“Keeping busy?”
I look up, and whoa.
Just whoa.
If I thought Hunter was hot before, I was not prepared for Vegas Hunter. He can take all the time he wants in the world to get ready.
His charcoal pants are tailored and trim.
His black short-sleeve shirt hugs his toned muscles. And he’s unbuttoned the top three buttons, revealing that smattering of chest hair that makes my pulse spike.
That makes my dick stand tall.
“Fuck, babe,” I say, then cross over to him, grab his face, and haul him in for a fierce kiss that ends all too soon so we can head down to the tables and meet my friends.
As we go, I catch my smug smile in the elevator mirror. My forty-eight-hour boyfriend is a total babe.
11
HUNTER
Speak of the devil.
When we near the blackjack table, I do a double-take. That’s a very familiar face. The golden-haired, blue-eyed guy whose movie we watched earlier today.
Jude Fox.
The English actor whose career is on the rise.
I do a triple-take when Nate gives a quick tip of his forehead to the guy next to Jude. A broody, bearded man with dark eyes and the kind of handsome that’s understated, quiet. Harrison Ford hot rather than Brad Pitt.
He looks like . . .
And the image snaps fully into place.
TJ Hardman. He’s a novelist, and we acquired the rights to one of his books a year ago.
This could be complicated, to say the least. Which means it’s time for a boyfriend lesson.
“Are those your friends we’re meeting?” I didn’t think to ask for the Vegas friends list earlier because . . . who cares? I figured if they’re friends with Nate, that’s good enough for me. Plus, we had plenty of other things to do with our mouths.
But now, the matter takes on a new urgency. I grab Nate’s hand, stop him in his tracks. “That’s TJ Hardman,” I say quietly, though I doubt TJ can hear me over the cha-ching of slot machines and the clink of glasses in the casino. “And Jude Fox.”
Nate’s brow furrows. “Yes, and I’m Nate Chandler, and you’re Hunter Colburn. Well done. There will be a name quiz tomorrow. But you’re prepped.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean? You say it like it’s an issue. I presumed since you’re hanging with football royalty,” he says with a cocky wink, “you were good with a little bit of fame too.”
“That’s not it,” I insist, then tug him aside toward a Wizard of Oz slot machine trilling “Over the Rainbow.” “Time for a boyfriend lesson. I need you to get my back on something.”
“Sure,” Nate says immediately, not even needing to know what the issue is before he agrees. Another point in his favor. He has so damn many. I swear the scales will tip over soon. “What is it, hottie?”
I set a hand between his shoulder blades, nudging him closer to me as the wicked witch cackles behind us. “We acquired his book a year ago,” I say in a low voice.
“Sweet,” Nate begins, then forms an O with his lips. “Or maybe not sweet?”
“It’s great. Sort of. Or it will be at some point. But it’s not my project. One of my colleagues heads it up, and it’s been stalled. The lead actor took another project, the director took a holiday, the writer quit. The trade press calls it a rom-comedy of errors. So I don’t really want to talk about the status of it.”
“I get that,” he says.
“So,” I say with a heavy sigh, “it’d really be best if we not talk shop.”
Nate grins, then drops a kiss to my lips. “Watch me, hottie. I can be so very good at shooting the shit about a hundred things other than back-burnered Webflix projects.”
And my heart shimmies a little more in my chest.
Nate drags his thumb along my jaw possessively. “But the more we stand here whispering, the more it’s gonna look like we’re talking about secret strategies to not talk about what’s cooking, so how about I just adjust your collar?” he asks, smoothing a hand on my shirt. “And maybe this button.” His fingers travel to the top of my shirt. “So it looks like I’m just making sure my smoke show of a boyfriend looks presentable?”
I upgrade the shimmy to a full-on tango. “I like to aim higher than presentable.”
Nate runs a hand down the buttons on my shirt. “I’d say you’re hitting the mark.” Then he presses a quick kiss to my lips.
A boyfriend kiss. One you’d give your partner. It’s chaste by kissing standards, but it does something to me all the same. Something dangerously good.
Then, he drapes his arm around my shoulder and guides me to his friends, striding over to the writer first.
Nate glances at TJ’s stack of chips. “Time to double down,” he says to the bearded guy as the man drags a handful of purple chips to the edge of the table.
“Thanks for the tip.” TJ stands, gives Nate a one-armed hug, then gestures to the obscenely large pile of chips. “I didn’t know how to play without you.”
Nate flashes a winning grin, squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll be your good-luck charms. This is my . . .” Nate begins, then takes a beat, maybe mulling over whether to call me his boyfriend in public or not. I tense in that fraction of a second, hoping he won’t. If he does, it’ll suck worse when this fake boyfriend project ends in another day. I’ll feel like a wanker-tosser-jackwad. “My very good friend . . . Hunter.”
And. Wow. That works.
It’s all in the delivery.
Nate says it smooth and dripping with innuendo, making it white-hot and clear that we’re more than friends without revealing what we are exactly.
Those scales tip even more.
“Pleasure to meet you, TJ,” I say, extending a hand to Nate’s friend, then TJ turns to the guy by his side.
“And you as well, Hunter. And this is Jude,” TJ says to both of us. “Jude, this is my bud Nate and his very good friend Hunter.”
Jude laughs lightly. “What a pleasure to meet such friendly men,” the actor says, shaking hands with both of us before he runs a hand through TJ’s hair. “Who knew there were so many very good friends hanging out this weekend in the city of sin?”
TJ rolls his eyes, then Jude laughs.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t be like that.” The actor drops a loud, smoochy kiss on TJ’s bearded jaw. It’s almost as if he’s putting on a show for us, but at the same time, he seems legit. I can’t quite tell.
I dart a glance at Nate, trying to ask what’s going on with my eyes. My weekend date covertly shrugs as if to say I’ve got no idea.
But Nate wisely moves on to other matters. He pulls out a chair at the table, patting it for me, a gentlemanly move I like. He grabs the one next to it. “Let’s play some blackjack,” he says, and he fishes in his pocket for some chips that he changed out when we first checked into the hotel. He sets some down for himself, then me.
Then we order drinks and play blackjack with his friends. Over beers, Nate steers the conversation away from anything related to books or Webflix, lubricating the conversational path to chat with Jude about London and the food we miss most, like a proper bag of chips with plenty of salt and vinegar, a full English breakfast, and, of course, crumpets. Meanwhile, TJ and Nate debate the merits of The Extravagant hotel versus The Invitation across the street before moving on to the chances of the New York Comets versus the San Francisco Cougars in the World Series.