Page 59 of The Pretender

“We can shoot the scene without our faces,” I try to negotiate. “We can get Pam next door to do it.”

Vee isn’t having it, though, and comes to stand in front of me. “Shut up and strip. If you want to win the prize money, then you have to do what it takes.” She motions to her bra and bare stomach. “This is what it takes, Bash. Are you pussying out?”

I glare at her. “Don’t challenge me, Vee. You know I’ll rise to the occasion.”

Which she knows and that’s exactly why she said it. I snatch off my shirt and toss it somewhere toward the kitchen then stalk to my bedroom where I find those fucking sweatpants she was talking about and pull them on. When I’m done, I walk back into the living area to find that she has pushed the coffee table closer to the sofa and it looks cozy and date-like.

I hate it already.

“See? Was that so hard?” she asks, eyeing my bare chest before going back to the pillows she’s arranging.

“I need something to drink,” is all I respond with. Clearly my mood has plummeted into asshole territory. I’ve never been one to deprive myself or suffer, so I’m not eager for my neighbor’s half-dressed body to be pressed up against me while we shoot half an hour of footage that we’ll only use three minutes of.

“No alcohol,” she tells me, and it stops my steps to the kitchen.

“Why the hell not?” Alcohol is the only thing that is going to get me through this torture.

She doesn’t even spare me eye contact when she returns. “I don’t want you getting sloppy and debating stupid shit with me on camera. I know how you can get.”

Where is something I can throw?

I growl out something that sounds more like a muted scream. She does know how I get, and she’s also fallen prey to such arguments when we both were tipsy.

I take the last few steps to the kitchen and yank open the fridge and grab a fucking water because, apparently, this is going to suck epically. I down half of it in one go, before setting it on the counter and taking a deep breath.

One million dollars, dude. Los Angeles. A fresh start.

This will all be worth it. All you need to do is suffer through half an hour and then she can go home, back to her own space, and you can spray Lysol and attempt to get rid of her sweet smell in the house.

My pep talk does little to comfort me. I don’t own a can of Lysol and burning the place down would be in bad taste. I’ll just have to open the windows and possibly go to Rowan’s. Although, I’d prefer not to see him or Maverick right now and have them ask a million questions and give me shit, thinking I finally hooked up with my neighbor.

I gave Maverick so much shit when he started dating Ainsley. He’d, no doubt, jump at the opportunity to return the favor.

“Let’s get this over with,” I tell her in a shitty voice, one I’ll probably regret later once I’ve settled down. But Vee doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe this sucks just as much for her.

“Alright. You sit down first.”

I take a deep breath and follow her directions for the first time and sit amongst the pillows and blankets on my sofa.

“Okay, now lie back. Put your head on the pillow behind you.”

I feel awkward and exposed as she watches my every movement, judging the angles and the way my body is posed for the greatest sex appeal.

“Good,” she praises. “Now put your leg on the coffee table. Keep the other one on the ground and scooch down so your chest is wider.”

I arch a brow. “Scooch?”

She grins. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Scooch.”

I do know what she means. It’s just been a long time since I’ve heard her say it.

When I’m down and looking exactly like she wants me to, she walks over. “Now I’m going to join you, alright?”

My hands flinch as I stare up at her flat and smooth stomach. This is way worse than the kiss. Her chest is flushed and is the only giveaway that she’s nervous too.

“Don’t say it like you’re warning me,” I tell her.

She huffs. “I’m just preparing you.”

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