Page 21 of Script
“Cool. Everyone will be there then they’ll start flying home. The theme this year is Viking Chic, which is all Little Mikey’s idea.”
I blinked at Charlie because a) Michael hated being called Little Mikey, and b) Viking what now? Prez huffed about the press way too loud. They were asking our poor goalie some shitty questions, and Prez was hovering ready to beat one of them up from the look of him.
“What the hell is Viking chic?” I asked.
Charlie gave me one of those smiles that made his dimples appear. “Mikey says we need to look it up, Romeo. And please bring someone. That way you won’t be flirting with everyone else’s dates.”
I gasped. As if I ever did that. Please.
It caught my attention that Prez was muscling his way through to Phillippe to break up the endless pokes and jabs at our veteran goaltender from the media, and I readied myself to jump in if things got heated.
Zeetoo on the other hand had gone past being pissed and straight onto arctic temperature calm—just like he did when he was on the ice with the Storm. He had a way of closing down the bad stuff and putting hockey front and center, which I admired. Zeetoo and Charlie might be related, but they were so different—particularly given that they were stepbrothers, and Charlie’s darker hair contrasted with Zeetoo who was pale, red-haired, and freckled. Like freckled all over—because hell, we see everything in the locker room, and I swear Zeetoo is an exhibitionist. Probably because Charlie frowned every time he exposed himself.
“I’ll find someone to bring,” I reassured him, relaxing as the media left Phillippe alone at last. Probably intimidated by a brooding Prez hovering right next to our poor goalie. “I can’t help it if people find me charming and sexy.”
Charlie pretend-gagged on his butterscotch then gave my knee a rap with the side of his fist. Staring around at the empty cubicles made me feel shitty. Even though every fiber of my being knew I needed some down time to heal not only my body but my soul, I hated to leave every year, and this year was depressing as we’d comesofucking close. Double shitty to be honest. The fiasco with Finn was chewing on me. Somehow I needed to make things right with him, I just had no idea how to go about doing so while still holding onto my pride.
Life wasn’t always charming for princes no matter what the fairy tales said.
Chapter7
Finn
What did I do?
What did I do?
One glimpse of Cameron in those training pants, and his erection, knowing he was as turned on as I was, and every single promise I’d made to myself for the sake of career vanished.
I nearly did it.
I nearly reached out and pulled him down on top of me.
Fuck.
The weight of regret was as heavy as the mix of fear and shame I’d carried for so long, and I had to stop the car when my chest got so tight I couldn’t breathe. I’d parked in the first place I could find—a vacant lot in front of a boarded-up pizzeria, then stared at the fading signs pronouncing two for one meal deals.
I hadn’t had pizza in so long, empty carbs, not enough protein, had to keep the six-pack, had to stay in shape, had to work hard to be the Finn Kerrigan everyone wanted. I rested my head and hands on the leather steering wheel and groaned.
Stupid. Stupid. Fucking stupid.
But he was there, and he was touching me, and I felt bold and brave, and so freaking horny, and then I’d touched his hand…
I had to get some perspective, consider the scenarios, evaluate the good and the bad.
I could imagine the way Cameron would grip me, then move his hand, and fingers and… shit… it would have been so hot. His expression was beautiful, a want and a need in his stunning gray eyes. And jeez, I was getting hard in an empty lot in my car, and I couldn’t do that.
I couldn’t desire what he’d done again.
Fuck.
I couldn’t even begin to make sense of it all. Cameron could make a ton of money by selling the story of what he thought we might have done, and then I’d lose the Grierson movie role, and then I wouldn’t be able to live an authentic life. I wouldn’t be able to cross the bridge to being out in Hollywood but still getting work. Actors who fuck everything up before they made it big don’t get to cross that bridge.
Would Cameron do that? Did he need money? I pulled out my cell, and typed inHow much is Cameron worth?It returned a few results for other famous guys called Cameron—I’m an idiot—and I added his last name of Chavkin.
The top hit was a net worth site, twenty-six million.
So maybe he wouldn’t out me for money.
