Page 29 of The Pretender

“That’s a terrible caption. No one will click on that video.”

He shrugs. “They will if the picture is of my abs and your hand in my pocket.”

Ugh. He’s right. Anything that remotely looks sexy or risqué will have our viewers clicking on the video.

“I think I’m going to need a scalding shower after this,” I mutter, wiping my hands on my shirt. They’re sweaty, okay? It’s not like I have experience sticking my hand in guys' pants. I mean, I’m not a virgin, so I have been close to a man’s dick before, but this is Bash-hole we’re talking about. The closest I’ve ever gotten with him is feeling his lips on mine, which was short-lived. Instances where we have to be close and have our hands on each other will be new for me. For him, only having one person this close at a time will be a new experience.

“Vee,” he says, pulling my attention back to him and that stupid pocket.

I wave him off and glance back at his cameraman. “Are you rolling?”

He nods, and I take a step into Sebastian’s body. I can already feel the heat from his bare chest warning me away. It’s a safety mechanism meant to alert girls like me away from boys like him. But like all women, I need to feel the burn before I back off.

Swallowing, I reach up and cup his jaw. He tenses at my touch, and it makes me feel slightly better. Sebastian might act like he’s at ease and has no problem with me being close to him, but this deal of ours will torture him just as much as it will me.

“Thanks for locking up this morning after you left,” I say sweetly, completely pulling the words out of my ass. I had to have some reason that he would have my keys. Well, he could have just locked the door from the inside, but our viewers won’t care. We’ll just chalk it to him wanting to make sure I was safe by locking the deadbolt behind him. That sounds like something a sweet boyfriend—not Sebastian—would do.

“No problem,” he says, his voice raspy and thick. I don’t know if he’s trying to make it sound sexy or if he needs to clear his throat.

I trail a finger along his jaw, pausing long enough to let it linger in that damn dimple that makes girls stupid. His cheek clenches, and I feel a grin emerge. I think I might like this little deal with Bash-hole. Being able to torture him on a daily basis feels pretty good right now.

With slow strokes, I let my fingers drift down his neck and over his chest. His head comes forward almost as if we’re magnets pulling together. My arms go around his neck and his to my waist. There isn’t but a few inches between us.

“I hope you slept like dog shit,” I whisper in his ear.

Sebastian’s cameraman moves to the side, capturing the moment of two new lovers whispering in each other’s ear.

“I hope the dumpster is fresh out of chairs,” he returns, gripping my hair in his hand and tugging. “Because you’re never getting yours back.”

To the fans, it’ll look like we’re having a hard time not mauling each other. That’s the truth, just not in the sense they are thinking.

My hands drift down his stomach, and I smile. What I wouldn’t give to be able to sucker punch him right now. But alas, I can’t because I made a deal with a demon.

With a warning look to Sebastian, I trace the edge of his waistband with my fingers, before walking them down to his pocket where my keys are waiting. His grip tightens on my hips, and he folds over me, burying his head in my hair. For a moment, I wait for a shitty comment, but then I realize, he doesn’t intend to make one.

Slipping my fingers into his pocket, I’m met with warmth and a whispered groan. I don’t know if he’s doing it for the camera or if he’s groaning that I’m too close to him. Either way, I don’t care. I just need these keys, and his breath on my neck is making it hard to remember exactly what we’re doing this for.

Finally, I loop the key ring with my finger and pull my hand out of his pocket, without any sort of dick touching.

“See you later,” I tell him with a fake smile.

He nods and swallows before he aims a glare at his cameraman. “We’re not using all that footage,” he barks.

“What’s your name again?” I ask the cameraman. I think it’s classier if I pretend that Sebastian was decent enough to tell me his name before I came over here.

“Brick,” he says, adjusting the camera. He has a nice smile, and if I was into the Ed Sheeran look, I might consider chatting Brick up, but instead, as usual, Sebastian ruins it by taking my arm and manhandling me to the door.

“I’ll pick you up at seven for our date. Wear something less—” he eyes my current outfit of shorts and a flannel, “—you.”

I flip him off just as he slams the door in my face.

We might have a truce, but we certainly didn’t negotiate the hate. That little caveat still seems to be a standing rule.

CHAPTEREIGHT

Sebastian

University CamFlix Competition Submission

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