wait. I texted back.

I don’t think you understand exactly how bad I am at that particular skill.

He sent back a laughing emoji.

I’ll give you some pointers before you go out.

Shit. I took a deep breath that was accidentally a little shaky. This wasn’t how I’d expected our lessons to start, but maybe a little distance would be good. It would certainly help me keep my newfound attraction to Everett in check.

“Everything okay?” Kelsey asked, noticing my preoccupation with my phone.

I nodded, plastering on a smile. “Just making sure everything’s in order. You know me, always planning ahead.”

Hold up a minute. Before all of this chaos, he’d texted me asking if I was ready for lesson number one. What exactly did Everett have in mind for my first lesson at seven o’clock on Monday morning? That was not normal dating hours. I glared at my phone suspiciously and typed him another text.

---