Page 2 of If You Need Me

“I need a minute,” he snaps.

I scoff and fist my hands at my sides so I don’t give in to the urge to strangle him. He does this almost every time, and I firmly believe it’s to annoy me. He was the most popular guy in our high school, always the center of attention. He should be used to it by now.

But getting angrier will only make me look unprofessional, not him. It’s frustrating that nothing has changed since we were kids. I’m still the outspoken nerdy girl, and he’s still the prom king. I take a deep breath and put on my nice-Hemi hat, because I need him to leave this bathroom and do the promo shoot with the adorable Chihuahua mix so I can go to yet another coffee date with a random online dude whose picture is hopefully not ten years out of date.

I have a high school reunion this summer. I can’t go alone. Not when my ex-best friend and her longtime boyfriend will be there to rub their happiness in my face. High school wasn’t the same fun time for me as it was for Dallas. I need to show them my life has turned out just fine—and that includes having someone to share it with.

“Dallas Mattias Bright, you are a badass hockey player.” I stroke his overinflated ego. “Millions of people are cheering for you every time you take the ice. Adorable Chihuahuas are not a threat to you. You’ve done countless promo shoots before, and you know what you always do?”

“Make an ass of myself?”

“You always come out smelling like roses.” I grab him by the shoulders and attempt to force him to straighten, but he resists. “Stand up straight.”

“I can’t.”

“You can and you will unless you want to make balloon animals again at this year’s Halloween Haunt fundraiser.”

“Don’t threaten me with that, Willy.”

I grind my teeth at the horrible nickname he’s used since I started working for the Terror.

He grimaces, like he’s realized two seconds too late the mistake he’s made.

“I warned you.” He straightens.

And now I know why he was hunched over. Despite one hand being poised protectively in front of his crotch, it’s glaringly obvious that he has an issue in his underpants. A seriouslyhuge issue. “Why the hell would you pull me into the bathroom when you have a massive hard-on?” I slap him across the chest.

He groans. I really wish it didn’t sound so hot.

“Do not make that sound while I’m in here with you! For the love of God, what the hell is wrong with you?” I tip my head up and stare at the ceiling rather than his dick print, which is clearly visible through his pale blue boxer briefs. I will never get that image out of my head.

“It’s an anxiety boner.”

“I don’t want to know. Please make it go away.” I continue to look at the ceiling tiles.

“I was trying.”

I lower my voice to an angry whisper. “By masturbating in a damn bathroom?” I can’t even.

“I tried to think of gross things, but then you started yelling at me, which made it worse, especially with the clown threats. You can’t do that to me again.”

I suck in a lungful of air and exhale my rage. I gentle my tone and pretend I’m dealing with one of the guys on the team who wasn’t responsible for making my entire elementary-through-high-school experience a nightmare. “Take a deep breath, please, Dallas.”

He gulps air like a dying fish.

“Come on, Dallas. In for the count of four, out for the count of four,” I cajole.

He sucks in air as I count, then releases it as I head back to one.

“Better?” I ask when his color has returned to almost normal.

“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry.”

I glance down, even though I shouldn’t. The problem in his pants seems to have deflated. Thank God.

“Splash some cold water on your face.” I check the time. We need to get a move on if I’m going to make my date. “Benita from hair and makeup is standing by to touch you up.” I cross my arms and wait.

“Are you staying in here?” Dallas's gaze meets mine in the mirror for a moment before he does as I ask, then pulls a bunch of paper towels from the holder and dabs the wetness away. I do not appreciate the way the muscles in his forearms and biceps flex at all.

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