Page 148 of The Storm

His shoulders slump. “But it was the PR guy. You know I get hives when it’s the PR guy, Indy. It’s like, dude, just let me speak my mind. I don’t need to be coached to sound boring.”

“You poor, poor thing. Wasting everybody’s time. Hey, remember that interview from last week where you talked about the Ravens and said?—”

“I know what I said.”

“‘Fuck those stupid cunts. I’m allowed to say it, my nan’s British.’ And that’s a direct quote, by the way.”

Callum points at me. “My socials are blowing up with people who agree with me.”

“That’s called being in a bubble. Enjoy another round of PR training. I’ve been here a handful of weeks, and I’ve already scheduled two of those for you. Is this something that should have a regular slot?”

He winces before he schools his expression. “No. I’m being good.”

“At not showing up?”

“I was doing something important instead?” He squints for a moment. “Charity. I was doing charity.”

I hold my phone out toward him. “You posted a shirtless gym selfie thirty minutes ago.” I hold my hand up. “Don’t make a lame joke about how thatischarity.”

“When you say it like that, it comes off way worse than it would have if I’d said it.”

“Why? Is it somehow less stupid when you say it?”

He lifts the hem of his shirt and pats his abs. “I’ve got all of this going for me, so I can get away with a lot.”

I give said abs a cursory look. They’re great abs. I don’t know why I feel absolutely nothing when I see them. Okay, I do feel things. A lot of complicated things. Those abs are for Nick, so a lot of the time I feel faintly nauseous when I see them because I immediately start imagining Nick’s hands on them, and then—no. I’m definitely not going there. There’s also a rush of jealousy, anger, regret, and a handful of other things, which makes for a huge mess when mixed all together.

“I rescheduled your meeting, and the PR guy is waiting for you in the living room. Go on, show him your abs and see how much you can get away with there,” I say.

His mouth drops open. “But I was going to relax and watch the game.”

I make a sympathetic face and pat his shoulder. “I know, big guy. If it helps, the thought of you suffering through another round of media training is going to make my evening.” I grab my keys and give him a small wave with my fingers. “Bye.”

“You’re fucking brutal, dude,” he calls after me.

“That’s a compliment in my book.”

I open the door and run straight into Nick, who’s carrying two full bags of groceries.

He quirks his brow. “What’s a compliment in your book?”

It’s been a few days since I last saw him, and I was sure I would be gone way before he showed up. Stupid Callum and his stupid lateness.

“He’s finding joy in my misery,” Callum says sourly.

“Don’t we all?” Nick asks.

Callum narrows his eyes. “Why are you ganging up on me like this? In my own house.”

“What did you do?” Nick asks while he puts the two bags down and toes off his sneakers.

“He was late,” I say.

Nick snorts and sends me a knowing look that hits me right in the chest. “I’m sure that went over well.”

“He got Marcus to make a house call,” Callum says. “He’s sitting in the living room as we speak!”

“Yes, and since Marcus isn’t deaf he can hear everything you say,” a voice calls from the other room.