The Actor's Contract
“I’m not supposed to tell …”
Jackson freezes.
Lee smirks widely at my rigid brother, deep dimples in his cheeks. “But he met some sugar daddy.” His voice dips to a whisper.
Jesse sputters his beer everywhere. Axel actually sits up.
“It’s new,” Lee continues casually, strolling over to the couch. He flops down next to Jackson with exaggerated dramatics, like it’s his throne. Their legs press.
“A silver fox,” Lee murmurs, dimples flashing as his grin spreads wide, “Who smells like cedar and talks about Virginia Woolf like it’s sports commentary.” He chuckles softly.
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