Page 80 of The Single Dad

“What’s up?”

“Apparently, I’m in hot water,” he says, drumming his fingers on the green felt surface of the table. “Even though I didn’t even do anything illegal. This time.”

“Get caught with the wrong heiress?” Declan quips. Reed shoots him a glare, which is a little surprising, coming from him. Usually, Reed takes our jokes about his playboy lifestyle in stride, waving them away or even playing along. This is a change of pace for him.

And speaking of changes of pace…

I click the vibrator remote again. When I bought it, it claimed to have over a hundred different settings, and I aim to use every single one of them.

“It’s not that,” Reed explains. “Well, it is that, but not directly. Apparently my ‘image’ is starting to affect the ‘Eastwood brand.’”

He lifts his hands to make air quotes as he speaks.

“Damn.” Declan sighs. “I’m sorry, man. That’s rough.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’ve already been roped into, let’s see…” He counts on his fingers. “Two interventions, one with the entire extended family and one with just my parents and a fucking conflict therapist. Not to mention the half-dozen sit-down conversations in my father’s office.”

“So you’re in some hot water.” Declan deals out a new hand.

“Oh, yeah.” Reed snatches up his cards, fanning them out. Even if I was focused on the poker game, it would be impossible to tell if his hand is good or bad. His face has been fixed in a genuine scowl since this conversation began. “Real hot.”

Speaking of real hot…

“Cole, are you gonna play, or what?”

“Right, sorry.” I pick up my hand, giving the cards a cursory look. I’m not really invested in the game, so I don’t really care if I lose. All I have to do is listen to my friends talk, contribute a little to the conversation, pretend I’m playing poker, and give Riley as many orgasms as I possibly can.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” Declan asks Reed, perusing his cards.

“Not sure. My parents hired an image consultant who I’m supposed to talk to.” He scoffs. “I can’t believe them. I mean… I’m not some politician with a dirty secret. I don’t know why I need a fucking PR guy.”

Declan laughs. “I mean, aren’t you? You’re the heir to the Eastwood fortune, and you can’t stop getting caught with—”

“Come on,” Reed protests, cutting him off. “I never bullshit anyone about who or what I am. When I go out, I’m not being anonymous, and I’m not hiding anything. I’m just having a good time, you know?”

“Yeah,” I say, interjecting even as I thumb the vibe controller again, “but maybe this will be a good thing.”

“What do you mean?”

I glance over at Declan, and to my relief, he picks up the thread. “Lots of people hire PR specialists for these types of things. Tons of stars. Everybody wants to have a wild night, and nobody wants consequences. Maybe they’ll help you avoid the paparazzi, or something.”

“Maybe,” Reed says dubiously. “Anyway, I’ll call.”

During the game, I find it next to impossible to focus on more than two things: the running conversation about Reed’s exploits, and the vibe remote in my pocket. The game has to go by the wayside. By the end of the night, my friends have cleaned me out.

“Thanks again, Cole,” Reed says, smirking as he takes my money.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hey—use that to pay your PR guy, huh? One conversation with you, and his rate’s definitely going up.”

Reed swats at me with his hand of cards, and I throw a chip at him. From across the table, Declan clears his throat.

“Gentlemen,” he says, chastising us. I grin at him, and he continues, “Cole, I think you owe me some money, don’t you?”

I hand it over willingly. The game seems to be breaking up; Declan gathers up the cards and chips, and Reed stretches, rising from his chair.

“A pleasure as always,” I say, standing up and shrugging on my jacket. “Next time, I’m winning a few.”

I say goodnight to the guys and call a car for myself.

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