guy.
“Allie and I were just about to get in the hot tub,” Drake says, and everyone seems to be fighting back smiles. Manning knows something up. “What? What did I miss?” The guys all laugh at the same time, and I can’t help but grin.
I tell him what happened, blushing yet again as I briefly recount the event. His eyes get big and he says, “And nobody got pictures?” I punch him on the arm, surprised at how little give there is to his flesh.
They all decide that getting in the hot tub sounds like a great idea, and I initially think it’s time for me to leave. Though I didn’t get to ask Manning my six questions, I feel pretty comfortable he’ll agree to meet me later for that purpose, especially considering the peep show I accidentally gave his friends. Then it dawns on me that sitting with these men in a Jacuzzi might be the perfect stealth way for me to gather information about my subject. Just chill with them for a while and let them talk. I’ll certainly learn more about Manning than I’ve uncovered on my own to this point.
When they ask if I want to join them, I say, “Sure – but in a bathing suit this time.”
I return to the pool house once again and change into the suit I’d found earlier. It’s yellow and orange and actually fits me well. It’s not too revealing and looks cute. It nicely shows off my big breasts and curvy hips without looking slutty.
I feel surprisingly comfortable as I approach the hot tub. The men are all already in the water, bourbons in hand. I’m hoping they’re in their underwear or borrowed swim trunks or shorts, but I can’t see anything under the water because the jets are too strong – it’s all bubbles down there. I dismiss the thought as silly, then smile at Manning and catch him staring at my body as I walk down the steps into the roiling water. It feels amazing, my body being caressed by the warm jet streams while my head remains in the crisp night air.
Manning apparently played golf with these men earlier in the afternoon and told them about the woman who was interviewing him for the Times. It’s unclear whether he asked them to stop by or they insisted on coming, but either possibility seems strange, and I can’t help but wonder what he told them about me.
We all sit with our heads poking out of the water as I rather artfully ask questions that sound like I’m just curious about their friendships, but are actually designed to further my knowledge of Drake Manning. I’m in a corner of the Jacuzzi, surrounded by four gorgeous, partially naked men, and I have a buzz. Some professional journalist I am.
“So how do you boys know each other?” I prod.
“Drake and I were boyhood friends,” Mason says. “Then we met Link at college.”
That left out Marcus. I turn to him expectantly, but before he can provide an answer, Drake speaks up.
“I met Marcus when he sat in my lap one night. I was instantly smitten, so I introduced him to these other reprobates.”
They all laugh and Marcus nods his head, feigning shame. “I was chasing a ball out of bounds and Drake was sitting courtside. Fate, and a missed three-pointer, brought us together.”
Of course. That’s where I’ve seen him before. Marcus Jennings is a star basketball player for the either the Lakers or Clippers – I can’t remember which. Probably anyone else in town would have known this immediately, but I’m not exactly a sports fan. I keep that to myself, though.
I learn that Mason is the founder of Media Arts Unlimited, one of the most hottest mid-size talent agencies in town. He personally handles only MAU’s A-list clients, including both Manning and Jennings.
“And what do you do, Link?” I ask. When he replies that he’s in personal security, I ask, “So you can protect me from these three menaces?”
That gets a laugh, then I turn beet red when Link gets an even bigger one by replying in that deep, gravelly voice, “I’d be happy to. Somebody needs to make sure
“Allie and I were just about to get in the hot tub,” Drake says, and everyone seems to be fighting back smiles. Manning knows something up. “What? What did I miss?” The guys all laugh at the same time, and I can’t help but grin.
I tell him what happened, blushing yet again as I briefly recount the event. His eyes get big and he says, “And nobody got pictures?” I punch him on the arm, surprised at how little give there is to his flesh.
They all decide that getting in the hot tub sounds like a great idea, and I initially think it’s time for me to leave. Though I didn’t get to ask Manning my six questions, I feel pretty comfortable he’ll agree to meet me later for that purpose, especially considering the peep show I accidentally gave his friends. Then it dawns on me that sitting with these men in a Jacuzzi might be the perfect stealth way for me to gather information about my subject. Just chill with them for a while and let them talk. I’ll certainly learn more about Manning than I’ve uncovered on my own to this point.
When they ask if I want to join them, I say, “Sure – but in a bathing suit this time.”
I return to the pool house once again and change into the suit I’d found earlier. It’s yellow and orange and actually fits me well. It’s not too revealing and looks cute. It nicely shows off my big breasts and curvy hips without looking slutty.
I feel surprisingly comfortable as I approach the hot tub. The men are all already in the water, bourbons in hand. I’m hoping they’re in their underwear or borrowed swim trunks or shorts, but I can’t see anything under the water because the jets are too strong – it’s all bubbles down there. I dismiss the thought as silly, then smile at Manning and catch him staring at my body as I walk down the steps into the roiling water. It feels amazing, my body being caressed by the warm jet streams while my head remains in the crisp night air.
Manning apparently played golf with these men earlier in the afternoon and told them about the woman who was interviewing him for the Times. It’s unclear whether he asked them to stop by or they insisted on coming, but either possibility seems strange, and I can’t help but wonder what he told them about me.
We all sit with our heads poking out of the water as I rather artfully ask questions that sound like I’m just curious about their friendships, but are actually designed to further my knowledge of Drake Manning. I’m in a corner of the Jacuzzi, surrounded by four gorgeous, partially naked men, and I have a buzz. Some professional journalist I am.
“So how do you boys know each other?” I prod.
“Drake and I were boyhood friends,” Mason says. “Then we met Link at college.”
That left out Marcus. I turn to him expectantly, but before he can provide an answer, Drake speaks up.
“I met Marcus when he sat in my lap one night. I was instantly smitten, so I introduced him to these other reprobates.”
They all laugh and Marcus nods his head, feigning shame. “I was chasing a ball out of bounds and Drake was sitting courtside. Fate, and a missed three-pointer, brought us together.”
Of course. That’s where I’ve seen him before. Marcus Jennings is a star basketball player for the either the Lakers or Clippers – I can’t remember which. Probably anyone else in town would have known this immediately, but I’m not exactly a sports fan. I keep that to myself, though.
I learn that Mason is the founder of Media Arts Unlimited, one of the most hottest mid-size talent agencies in town. He personally handles only MAU’s A-list clients, including both Manning and Jennings.
“And what do you do, Link?” I ask. When he replies that he’s in personal security, I ask, “So you can protect me from these three menaces?”
That gets a laugh, then I turn beet red when Link gets an even bigger one by replying in that deep, gravelly voice, “I’d be happy to. Somebody needs to make sure
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