8
“I fired Hot Shots,” Corey said, barging into Will’s family room uninvited. He hadn’t intended to come here. He’d been driving around just letting off steam, and after a couple of hours he’d found himself in front of his best friend’s house.
“Uh—you fired your agent?” Will picked up the remote from the coffee table and paused the show he’d been watching.
“Now I need a new one, and probably a publicist.” Corey flopped next to him on the sectional. “I have contracts coming in—that I cannot read—and events coming up. It’s mid-season. I don’t have time for this shit. And I have no idea who to hire because Hot Shots are the best.”
“Am I allowed to ask why?” Will scratched his head.
“Taran.” Corey shook his head. He knew what he’d told Taran was both the truth and the right call, but it still pissed him off that it had to happen. “They didn’t want me dating Taran.”
“Hold up,” Will said. He stood and walked into the kitchen, returning with two beers. Corey took one, and Will took a sip of the other. “I missed about twelve steps here because I swear you told me this morning that you two weren’t really dating.”
“We weren’t dating; we aren’t dating. I don’t even want to date her.” Corey frowned. He thought that was the truth. “It’s more of a principle thing.”
Will looked like he was going to say something but sank into the cushions of the sofa, then let out a small laugh. “Or an overreaction? Can I ask how this even came up with them?”
“I kissed her.” Corey frowned and spun the beer between his hands absently, staring into space as he remembered the kiss.
“What?”
Corey got the impression he wasn’t telling this story well.
“I went with her to Sean’s place. I fired Sean and kissed Taran in his kitchen.” His frown turned into a scowl.
Will could have gone in a lot of directions, but he just smirked. “And?”
Corey didn’t have to ask what he meant. He dropped the beer he didn’t want onto the coffee table and groaned as he let his head fall back against the back of the sofa. “I’d like to do it again.”
His friend chuckled. “I knew you were screwed when you were rude to her.”
“Huh?” Corey said, looking up.
“Come on, Cor, the only other girl you’ve ever hooked up with who you weren’t sweet as peach pie to was Beth,” Will said as he took another sip of his beer.
Corey and Beth had dated as teenagers, which had ended in a media disaster—much like everything else in his life. He’d say it started his hatred for the press, but that would be a lie. His hatred started as soon as he realized his parents’ need for attention constantly drove them into the headlines. The implosion of his relationship with Beth had only added to his burning hate of the press. But regardless of how he and Beth had ended, one thing was true.
“I was always great to Beth.” Corey frowned at him. “None of you Evanses would have let me live if I wasn’t.”
“If you’d meant it, you’re right. We wouldn’t have, but you always pissed and moaned and bickered with her like it was foreplay. You did the same thing with Taran. That’s how I knew you were spewing a load of shit with the whole I’m not hooking up with her act,” Will explained as he kicked his feet up on to his coffee table. Will must have just come home from the gym where he coached one of the area’s most premier swim teams, because he was still in his red swim trunks and warm-up jacket.
Corey glared at him. “You’re full of crap.”
“Why do you think Danny jumped all over a chance to annoy you the second you got bitchy?” he asked.
Corey paused. That was true.
“Because he’s Danny?” Corey mumbled, and Danny was too much like his brother Bob.
“No, because he knew you wanted to tap that.” Will laughed.
“Yo.” Corey frowned. They normally laughed about women, but Taran, well, she wasn’t like that. Corey didn’t know how he knew it, but he did.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean any offense.” Will put both hands in the air, smirking again. “But what are you going to do about it?”
“I think she’s doing a story about Clay.” Corey didn’t like that idea. Most likely because Will was right; his desire for Taran grew every time he saw her. And now that her soft lips had pressed against his, he knew he needed more. He’d never had a woman respond to a kiss the way Taran had. It was almost like she was drinking him in like oxygen as she kissed him. Like he was something she needed more than wanted—and it was hot.
Corey could handle wanting Taran, but he was struggling with his ability to trust her. In so many ways, she was his enemy. The press had always been his enemy. And there had to be a saying about fucking the enemy, although he couldn’t remember it.