I’m not sorry. I’m confused. And torn. And turned on? And mad, but at what or who I don’t know. Me? Him? Harrison Ford?
Be real; Crystal Skull was shit. We’re all a little mad about it. All day, every day.
The problem is that the longer I look at him, the longer he stands there looking at me, the more convinced I am that the cookies aren’t all he came here for. It’s me. He wanted to see me, and as the realization hits home, a very girlish, giddy part of me wants to rise up to meet him, elated and flattered to find him here looking for me.
The rest of me, though, it sees what’s happening. It can feel the storm coming. It can read the danger written in the perfect plains of his face.
His smiles are clouds on my horizon.
His voice thunder rumbling in the distance.
CHAPTER SEVEN
COLT
She’s annoyed. Or hungry. Or hangry. Horny? It’s hard to tell.
I don’t know what kind of greeting I expected to get ambushing her like this, but when I see her standing there with her eyes like a half-cocked revolver directed right at me, I think this is it. This is what I wanted. Her frost. Her cold shoulder. It’s hotter than the open flame in the makeup chick’s eyes. This look from Lilly is a myriad of things that clash and war with each other across her face – shock, excitement, irritation, joy – and it’s so genuine I can hardly stand it.
Lilly watches me carefully. Cautiously. Like she’s afraid of what I’ll do. Like I’m a lion in her home and she’s worried I’ll go bat shit and murder everyone. Or worse, that I’ll curl up on the couch and make myself at home.
“Did I come at a bad time?” I ask with a knowing grin.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You knew this was happening today.”
“Would you believe me if I said I forgot?”
“Sure.”
I point at her mildly. “Sarcasm. I definitely hear it this time.”
“Really?”
“There it is again.” I look over the kitchen absently. “What are you making for the segment? Oreos by any chance?”
“We could,” Rona offers affably. “You could help.”
Lilly swerves her eyes to her friend, issuing a silent warning.
Rona is unaffected, utterly unafraid of the venom in Lilly’s eyes. “They’re easy to make.”
“It’d be great publicity for the bakery and a huge boost for the episode,” Sandra agrees readily. “That is, if you’d be willing to participate, Mr. Avery.”
“What about the host?” Lilly argues. “What about Ron?”
“Don.”
“Right, yeah, Don. What about him.”
“He’s gone,” Captain Mustache tells her. “He did his intro out front and took off.”
“He ditched his own show before we even started filming back here?”
The guy shrugs at her. “He said he had a tee time.”
I check my watch. It’s eight-forty. I don’t have to be to practice until noon. I have plenty of time, and I never turn down a chance to get in front of a camera. If I want to stay on the minds of coaches, fans, and sponsors, if I want my career to last longer than a minute, then I need to stay in the spotlight. I have to be visible. It’s why I’m on TVs across the country with ice cream on my dick. It’s why I agreed to do an interview with Vogue where I talked about my favorite sex positions and cold called Taylor Swift asking her to be my date for the Teen Choice Awards. She said yes because, come on. Why wouldn’t she?
“I got the time to jump in,” I agree, slipping my hands into my pockets, settling in. I look at Lilly with a smirk. “What about you, Hendricks? Are you in?”
“No,” she answers immediately.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not going on camera.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
She sighs impatiently, her arms crossing over her chest. “Because I don’t like celebrities.”
I chuckle. “Kind of a big assumption that being on one episode of Tastetastic is going to make you a celebrity, don’t you think?”
Her cheeks burn a pale pink. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what it sounded like.”
“I’m not at all surprised that you misunderstood me.”
“Why? Because I’m a dumb jock?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you implied it, the same way you implied being on one episode of Tastetastic was going to make you a celebrity.”
She glares at me, her eyes an open flame.
It warms my heart to see it.
“Are we doing this?” Rona asks uncomfortably, looking between the two of us.
Lilly backs into a corner, away from the center island. “You guys go ahead.”
“You’re really not gonna do it?”
“No, I’m really not.”
I drop down onto a stool next to her, my shoulder bumping against hers. “Well, I guess I’m not doing it either.”
Her blushing, pink lips pull into a straight, disapproving line. “You won’t do it if I won’t?”
“I came here for two things. You and cookies. If you’re not baking ‘em, I don’t want ‘em.”
“Rona made the ones you ate at the party.”