Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Rox was silent for a heartbeat. “Is your girl really a doctor? She’s hot as fuck, no offense, babe. What’s in the water in Holiday Grove?”
I looked at Kayla and found her blushing furiously. “There does seem to be a high number of beautiful women here, but wait, how in the hell do you know? Did your woman internet stalk her?”
“What? Fuck no. If she has time to do that, we’re naked and having fun.” He let out a soft chuckle. “How do you not know these things, Mac? Shit, man, I have alerts set for all of us.”
I groaned. “I try to ignore the press as much as possible when we’re not promoting an album or a tour.”
“Oh no, it’s so hard being a super sexy rock star,” Rox groaned in what was supposed to be an impression of me. “Front man problems,” he snorted.
“Rox, what the hell are you talking about? How did you see Kayla?”
“Easy,” he snorted. “There are photos of you guys together. Somewhere in the mountains, with your shirt off because you’re allergic to ‘em,” he laughed at the tired joke. “You’re running together, smiling at each other like you spent all night in the land of orgasms. There’s another of you standing on her doorstep looking like you’re about to devour one another. It’s hot as fuck.”
Shit. I risked a look at Kayla, whose smile faded. “Thanks for letting me know, Rox.”
“You better tell her; she needs to know.”
Kayla’s eyes slammed shut. “She already does, thanks.”
“Shit, sorry brother. The photos are great, but it means there’s a photographer following you around. Be careful.”
Two words that definitely did not describe me. “Well now I fuckin’ have to, don’t I?” I ended the call, and Kayla and I sat in silence for a long time. She wasn’t glaring at me, so I took that as a win. Who in the hell could’ve possibly followed me to Holiday Grove? “Any ideas?”
She shook her head. “It could be anyone. I mean, tabloids will buy photos from anyone and pay good money for someone like you, right?”
“I thought I’d be safe from that shit here.” I swallowed my now cold coffee. “How pissed are you?” This was it, the moment Kayla would tell me to piss off. Most women would love being linked to me in the press, not Kayla.
She studied me for a long time, head tilted slightly. “At you? Not at all. I knew who you were, Mac, and I can’t blame you. But I’m really pissed that someone violated such private moments.” She shook her head, lips tugged into an angry flat line. “So much for that.”
And that was just another reason I couldn’t get enough of her. “You never say what I think you’re going to.”
“Gotta keep you on your toes.” She smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile in return.
“You do that, Doc. Damn well too.” Even with the press onto us, I wouldn’t give her up.
10 KAYLA
I’m famous. Not for the lives I’ve saved. Not for the hard work I’ve done to become a damn good doctor. Not even because I saved someone famous, important, or influential. Nope, I’m famous because I’m sleeping with someone famous. Ain’t that just a slap in the face?
I felt like every underappreciated woman throughout history, famous not for my own accomplishments but because I was close to someone else who’d achieved a lot. I couldn’t even be mad at Mac because it wasn’t his fault; this was his life, and a part of it he seemed to really dislike. So I was just mad, with nowhere to aim that anger. Still, I had a job to do, so I plastered on a smile and kept my head down as I went about my workday.
That was easier said than done since all of Holiday Grove was talking about those photos. Several older residents came into the ER with feigned problems just to ask questions about me and my “rockstar beau,” as he was now known. I got it; I really did. As soon as Mac had left my place, I pulled up the photos and stared at them for far too long.
They were hot.
Like, next-level hot. Like end-of-movie-kiss hot.
Too bad the comments on the photos were enough to make even the most confident woman crawl under the covers never to emerge again. They were awful—the comments about my weight, my looks, and my lack of style were bad enough, but they accused me of being a gold digger. They said I was lying about being a doctor just to manipulate Mac into my bed. It was all too much, so for the past twenty-four hours, I had been avoiding online news and social media.
And Mac.
I finished my shift and went straight home for the past few days, terrified to even glance next door, where the strains of beautiful songs filtered through the living room window. I couldn’t ignore him, not with us being neighbors, but I could avoid him. That all ended today because the Beer Pong competition was tonight, and I couldn’t blow it off. I wouldn’t. I made a commitment, and I wouldn’t shirk it simply because the internet was sometimes a hellscape of wickedness.