Topped by Kayti McGee Read Free Book Online

forward. But he’s beautiful and attentive and who am I to pass up this sweet opportunity to get us on video. Even if we are wearing clothes.
    He poses for me, and we conduct a super awkward interview, where I ask him about his favorite photo shoots: “Any time there’s some nudity.” Wink .
    And his favorite covers: “All of them. Especially when they relate back to the story in some way.”
    And then he flexes his abs for me. It’s the cutest way to reference the current cover trend without overtly mocking it! I love him, I think.
    Finally, I stop filming and upload the feed, properly hashtagged, to my Facebook and thank him. “That was excellent. Thank you! You’ve just made my Facebook author page a lot more interesting.”
    “I love being interesting.” He winks at me again, and I feel absolutely giggly. I have to bite down on my lip to keep it all bottled up. “Are you from around here?”
    “I am! I love Kansas City. I know a lot of people associate it with fly-over-country, but it’s so much more than people expect. We have everything here. It’s been voted coolest city, most up-and-coming city…between the art, the food, and the people, we give the coasts a run for their money. I’m sorry, this is a rant I’ve gone on a lot to out-of-towners…” I trail off, realizing I’m shoving my city down his throat when I could be shoving his—never mind.
    “You’ll have to show me around sometime.” He gives me another winning smile. Oh, snap. I’d like to show him around my bed, for starters.
    “What else do you do in your spare time, besides pose with naked girls?”
    He laughs. “They are normally dressed! I’m not a porn star. Though that would be pretty cool.”
    “I’d watch your videos.” Oh my god, what is wrong with me? “Not that I’m a porn aficionado, but sometimes I need inspiration for scenes, not that I have anything against porn, you know, but I don’t watch it all the time because I’m not that sad girl…not that people who watch it all the time are sad…I’m going to shut up.”
    I think I just discovered the actual definition of word vomit. Holy Jenna Jameson.
    He laughs at me again and I flush red. I’m such a hot mess. Damn this delicious wine and those delicious shots! Damn it!
    “You’re cute when you’re flustered. Don’t feel so bad. Relax! We’re having a good time.” I am? Yes, yes I am. And yes we are. Okay, then.
    “It’s the wine,” I sigh. “And it’s been a long day. I’m afraid my brain is fried.”
    “You know what the perfect cure for that is?”
    Sex. Sex with him. All the sex with him. When was the last time I got laid? Entirely too long ago. He’s staring at me like I’m an ice cream cone he wants to lick up, and I would melt into him in a millisecond. “What’s the perfect cure?”
    He leans forward, so we’re only separated by two inches and a few layers of cotton, and the heat between us is palpable and it would only take another inch for our lips to touch, and he whispers, “More shots.” He thuds his palm on the bar top and calls out, “Bartender! Two Throw Me Down and Fuck Mes please.”
    I startle back and flush red hot at the name of the shot. I’ve never heard of this one before, and have some doubts as to its authenticity, but Hot Bartender shoots us a wink and busts out a bottle of Canadian Club and a bottle of some sort of peachy goodness and starts whipping up this mysterious shot that, if I’m not crazy, appears to be some sort of invitation.
    Please, god, don’t let me be crazy.
    “I’ve never heard of that one,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. If it’s a proposition, I wouldn’t mind agreeing to it. And by “wouldn’t mind,” I mean “would kill my grandma.”
    Sorry, Gram. You had a good run.
    “They’re delicious. I love the shit out of them.” He glances at me again with that sexy little smirk. The bartender sets the shots down in front of us, and we pick them up. “Here’s to