Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

I force a smile, scared to give any other reaction away other than my state of shock.

Alessandra has joined us, handing Emerson a cup of coffee.

“You’re here?”

“She’s filming for the next three days,” Ash tells me animatedly. “We should go out to the pub or something.”

“I’m on a tight schedule,” she announces, moving her eyes away from where I’m standing.

“Then don’t let us stop you.” I carry my bag, walking straight past them. Inside my room, I throw my bag down, while leaning back on the door with my eyes closed.

She’s here.

She’s real.

She’s no longer a figment of my imagination.

Opening my eyes, I try to get the image of the way she stared at me out of my head. Her blue eyes always do that to me. It’s like putting me in some kind of trance that stops me from thinking straight or with some sort of reason.

Stripping down to nothing, I step inside my bathroom and take a long, hot shower, relaxing my tense muscles. The only muscle I can’t relax is the one down below which is raging hard with no happy ending to cure the sadness it’s currently facing.

I could rub one out, but choose not to—a way to avoid the torture of reliving our moment in the hotel. Something I’ve done on too many occasions that only makes everything worse.

I get dressed in my navy suit, white collared shirt, and matching navy tie. Splashing on some cologne, I finish with placing my watch on my wrist and then make my way to the living room to be greeted by only Ash.

Fixing my cuffs, I pretend to be uninterested asking, “Where she’s gone.”

“I think back to her hotel.”

“Where’s she staying?”

“Somewhere in London,” he responds without giving me many details.

I hide my disappointment, wishing I hadn’t acted like a dick because I’m pissed off she’s still with Wesley, even though I have no reason to be since we both agreed to have fun without getting involved. Probably the most-stupidest idea I have ever had.

“I’m meeting her tonight for drinks if you want to tag along.”

“We have a game tomorrow,” I remind him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just one drink. How often do I get to see my sister, huh?”

“Get changed, we only have ten minutes before the car arrives.”

Ten minutes later he emerges fully dressed and looking presentable.

“It’s like you’re fucking Clark Kent,” I joke, always amazed at his ability to get ready within the smallest amount of time.

“It’s called… a wife... and an ironing board.”

“You’d be caught dead saying that in front of her,” I point out.

“Probably. She likes to suck my dick so I could save myself that way.”

We both laugh, closing the door behind us as make our way down to the hire car and toward the studios.

***

The panel took four hours for a one-hour segment. I’ve done several of these and being in front of the camera’s no biggie. On panels, like today, we engage in a healthy debate over club corruption and how it affects the players and coaches. The discussion lasted for most of the segment, and by the time we finished I needed a drink.