Page 40 of Building Romance
“Fine, he can be Football Ken,” Drew says with a sigh.
I nod. “Al is Grandpa Ken.”
We both nod in agreement.
“Troy is Dad Ken,” he adds.
“What about me?” he asks as he swirls his drink and then finds the part of the glass lip that still has salt and licks it.
I give him a pointed look and he laughs. “I am not Gay Ken.”
“Why not? And I wasn’t even thinking that. I mean, not really,” I tease with a sheepish grin. I’d otherwise never tease any of my other friends like this, but Drew and I have been through so much together and I know talking about that topic is tough for him, even now.
He glares at me.
“I love you,” I tell him because even if we joke with each other, I need him to know that I will always have his back.
“I know,” he says like a petulant child.
“How about…hear me out…Fashion Ken?” I suggest.
He purses his lips and furrows his brows. “Doesn’t that already, like, exist?”
I shrug. “Who cares?”
“I care. I want a unique Ken name,” he protests.
“Fine, you can be Diva Ken,” I say as I narrow my eyes.
He cocks his head to one side and laughs. “OK, I can live with that.”
We both laugh and then sit smiling at each other. “Now, what Barbie am I?”
My mind whips back to reality. I live in a world of Ken dolls. How are all the men in my life so fit? What the hell? I never gave that a lot of thought, but now as I watch Fletcher pull a shirt over his head, I’m left drooling and contemplating all the abs in my life.
“Business Ken,” I whisper.
His gaze abruptly shifts to the crack in the door and we stare at each other as he finishes pulling his shirt over his head. I’m not sure what he’s thinking but a part of me that is in desperate need of sex is most definitely thinking about licking those abs and other things.
I’ve been caught red-handed, ogling my business partner. Partner? Yeah, I guess I’ll go with that for now.
“You ready?” I ask, finally breaking the silence and hoping my face isn’t as red as I think it might be.
“Yes. Let’s go,” he replies while his lips twitch and I know he’s trying not to smirk. That smug bastard knows he’s good-looking.
I spin on my heels and head out the door, a small part of me wishing that damn saltshaker was in my pocket. But instead, I have its twin and that will have to do for today.
As we approach the tent, cameramen are moving equipment. I trip on a wire and I feel Fletcher’s hand on my hip, holding me steady. Once I’m upright and stable, he moves his hand to the small of my back, guiding me through the chaos to our station. It’s a small thing. It’s a gentlemanly thing. But it feels more than that.
When we reach our station, I shake the weird feeling I have. There’s nothing between us. We’ve been thrust into a situation where we have to work together, and when it’s over, we’ll part ways and go back to being rivals. All will be right with the world.
Only, when I think about that future, it doesn’t seem right. Can I hate Fletcher again? It feels wrong.
Fletcher grabs my apron from the hook where I left it and hands it to me before grabbing the second one. We all have aprons with the show’s logo on them.
And then, just like that, we start prepping. The filming starts mid-morning, and every time I feel like I’ve done something wrong, Fletcher is right there, encouraging me. We get the cookies in the oven and start cleaning up our workstation. It’s unnerving doing it with a camera in your face.
My face falls and I go still when I realize I didn’t set the timer. Shit!
