“I wanted to talk to you about some photoshoots,” he says. “I need to find a photographer to take pictures of the boys. They’ve got a big game coming up, and I thought I’d ask you.”
“I’ve only ever shot hockey.”
“How different can it be? It’ll be cold. There’ll be guys chasing a common object. I’d pay you, of course,” Dean says.
Pay me for it? I guess it could definitely come in handy since I’ve not had any success winning the lottery, and my stuff isn’t selling as quickly as I’d hoped. I agree, and Dean tells me that he’ll text me the details before hanging up.
I head down to the dressing room. It sounds quiet inside, but I knock on the door. Liam’s voice beckons me inside. He’s sitting in his cubby wearing only his boxers, tapping away at his phone. He lifts his head as soon as I walk in.
“Oh, is everyone else gone?” I say, looking around.
“Why are you selling a load of your stuff?”
Shit.
“I’m just having a clear out,” I shrug, pretending to still survey the room.
“Some of those were gifts. Why are you selling gifts?” Tossing his phone down, he stands up and moves towards me, towering over me. I stare at his solid chest, taking in his tattoos before mapping each muscle with my eyes. I’m desperate to reach out and touch him. “Vicky? Answer me, please.”
“Check again. None of my listings were gifts.”
“I remember everything I’ve ever gifted you, and there’s a pair of Jimmy whatevers listed that look like the ones I bought you.”
“They’re at least three seasons later. Trust me,” I say.
“Right, fine, whatever.” He gives me a straight-faced look. His eyebrows almost forming a straight line. It’s adorable, but he’s angry. “What’s going on?”
“I … okay, fine. My dad was sort of helping me out with money and he’s not anymore, so I need to re-jig a few things. They are the only things I have that hold any value. Except for my car, that could also be an option.”
As soon as I say it, I sound pathetic, and I can feel the tears prickling behind my eyes.
“Fuck, Vic. Why didn’t you just come to me?” He runs his hand through his hair.
“Ask my ex for money? No, thanks. I can look after myself,” I say, furrowing my brow because that’s another lie.
“You’re not selling your damn shoes.” He steps back towards his cubby and reaches for his phone. “Or your car.”
“What are you doing?” I make a grab for it as he taps away, but he holds it out of reach.
I could start jumping up and down, waving my arms to reach it, but what good would that actually do? Apart from adding to the pitiful display of the situation.
“Buying the shoes,” he says, edging away further.
“You can’t!” I protest.
“Fucking watch me.”
I try to reach for his phone in desperation, but he’s quick, and steps around me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, locking me in.
“Let me go!” I try to wiggle free, but he’s too strong.
“Vic, let me help you. I can. I want to.”
I hear him breathing me in, and I swear to God, his dick is pressing into me.
“Are you hard?!” I half-yell.
He leans in and whispers into my ear. “Your ass is rubbing my dick. What do you expect?”
