I’m glad he says it because I was about two seconds away from throwing her over my shoulder, dropping her on the bed, and tying her down so she won’t leave my side. I restrain myself, obviously. After taking her hand, I lead her to the bed where I sit next to her, my arm around her waist, annoyed and frustrated and why the hell can’t they just leave us alone?

“You brought your camera, right?” Chris asks her.

Becca nods, a genuine smile crossing her lips.

“Good.” He pulls out some papers from his folder and hands them to her.

“An NDA?” I ask incredulously. “Really, Chris?”

He shakes his head. “Becca and I discussed her being the official photographer for the skate park tomorrow. Those are the release forms and payment contracts.”

Becca reaches into her pocket, pulls out her phone, then types, her words relayed through the speakers, “I don’t want to be paid. I’m happy to do it.”

“Take Chris’s money,” Reece says.

“Yeah,” agrees Nico. “Take it.”

I look over her shoulder as she flips the pages, pausing when she sees the amount she’ll be paid. $300. I glance at her just in time to see her eyes widen and her thumbs working franticly on her phone.

That’s way too much! I can’t accept—

She doesn’t get a chance to play the message before I grab the phone and toss it across the room. I take a pen from the nightstand, add a zero at the end and tell her, “Initial here.” I point to new amount, followed by the blank space waiting for her signature. “Sign here.”

She looks between Chris and I, but Chris gives her nothing. He’ll pay her the three grand, even if it comes from me.

Becca shakes her head. “I can’t,” she mouths.

“It’s called negotiation,” Chris tells her. “And clearly Josh has been around Daniel too long.”

“Daniel?” Becca mouths, raising her eyebrows.

“My manager.”

She takes the notepad from the side table and writes: I thought your mom was your manager?

“I’ll explain later.”

“Is there a reason for this meeting?” Reece huffs.

“Yeah. Is there?” I ask, my question aimed at Chris while I tap on the paper to refocus Becca’s attention. “Just sign it.”

Becca does what I tell her, though clearly hesitant, before handing them back to Chris who simply says, “I’ll pay you in cash tomorrow.”

We spend the next fifteen minutes discussing the plan for tomorrow—a meet-and-greet/fun skate at a local skate park—and then the media and demo shoot agenda for the following day. All things I know about and all things I wish I could back out of because Becca’s here. She’s here and she’s real and the second the guys are out of my room, I let her know with my lips, my hands, my physical worship of her presence, just how much I appreciate that she is.

Being intimate with Becs on any given day is a blessing, but being with her after months spent apart is something else. I feel like I’m moving through a haze in a dreamlike state… like my hands grasping hers while she writhes beneath me is nothing more than a fantasy. In the past, I’d caught myself laughing, thinking about the way I’d be, the way I’d act when she was finally in this position. I’d expected her to be naked within seconds, and me finishing a few seconds after that, but that’s not what’s happening. Instead, we take our time, removing clothes one after the other, our breaths merging, warming our bodies until I’ve worked up a sweat and she’s done the same. It’s not until I reach for the condom in my wallet that she comes out of her daze “Pill,” she mouths.

“Bill? I don’t know who the fuck this Bill guy is but I’m Joshua Warden. Remember me?” I jokingly tap my knuckles on her forehead.

She slaps my chest while silent laughter bubbles out of her.

“I miss you like this,” I tell her, leaning up on my forearms, my fingers lacing through her hair.

She spreads her legs, welcoming me, and when the warmth of being inside her infiltrates my entire being, I remind her of how much I love her. How much I need her.

25

—Becca—

We spent the entire afternoon, evening, and night holed up in Josh’s hotel room, only making contact with the outside world when we got hungry and ordered room service. His phone ringing wakes us the next morning. He mumbles an apology before shifting me off of him to reach for it in the pocket of his discarded jeans sitting on the floor. “It’s Tommy,” he says, his voice scratchy from sleep. “Video call.”