Page 187 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I
“Oh, I’m brushing my teeth.” The sound stops. “I thought you said there’s nothing’s going on between you and Hercules.”
“Humph?” I rub my eyes.Did she call me just to question me about Hercules?“We’re just working together.”
“Then what’s up with the kiss?”
I pop open one eye. “What kiss?”
“This kiss.”
My phone beeps. I wearily flop onto my back and open the text Lake sent. I blink several times to sharpen my eyesight. “It’s a video?”
“Yeah, it is.”
I pull the corners of my mouth down. Her sympathetic tone worries me. Then I press Play. Video of Hercules and me tonguing like no one is watching is under ambient noise of chatter and the voice of some guy giggling and repeating, “Look at them. Ha, ha. Hercules Valentine and some girl.”
Now I’m fully awake as I pitch myself up to sit. “Oh no.”
“Friends don’t maul each other that way, Paisley.”
I watch how our tongues dig into the other’s mouths. My lips sensually capture his and his mine as we wallow in our make-out session as though we’re on the cusp of taking it to step two.
“Look at the ice cream, bro,” the guy says with his moronic laugh that makes me, a non-violent person, want to cork him in the mouth with my fist.
Hercules’s ice cream falls first then mine. The camera ends as we scramble to clean up the mess. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them. Nope. I didn’t dream this moment. Hercules and I were actually recorded lip-locking at the park yesterday. “It was a moment of weakness, Lake.”
“Clearly, but… you’re hanging out with him today? It doesn’t look like you and Mr. He’s Engaged can keep your mouths to yourselves.”
“I’m stronger this morning. I promise.”
She sighs like she knows I’m deluding myself. “Are you sure about that?”
No.I toss both of my legs over the side of the bed to sit on the edge of the mattress. “Yes. I am.”
“Paisley, when’s your date with Ronald Ashton?” She sounds as if the good-looking physicist just might be the answer to getting over Hercules.
I refrain from telling her that I plan to break my date with Ronald because my parents definitely want me to marry him and produce an heir as if we’re living in a more primitive era. I’m not doing that, period. “Friday. But what are you doing up? And isn’t kind of early for gossip rags to post lies?”
“I’m sorry. Had my eyes deceived me. Was I not seeing my bestie and Hercules Valentine going at it like they needed a room?”
I hang my head and massage my left temple, which is suddenly tense. “No. Your eyes didn’t deceive you. But you haven’t answered my question. Why are you up this early?”
“I have a meeting with a MOMA curator this morning. Which is why I couldn’t sleep a wink last night, and that’s how I came across TRM hot off the press.”
I bound to my feet. “Wait. MOMA is going to feature LC?”
“That’s my hope,” she says, her tone ringing with happiness. “I’m finally showing people who I am. And MOMA wants to host the big reveal.”
I press my hand over my heart, grinning from ear to ear. “I can’t wait. I’m so happy for you.”
“Me too,” she says sweetly. “But listen, Paisley. I don’t know how you’re going to get ahead of this story. It’s still early, but if this gets back to your parents or your brother, I don’t think the outcome is going to be favorable for you. You should explain that kiss to your family before TRM does. And just be honest. You both should be honest.”
I thank her for the heads-up, and we plan on seeing each other at some point during the day. It’s only after we hang up do my plans to meet with my old team along with the video blend together to squeeze me like a vise.
“Oh my… What if…”What if any of my team sees this article?
I would rather avoid reading what some nincompoop wrote, but I have to know what’s been said. That’s why I scroll down and read what’s written under the video.
It looks like Valentine Country is exploring the Grove’s grove if you know what I mean. Sources say that kiss was more than a kiss. The “girl” making out with Hercules Valentine is Paisley Grove. She’s supposed to be a good girl, but did you see where she put her hand? I’m not sure virtuous vixens should so easily find their way to man’s hard spots that way. And I’m not talking about Hercules Valentine’s chest, or his biceps carved from marble, or his mouth-watering thighs.
