Page 66 of Pucking the Team
“It’s not perilous, it is what it is. And besides.” Again I managed a smile. “It takes two to tango.”
Dylan huffed at this and went to the refrigerator. He found a beer and popped the lid which scuttled along the countertop. “Let’s hope there are no photographs of you guys in your car, Eduardo.”
“My car.” Eduardo shook his head. “No, there are no pictures of us in the car, we were alone, I was keeping watch.”
“How good you were at that task remains to be seen.” Ben set a serious stare on Eduardo.
“You took a risk, buddy,” Theo said, setting his butt on a barstool and reaching for a banana. “And you got caught, which happens.” He nodded at me. “But you took that risk with Pippa, and that isnotokay, not by a long shot.”
“Hey, guys!” Eduardo held up his hands in surrender. “We were caught up in the moment, our desires, our bodies crying out for each other and—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Dylan said then took a long drink.
“The damage is done.” Ben was close beside me again, a steadying presence. “But like Pippa said, she has a plan. She’ll call her agent, and he can slap this guy with some order or whatever it is agents do to keep lids on stories.” He gently stroked a strand of hair from my cheek. “Why don’t you go and do that now and I’ll make a start chopping veg and pour you a glass of wine. Then you can put it from your mind for the evening.”
His calmness was reassuring, and I nodded. “What time will it be in London?”
Theo glanced at the clock. “Lunchtime, you’re all good.”
“Thanks. I’ll go…” I gestured to the door. “Call Trevor then.”
They were silent when I left the kitchen, but when I was halfway up the stairs I could hear voices again. I hoped they wouldn’t be too mad at Eduardo. It really wasn’t all his fault. I’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted me.
Trevor picked up after three rings, and I quickly explained what had happened.
“Wow, you got back in the saddle quick. He must be gorgeous, this Eduardo.”
“He is, and French, and you know how romantic and seductive those guys can be.”
“And persuasive, sweet pea. Paris Fashion week is torture for me these days, I have to say no to them all now that I am married, but before that…oh la la, the good times I had.”
“So what shall we do?” I asked before he could continue reminiscing.
“You will do nothing other than keep your head down.”
“I can do that.”
“Mmm, well, I thought youweredoing that and clearly you’re not.”
I felt scolded. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry won’t fix this, but I will. Send me the link, and I’ll set some lawyers on him. These photos were taken without consent, published without consent, etcetera, etcetera. We’ll scare him away from the story or from selling them on.”
“Fuck, I hadn’t thought of that. What if a big—?”
“We’ll stop him in his tracks, don’t worry.”
“I’ll try not to.” I paused. “Oh, there is something else?”
“Pray tell.”
“I met Mae French today and—”
“Mae French! The country and western singer? Are you kidding me?”
“Yes, I mean no, I’m not kidding you. I met her.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus, she is divine, I’m totally in love with her. Where did you meet her? Don’t tell me you just bumped into her in a restaurant.”
