Page 83 of Ten Hammers

I can hear his voice when I look at him. I swear I can see that love in his eyes now. Has he always looked at me like that?

My brain is still short circuiting, because holy fuck, Diesel Hammer literally just kissed my ass.

And I liked it.

“I can get my own ice pack,” I say because I’m overcome by the need to have Diesel Hammer not look at me like he wants to spread my sweet cheeks and do God only knows what to me.

All things I’d scream yes, please! to without thinking twice.

I call out, “I’ll be right back,” before beelining across the street. I head first to the kitchen for a bag of frozen peas, then up to my room. I lock the door behind me and sag against it. Try to control my breathing and my heart, because they’re both all over the damn place.

Maybe the frozen peas will shock me back to my senses?

No, although they do feel good on my nose, and will hopefully keep me from looking like I’m ready to lead Santa’s sleigh through the dark of night, just in time for my date with Diesel.

A date that hopefully won’t get photographed and gossiped about all over the Internet.

Oh God, what is my life?

My chest hurts. And I suspect that the cause of the pain is less because of the awful comments online and more the realization tightening its grip on me that this journey is leading to a moment where I must choose one of the Hammer brothers.

And I must choose one of the Hammer Brothers.

How on earth can I make such a choice? The mere thought leaves me frozen, and my mind auto-rejects the idea of choosing any of them as my one and only. I’ve experienced incredible chemistry with each brother, and they all treat me like their queen.

And what happens to the others when I choose? I can’t bear to imagine it.

When I’m utterly unsuccessful at getting myself under any kind of control, I pull my phone out of my back pocket.

I’m reluctant to open it after keeping it silent and ignoring it all morning, but when I do, I see that Goldie has sent me fifteen texts and I’ve had four missed calls, and the same amount of voice messages from her, too—I’m assuming she’s seen the photo.

“Well, it’s about damn time!” Goldie’s familiar voice bubbles forth as soon as she answers, and there’s nothing in it but enthusiasm. “That picture!”

Sorry I didn’t pick up. Gunnar was going down on me on the stairs, and then I had sex with Diesel…

Obviously, I can’t tell what I was doing, because I need to ease her into this crazy new journey of mine. I already failed to ease myself into this crazy new journey of mine, and I can’t have her brain short-circuiting, too.

“So you’ve seen the picture?” I say.

“Hell yeah, I’ve seen it! Obviously, I’m going to need you to spill the tea. Because girl, things looked hot and heavy.”

“Emphasis on the heavy, I guess,” I say with a cringe.

“Hey,” she says. “You know I get you, right?”

Goldie and I are about the same size, but she doesn’t have the same self-doubts her appearance as I do mine.

“I know. But you read the comments, right?”

“Win. I mean, I scrolled but we don’t care about them, remember? Well, except for the ones from people wishing they were you. What the clueless idiots have to say doesn’t matter.”

I nod even though she can’t see it.

“But I also know for a fact,” she marches on, “that it doesn’t matter what you weigh. You could be physically flawless and the vultures would still find something to pick apart. Jealous fuckers.”

“I don’t recall Cynthia Sinclair getting this treatment.”

“Well, but yeah. I mean, is Cynthia Sinclair actually mortal, Win? She defies all criticism.”

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