Cade
STONE HAS THE best tits in the state of Texas, but she didn’t intend to bare one to the city of Houston, population roughly two million. KHOT is the biggest affiliate here, so if only ten percent of viewers are watching (vastly underestimating) then two hundred thousand people just saw what happened.
Sure, it’s funny—if I hadn’t had my head between those glorious orbs two nights ago, and I didn’t know what a predicament she’s in. My lips flatten. Is it irrational to be pissed off and jealous at viewers seeing her tits? YES.
I’m not on air yet, but I watch from the side as the news unfolds after the live feed from Stone. From the anchor desk, Matt’s lips are twitching as he struggles to keep from laughing. He covers it—unsuccessfully—by adjusting the papers in front of him and clearing his throat. “That Rebecca . . . always monkeying around.”
Lori’s smile is overly bright. “Sorry folks. Not exactly the kind of petting zoo you might have been expecting.”
It’s Matt turn to speak. “And now here’s KHOT’s Cade Hill to keep us abreast of what’s up this weekend in sports . . .”
Matt gives me a look, as if expecting me to play along, but I ignore him and get down to business. “The headline this weekend is the big rivalry between Texas and Texas A&M. The teams haven’t played in six years—since Texas A&M joined the SEC—and you know I’ll be watching.” I hold up my pinkie and index finger for the Longhorns. “My blood runs orange for Texas.” I wrap up the weekend rundown as video footage rolls of the top teams in college football. I finish with the World Series playoffs, and Matt and Lorie take it back after I’m done.
A bit later, I head to the break room to grab something to eat before the ten o’clock broadcast. I pass by Marv’s office and glance over. With dissatisfaction plowing his brow, he’s glaring at a replay of the previous broadcast—specifically Stone. I knock on his open door and pop my head in. “Everything good, Marv?”
He starts, as if lost in his own thoughts, and spears me with a look. “Stone just bared her rack to our viewers—but trust me, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you, Hill.”
Ah there it is . . . the ol’ you waltzed in here and got a job you didn’t deserve routine. I nod, tucking my hands into my pockets. I want to antagonize him, and it has little to do with the animosity he harbors for me and a lot to do with how he’s been treating Stone.
“Should have given her the Smith story.” I pivot away before he can comment.
In the break room, several reporters are at a table enjoying takeout from Wang’s, a Chinese place down the street.
I walk to the back of the room to the ultramodern kitchen, complete with stainless steel appliances, a granite island, and the best pots and pans on the market. The station films cooking segments for the weekend show there, but during the week, we use it.
I open the fridge and pull out the ingredients for a BBQ chicken quinoa salad. Trent bounces in the break room wearing a lanyard pegging him as a visitor. He’d called earlier and wanted to have dinner together.
He strides over to me wearing his skinny jeans, Converse, and his favorite The Lion King shirt from when the stage production had come to Houston and he’d snagged a bit part. His blue eyes are twinkling as he takes a seat on one of the stools at the island and scoops up a handful of almonds I’d set out to snack on.
“What’s up, bro? Haven’t heard from you since the Pussycat.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Did you go home with that hot little reporter? She was all over you on the dance floor.” He sings the bow-chicka-bow-wow song.
I wasn’t telling him shit. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want people gossiping about us.”
He shrugs. “Do you care?”
I scowl. I love Trent, but sometimes he can be obtuse. “Of course, I care. I don’t want to make any waves for Stone—or me.”
He thinks about it. “Fine then. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Carry on with your sautéing of the chicken. I’m hungry.”
I dish out the salad in two bowls, creating layers of quinoa, shredded BBQ chicken, leftover grilled corn, and black beans.
Trent dives in, talking between chews. “Have I told you lately how glad I am you love to cook healthy shit for me?”
“It’s not shit. It’s protein, vegetables, and spices.”
He waves me off. “You know what I mean. You make my gluten-free diet amazing. I’m feeling good, no numbness in the joints or IBS—I was an old man before they figured out my allergy. Love you, bro.” He pops a bite of avocado in his mouth.
“Just a recipe from my NFL days.” I’m not a fancy cook, but I know how to cook healthy.
Trent is guzzling down the salad just as Stone walks in the door. She looks like a pissed off porcupine, ready to pop off a spear if anyone says a word. Her hair is a jumbled mess as if she’s put it up and taken it down and few times.
And she’s still wearing that damn shirt the monkey busted open.
The entire break room turns to take her in. It’s like slo-mo.
