Page 12 of Bottle Shock
Scottie
ME AND KEYS DO NOT GET ALONG
I’m a sucker for a man with tattoos. Not to mention athightattoo. He should put a warning label on himself. Thigh tattoo: might cause temporary insanity. I hadn’t meant to straight-up stare at him, but once I got a clear view of it in all its glory, it took divine willpower—and maybe mild self-preservation—to force my gaze elsewhere. How did I not know he was rockin’ that underneath his clothes?
I’ve never been that close to Gavin before—close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin, to hear the slow drag of his breath. In that small bathroom, the space between us felt even smaller. Every shift he made sparked through me like static, my pulse ricocheting between panic and something far less appropriate. If oxygen had a taste, I swear I’d know exactly what his felt like.
In my defense, I’ve only seen Gavin in passing over the past few years—and never in a situation where he wasn’t fully clothed. For all I know, he’s had that intricate tree design etched into his bulging, muscular thigh for years, and I was none the wiser.
And to be fair, I wasn’t supposed to be here. I said no tothe party, didn’t bring a gift, and technically I’m not crashing. I managed to misplace my key—again—so Elyse told me to stop by and grab the spare she had on her. Simple plan. In and out.
But then my agent called, and I’m so desperate for good news I practically tripped over myself answering. Hoping it’s a role. An audition. Anything that might mean my acting career isn’t totally dead. I came inside to find somewhere quiet, somewhere I could talk without a chorus of screaming kids and pool splashes in the background. I thought I was wandering into a hallway or a home office—or literally anywhere else. Not Gavin’s bedroom. Not his bathroom. Not his naked—thigh-tattooed—self.
So, really, none of this is my fault. I am simply an innocent bystander.
Finally escaping his room before I make an even bigger fool of myself, I’m half tempted to swan-dive into the pool just to cool down. My face is on fire, my heart’s still doing jumping jacks, and I’m ninety percent certain I’ll never recover from the image of that towel and the outline of what was underneath.
It was a big outline. The kind of big I imagine might cause a girl to walk funny the next day.
Not that I’m imagining it, because I’m definitely not.
I am.
I don’t even know why I said half the things I did. “Coma—caused by penis”? Who says that? Whoisthat? Apparently, me.
I make it to the bottom of the stairs and immediately start scanning the yard for Elyse. She’s near a tree, picking up remnants of colorful crepe paper off the grass with Dominic’s help, both of them moving in sync in that easy, familiar way couples do. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to remember how to breathe. I smooth a hand through my hair and try topretend I didn’t just see my best friend’s brother basically naked.
Elyse spots me and waves. “You got here fast.”
“Sure did,” I say, aiming for casual but landing on breathless mess.
She grins. “You need another key, right?”
I nod, stepping closer. “Yeah, sorry to interrupt. I lost mine again.”
Elyse laughs. “You know, I love you, but I’m starting to think I should just have copies made in bulk.”
“That’s fair,” I admit. “Me and keys do not get along. It’s been a lifelong struggle.”
She digs into her tote bag and pulls out a small keychain with a gold heart. “Here. Spare key number three.”
“I swear I’ll keep this one forever,” I say, accepting it like she’s handing me communion.
“Uh-huh. That’s what you said about the last two.”
Before I can respond, Dominic’s radio crackles, and Elyse turns to him, distracted. I take that as my cue to retreat before she can ask why I look like I just stepped out of a sauna. I’m not about to tell her the reason my skin is burning. Yeah, no thank you.
“Thanks for the key!” I call out, already halfway toward the gate. “And tell the birthday girl I said happy birthday!”
The second I’m in the clear, I press a hand to my chest and exhale. Maybe someday I’ll laugh about this. Not today. Probably not tomorrow either.
Because when I close my eyes, I still see him—abs for days, firm ass, broad shoulders, and thatyummythigh tattoo.
And now that I know it exists, I can’t stop thinking about what other secrets he’s hiding.
The worst part is, I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for this kind of distraction—not when I’m already drowning in the humiliation of being back here. So I keep walking,slipping through the side gate before anyone can spot me, the noise of the party fading behind. I’m not ready for questions or pity—or for that look people give when they realize I’m the girl who left to chase big dreams and came crawling right back.
It’s been a week since the bathroom incident, and I’m mostly recovered. If only my career could bounce back as fast as my embarrassment. Every actress knows she’ll be irrelevant someday. I just didn’t think my expiration date would come this soon.
