Page 24 of Script
He relaxed then, his arms uncrossing, and after a sigh, he stalked to the house, opened the door, and waited. Was me going in there just going to compound my situation? What if the media got wind of me holding his hand, while I had an erection, and then stalking him to his home, and going inside? Shit.Shit.
“I’m not sure I should go in,” I called after him.
“Huh?” He turned to face me, then pointed up at the sun. “I have AC.”
“I have this thing…” I began. How to explain? “I don’t want you to feel I’m using my influence to force you to invite me in.”
He snorted a laugh. “Are you a vampire?”
I was confused, and then gestured up at the same sun. “Evidence says otherwise.”
“Then you don’t need to worry about crossing my threshold—I invited you in.”
“Yes, but…” I pulled out my phone and thumbed to record, pointing it at the ground. “Am I forcing you to invite me in?” I asked.
He glanced at me, then the phone, and frowned. “No, Finn Kerrigan, actor, star of theRapidfranchise and a cute film about ladybugs, I, Cameron Chavkin, star center for the LA Storm, am not being intimidated into letting you in my house.” He said that all so deadpan, and then disappeared inside, as I stopped recording.
That covered me, right?
After a moment I slunk in after him and found myself in a wide hallway with a wall of photos. This house wasn’t sterile like mine; it was filled with images of him and family and friends, along with a couple of hockey sticks laid by a small table. There was even a misshapen bowl for keys painted in bright purple and with the initialsCCon it. Had he made that? Or was it a niece or a nephew? I had similar things from Henry and Lilly—a lot of things with Hobart-the-elf and ladybugs on—but I hadn’t unpacked the boxes they were in yet, because my huge place didn’t feel like somewhere I wanted to call home.
Cameron went down a corridor and through a door at the end and I followed, coming into a wide kitchen with light flooding in from huge wraparound windows, through which I could see a pool beyond.
Nope. Hedefinitelydidn’t need my money.
After he tossed me a bottle of ice-cold water, he took a seat at the counter and waited.
Probably for me to say something clever and to explain it all. Emotion welled inside me, all thoughts of getting an NDA fled, and it was the very worst fear that poked me hard.
“I didn’t mean to make you do anything,” I said. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to hold my hand, or touch me with the oil and stuff, when you were just being good to me because I hurt all over.” I lowered myself to one of his stools, thankful they were sturdy enough to hold him, so they should be okay for me. I had more bulk than he did, but he was solid and sleek, and he wasn’t a short guy at all. In fact, he was just the right height to—
Stop.
“You didn’t make medoanything.” He sounded confused, and took a swallow of water, which made my insides hot and squirmy. God, his lips were perfect and if they were wrapped around my cock I’d lose it in seconds.
“I did.” I lifted my chin. “I held your hand on me.”
He stared at me for a while—it seemed like forever—and then he snorted a laugh, which didn’t seem appropriate after my admission.
“Do you know Maverick King?” he asked.
I frowned. “Should I?” Was it his lawyer?
“He’s six-seven, plays up in Ottawa, built like a brick wall, muscles on muscles, a juggernaut of a D-man.”
Oh wait. This Maverick is a hockey player?
“He’s a hockey player?”
“That’s what I just said.”
“I don’t know him, sorry.”
“Wait.” He pulled out his cell and scrolled through the Internet, then turned the screen to me, showing me a photo of a huge man who towered over the skater next to him. “Maverick King, a hundred and ten kilos, like I said, a juggernaut.”
“Okay?” I had no idea where this was going but couldn’t take my eyes off the way his lips moved as he talked. He was mesmerizing.
“Not even he couldmakeme hold your hand,” he said, and sat back.