Brace yourself, Stone, I mentally send her way, but of course, she isn’t a mind reader.
No one has spoken and it’s eerily quiet as she halts at the Wang table and runs her eyes over them. She raises her arms, her hands doing the come on gesture. “I know you’re dying. Let’s hear the smart ass remarks.”
“Quite the booby trap you landed in, Becks,” calls someone from the back.
“Hey Becks, you’re my new breast friend,” another one says on a snicker.
“That’s one lucky monkey,” someone else murmurs.
Savannah’s nose is turned up as if she smells bad fish. She stares at Stone. “Did you plan to expose yourself like that?”
Stone throws back her shoulders and glares at the reporter. “Seriously? You think I told the monkey to paw me in front of millions?” Her frustration is palpable as she heaves out a long sigh. “No is the answer, in case that wasn’t clear to you, Savannah.”
“All I’m saying is it was very convenient that your shirt just happened to have a missing button—”
“It. Was. An. Accident,” Stone enunciates.
“You don’t have to get huffy,” Savannah retorts. “It’s just we all know you really wanted the Smith case.”
Stone’s eyes turn to slits. “Who is we?”
“Ah, no one. I just meant—”
Stone cuts her off. “Whatever. Speaking of segments, how did the Smith one go? Oh, that’s right, I already saw. You stood there in the humid Houston weather and got nada. No verdict yet. You win some, you lose some.”
Savannah’s face tightens.
“Tell you what, Savannah, next time you can take the monkeys and llamas, and I’ll do the courthouse beat.” Stone is crossing her arms, her shirt is barely hanging on. One quick glance tells me that every guy at the table has his peepers glued to that straining paper clip.
I’m about to go over there—
“Feeling protective?” Trent asks me. I guess he’s reading my face.
I nod.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his eyes bouncing between me and the table.
I quickly run down what happened on the segment.
His eyebrows are sky high. “Oh, damn. I missed it. I guess they won’t reshow it?”
“No, they will not,” I say dryly.
His eyes light up. “Doesn’t matter. That shit will go viral. I bet it’s already on YouTube.”
Before I can reply, Marv marches in, his face still red. I wonder how many viewers have called in to complain. “Rebecca!”
She flinches as she turns to face him.
“My office. Now.”
Her shoulders wilt and her face falls.
My hands clench.
If he fires her, I will beat the fuck—
“Can I have more chicken?” Trent’s voice brings me back.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say absently, my eyes on the door as Stone walks out and into the hall. I hear the clicking of her heels as she takes slow steps toward Marv’s office.
I can only imagine what’s going on in there . . .
Fifteen minutes later she’s back in the break room and heading to the box of chocolate donuts we have delivered nightly. The defeated look on her face is killing me.
“Stone, over here,” I call. “There’s a fan here to see you,” I say, nudging my head at Trent who’s waving.
“Holla, girlfriend! Come give old Trent a hug! I miss my Pussycat friend.” He stands and opens his arms wide. “Plus, I hear you might need one.”
Stone comes our way, her face cool. “Hey, Trent.” She gives him a quick hug and takes the barstool next to him.
She looks at me.
I look at her.
“Nothing to say?” she asks me. “Aren’t you going to make a joke?”
“Haven’t you had enough?”
She sighs. “Just say whatever you want to say and get it over with.”
I shrug. “Fine. You make the news worth watching. How’s that?”
Surprise crosses her face. “Dammit, why do you always say the nicest stuff when you’re such an—”
“An incredibly handsome and talented man?”
“He really is,” Trent says, chewing. “He made me this salad.”
She perks up as she checks out Trent’s dish. I quickly mix up another salad and slide it over to where she sits. She stares down at it in bemusement and takes a bite, bliss flitting across her face.
“It’s really not fair that you can cook, too,” she mutters, taking another big bite.
I laugh and Trent stares at Stone and me as if he’s just figuring something out.
A few minutes later they are bonding over the The Lion King while I check my phone for any updates in sports. I’m glad they like each other—although I don’t know why that’s important.
“Are you over Mufasa’s death—because I’m not,” Stone says as she sips from a Diet Coke she’d pulled from the fridge.
“Right! I mean, I get you need to see Simba grow into his own person—especially when he kills Scar—but Mufasa? TEARS. Breaks my heart every time.”
“Me too,” she agrees. “So what Disney character is your fav, Cade?”
She’s asking me?
I look up from my phone. “I don’t watch those movies.”
