Page 7 of Selling Out
“So, what’ll it be? Take it?” He leans closer, and I grit my teeth when my eyes drop to his mouth without my permission. I force them back up, praying he can’t hear the speed of my heart rate. “Or leave it?”
The arrogance of the man is astounding.Definitely leave it. Those are the words I want to say. But somehow, they’re not enough. The man is unfazed by whatever digs I take at him. He has an invincible ego.
I have to respond somehow, though.
I meet his eye, then reach a hand toward his chest. It’s a dangerous game I’m playing here, but I’m all in, and if I have to have the feel of Austin Sheppard’s pecs forever emblazoned on my memory to put him in his place, so be it.
The cocky glint in his eye wavers, and his expression becomes more intent, like I’ve caught him off guard. He didn’t expect me to call his bluff.
I’m not just calling. I’m raising, baby.
I drop my gaze to his bare chest and trace the path of a drop of water with my finger as it travels down his sternum. I have no idea what’s gotten into me. Never in my life have I been this daring. Or crazy.
I watch with satisfaction as chills erupt on his skin and his Adam’s apple bobs ever so slightly. Despite my best intentions, my own body is reacting, too, planting that little seed of thought that says, “What now?”
Worse still, I can feel the dreaded hiccups coming, ready to humiliate me now that I have the upper hand. It’s now or never.
I press my hand flush against his chest, let it sit for two seconds, then shove him as hard as I can.
There’s a big splash, and I don’t even wait for him to resurface. I walk toward the locker room, a huge smile on my face and the taste of victory like sugar on my tongue.
“Wow, Mia,” Austin calls from the pool. I swear I can hear the amusement in his voice, but I refuse to look.
“You pulled meoutof the water without my permission,” I call out, “so I pushed youin.”
He chuckles as I turn into the locker room, my whole body shaking with my own audacity.
“Think about my offer!” he yells.
And that’s when the hiccups come.
“Uh oh,”Gemma says from her place at the counter when I walk in the door.
I’d been hoping to sneak to my room undetected, but these stupid hiccups are a dead giveaway. They come on when I get nervous, and they’rereallyhard to get rid of. None of this holding your breath or swallowing sugar or drinking upside down.
So far, I’ve only found one method to kick them: the element of surprise. Which isn’t something I can do for myself.
“What happened?” Gemma asks.
“Nothing.”Hic!
She turns to face me on the barstool, one brow hitched.
I sigh, take a seat, and tell her what happened at the pool, punctuated by hiccups.
Gemma doesn’t say anything when I finish. She just stares. For so long.
“The end,” I say after five seconds pass.
She blinks. “I don’t even know where to start—with the fact that Austin Sheppard asked you to come on tour with him, the fact that you saidno, or the fact you tried to drown him.”
“I pushed him into the pool—hic!He was fine.” I conveniently leave out the part when I came onto him before shoving him in. Let’s call itediting out extraneous details for the sake of brevity.
“Okay, sure. Let’s set that bit of crazy person behavior to the side for a second. I just want to clarify one thing real quick.” She folds her arms across her chest and squints. “Whyexactly did you say no to him?”
I scoff. “Come on, Gem. It’s not like I got asked by Taylor Swift or something. This is Austin Sheppard.”
“AKA one of the hottest emerging artists.”
