Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Not even me singing at an Eleven concert in front of the whole world? Because that’s what’s on the line if I lose this bet, and you know that will go viral.”
“Oh damn. Maybe the heartbreak would be better.”
Even as he says that, I already know it wouldn’t be. Which means I only have one option.
I can’t have sex with Blake Monroe.
Chapter Thirteen
Blake
I’d thought after last night that maybe Jordan would be more relaxed, and maybe he is on the outside, but it feels like it’s an act. Those few weeks of shooting helped me see the switch in him from when he’s being himself to when he’s acting, and the easy smile on his face as he silently watches us rehearse is definitely acting.
Why Harley is making us perform out here, where the air is so icy my lungs feel like they’re freezing up, I have no idea, but I can’t deny the beauty of the snow hanging around and the vast expanse of white-covered land that is technically Mason’s backyard.
It’s beautiful up here, and that gives me an idea. “We should shoot some scenes of us up here rehearsing to put in one of the new song’s videos.”
“That would look amazing,” Jordan says. For the first time today, he genuinely lights up. “Though, I have to say, a stylist would go a long way.” He eyes our clothes that are more for warmth than fashion. “Just sayin’.”
Mason folds his arms. “I feel like we should be offended.”
“Fashion is the only thing that should be offended,” Jordan says. “I have some things that could work.”
“Ex-model to the rescue,” I say.
I watch as Jordan leaves, but when one of the guys clears his throat, I turn to find all four of them looking at me with some kind of smugness on their damn faces. I ignore that and stick to business talk. “You know it’s a good idea. Think about it. We could start off here.” I make a square with my hands as if looking through a lens. “Wide shot panning past us and to the snowcapped mountain in the distance, and then—”
“Spot the director in the making,” Denver mumbles.
I ignore him and keep going. I explain my vision, step by step, but they don’t seem convinced.
“Come on,” I say to Harley. “The reason you’re making us do all this choreo when we’re writing the songs is so we don’t have to do a boot camp before the tour.”
That’s how it used to work. We’d write and cut our album, announce a tour, and then go into an eight-week boot camp where we’d learn all the dance moves for the stage. We all hated it. If we’re even halfway ready by the time the Encore tour is announced, it’ll mean less time in boot camp.
“It’s a good idea, don’t get me wrong,” Harley says, “but how will we know which song to put it to. Our lyrics aren’t set in stone yet. The lighting is—”
“Perfect. It’s all natural and bright out here today. But if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. We can come back and reshoot certain parts if we have to or even scrap it altogether.” I step closer and lower my voice while looking back at the house, hoping Jordan isn’t within hearing range. “At least let Jordan film us doing something. He needs a distraction. He hasn’t come out and said it outright, but I think the breakup with Ben is getting to him more than he’s letting on. I figure if we’re out here performing anyway, why not film it? Maybe even just shots of us goofing off. I think it’s too pretty out here not to take advantage.”
Harley nods. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t, but you know I won’t let an opportunity go to waste.”
Jordan returns and tells us to come inside to look at clothing options, and as soon as we enter the house, I have the sudden realization as to why he brought so many suitcases. He said it was because he wasn’t sure how long we’d be out here, but now I’m realizing he’s a hoarding hoarder who hoards clothes.
“Are any of these going to fit us?” Ryder asks and then lowers his voice, pretending he doesn’t want Jordan to hear when he says, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s a billion feet tall.”
I laugh because it’s true. Denver is the tallest of us at barely six foot. He and Mason are about the same height, and the rest of us are five ten-ish.
“We can make it work,” Jordan says.
Mason raises his hand. “Uh, might work for all you guys who are built like short Jordans, but no way will a model’s clothes fit all this.” He gestures to his body.
Jordan approaches Mason and looks him up and down. “You have these sexy wide shoulders that will look awesome in one of my coats. It’ll fit you because it’s a little big on me. Do you have a nice pair of dark jeans and maybe a simple gray hoodie to wear underneath?”