Irresistible Bachelors: Books 1-5 by Landish, Lauren (bts books to read TXT) 📕

is so absurd that I wonder what sort of Internet troll even tried to come up with it. “There’s nothing to say,” I say easily. “Leslie and I are co-workers, and she has always been professional with me. Whoever started that rumor is wrong.”

“Mr. Adams,” the same reporter asks, his voice causing me to grit my teeth. “Do you think doing this movie will make people forget about the Anaconda video?”

Always, always, always. Everything always comes back to that damn video. This time, though, I don’t get angry. I don’t feel capable. I just feel . . . dead inside.

“I certainly hope so,” I say finally, flashing a wink and nodding my head at the crowd of reporters. “Thank you, but I’ve gotta get to offseason workouts.”

“Okay, that will be all,” Miranda says at my side as I rise to my feet. “Gavin is done taking questions now. He’ll be signing a few autographs in the lobby for a few minutes and then we have to catch our flight. Thank you.”

The crowd rushes forward, taking pictures, each flashbulb stinging my eyes and making my head throb a little bit more. I keep the smile on my face, ignoring the flashes even though I feel like shit. Security holds back most of the crowd as we make it into the hallway of the press venue.

“I think that’s the best I’ve seen you do while we’ve been here,” Miranda says out of the side of her mouth. “What’s changed?”

I did my best at faking it, I think to myself. Truth be told, I’m in a nasty fucking mood. Nothing they said mattered. It was just a couple of minutes and it all seems like a blur to me. I don’t even know what I said.

“Just glad to be done with all of this,” I finally say. “Football time.”

“I’m glad too,” Miranda says as we reach the lobby where a small crowd waits. “I’m not sure I could’ve taken much more of airhead Gavin.”

Before I can reply, I’m swarmed by a wall of clamoring fans. It’s hard to keep the smile on my face, but I do it, signing a few t-shirts, books, and posters. I politely answer questions and pose for pictures, wanting it to end as fast as possible. The line of people seems endless, and after a while, I begin to get dizzy from all the stimuli surrounding me.

Suddenly, I’m caught off guard when one girl presses herself against my side, causing a hiss of warning from Miranda.

“Is your anaconda as big as they say it is?” she asks. Obviously a bimbo groupie, she has big tits and a low skirt. Her t-shirt is hand-cut in a V to show even more of her surgically enhanced cleavage.

I grit my teeth. I hate when fans invade my personal space and then ask me rude questions. “It’s about as big as those fake tits of yours—”

“Sorry, folks, we’re going to be moving along now,” Miranda cuts in, doing quick damage control and shoving the girl and others out of the way. “Got a flight to catch!”

I press the opening, shouldering my way through the crowd as Miranda scrambles to catch up. “You just couldn't make it to the end without screwing up, could you?”

“Are you fucking serious?” I demand.

“You know better than that,” Miranda says reproachfully. “It’s not worth letting someone get under your skin.”

She’s right. But I’m not perfect and I’m tired of being expected to be. I turn to her as we walk out of the building and come up on our waiting limo.

“You know what, Miranda? I’m sorry I can’t be a fucking robot twenty-four seven. Go here, say this, let this person grope you, never mind that everyone only wants to talk about my fucking cock! I’m sorry that I’ve got feelings and that I’m not always able to control them. You know, instead of ranting at me about it, how about from time to time, you actually remember that I’m a human being?”

Miranda grows silent, her face going stony.

Our driver gets out and opens the door for us, and I climb inside, taking a seat near the window. Miranda is in moments later, sitting as far away from me as she can. As we pull off, the cabin is plunged into tense silence.

I ignore it and stare out the window, my stomach in my throat. It’s hard seeing the shops as we pass by, all the ones I’ve gotten used to seeing. I would’ve liked to visit them, but there’s no time. I’m leaving this all behind. Leaving her.

I quell the sudden urge to command the driver to stop. What would I do anyway? I can’t stay here. I have a contract with the league.

But man, it fucking hurts.

When we reach the airport, I literally feel like I’m short of breath.

“Are you all right?” Miranda asks. They’re her first words since our little spat, and they’re delivered in a tone that says she doesn’t really give a shit. “You look kind of pale.”

“Yeah,” I lie, keeping my tone even. “Just ready to get back home.”

Miranda grunts her agreement as the car rolls to a stop in front of our departure terminal. “Boy, I’m telling you, so am I.”

Hustled by terminal security, we quickly get out and unload our luggage. Even though I’m pissed, I carry my and Miranda’s luggage to the baggage area and get it checked in within ten minutes. Next, we get through the checkpoints with ease, and by the time we’re boarding the plane, I’m convinced I’ll need something to relax me to get through the flight.

“You sure do look pale,” Miranda remarks again as we settle into our seats. It’s a charter flight. The team wants my ass back in town ASAP, and they sent the owner’s private jet to take care of it.

I wave away her concern. “Just feeling a little sick, that’s all.”

She peers at me. “You sure? I don't want to get up to thirty-five thousand feet in the air