“He’s the big sports jock,” Trent comments. “Although I recall a few times when he might have indulged in a Gossip Girl marathon with me.”
“Don’t forget Love Actually,” I say. “You made me go to the theatre with you.”
“I suggest you start with The Little Mermaid,” Stone says to me.
“Why?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I love it. So should everyone else.”
“Is there sex in it?”
She fiddles with her drink. “No, silly. He’s very handsome—Prince Eric—he even has a cute dog.”
“I like cats.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I even have one.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
I cock an eyebrow. “So ladylike.”
“Ladies don’t show their tits on TV.” She gets that defeated look again, and I want her to stop—so I pick at her.
“Is the mermaid a blonde?”
“Redhead.”
“Nevermind. Never going to watch it.”
She flicks interested eyes over me. “Only blondes for the Killer?”
“All day, everyday.”
“Figures. I saw your ex. You like them skinny too?”
“Don’t go there, Stone. You won’t like my answer. Or maybe you will.” My voice is silky.
Trent is watching us with a rapturous expression. “You two are so . . . frisky. I like it. All I need is some popcorn. We def need a Disney marathon. Cade’s place, after work. Wanna call Chas?”
“Shut up, Trent,” I say.
He laughs.
But Stone isn’t done. She’s staring at me with an odd light in her eye—as if she enjoys our little run-ins. She eases back on her stool and considers me. “The Little Mermaid is about a girl who gives up what she holds most dear—her family and her singing voice—for the man she loves.”
I smirk. “And how does that work out for her? Doesn’t she get ostracized by her family?”
Stone gasps. “You have seen it!”
“I will neither confirm nor deny.”
“Some say it’s sexist in how it portrays women, but I don’t agree,” Trent says, stirring the drama pot—and never one to be left out.
“Why is it sexist?” Now I’m interested.
Stone is perturbed. “The movie is not sexist!”
Trent shrugs. “Beats me.”
Stone is shaking her head. “Ariel is empowered and brave and daring—”
“Nice rack?” I interrupt, my gaze hot as it traces the curve of her body. I picture her in a coconut bra. Shit. That’s sexist. But I can’t help it. I fucking want Stone so bad I have a hard-on at work talking about a goddamn mermaid movie.
She ignores me. “ . . . for example, Eric is the damsel in distress when Ariel rescues him from drowning—”
“That’s enough for me. I’d do her. I like a girl who fights for her man.” Now I’m just pushing her buttons.
Stone looks flustered. “You can’t appreciate it if you haven’t actually seen it.”
“Then show me.” I don’t know what I’m talking about now.
“Like I said . . . movie marathon at Cade’s tonight,” Trent chimes in.
We speak at the same time.
“Shut up,” Stone says.
“Give it a rest,” I say.
We look at each other and burst out laughing. Something . . . small . . . seems settled between us. I don’t know what it is. Maybe she’s forgiven me for getting her assigned to the petting zoo debacle or maybe we’re just having fun. Whatever. I go with it and grab her another Diet Coke when I see she’s empty and looking around. She takes it and smiles. “Wish this was gin and tonic.”
I grin. “If it was, this night would end very differently.”
She giggles.
The conversation moves from Disney to current events and before I know it, I look up and the entire place is deserted except for the three of us.
Then Trent leaves—and we’re completely alone in the quiet room.
We chat for a few minutes longer about inane stuff. It’s just regular, mundane conversation—but so fucking comfortable. Before long, I’m sitting next to her on the barstool and our faces are close.
She gives me a thoughtful look. “I had these assumptions about you, but you’re so different. You cook. You volunteer to help kids. You have a cat.” She bites her lip. “I like it.”
The air in the room thickens.
She swallows. “What are you thinking right now?”
I shutter my face. “You really want to know, Stone?”
She nods.
I lean across the island until we’re nose-to-nose.
“I want to fuck you again,” I say softly.
A small gasp of air comes from her parted lips. “What?”
My lids are heavy as I gaze at her. “We have an hour before I have to be at my desk. We can go to my office right now and shut the door. I’ll strip you out of that tight-as-fuck skirt, take your underwear off with my teeth, toss you on my desk, and eat your pussy until you forget your own name. Then, I’ll fuck you so hard and good that I’ll have to cover your mouth when you scream. And when I’m done, you’ll suck your cream off my cock like it’s candy.”
Her eyes glaze over as she clutches the side of the island. Her chest is rising rapidly.
I smile. “Or we can just finish our drinks here, head on to wherever we’re going, and forget I ever said a goddamn word.”