Flashing Her Gators Read online

  Flashing her Gators

  Romy Lockhart

  Contents

  1. Misty

  2. Justin

  3. Misty

  4. Justin

  5. Misty

  6. Justin

  7. Misty

  8. Justin

  9. Misty

  10. Tyler

  11. Misty

  12. Tyler

  13. Misty

  14. Misty

  15. Sam

  16. Misty

  17. Justin

  18. Misty

  19. Tyler

  20. Misty

  21. Justin

  22. Misty

  23. Sam

  24. Misty

  25. Tyler

  26. Misty

  27. Tyler

  28. Misty

  29. Sam

  30. Misty

  31. Tyler

  32. Misty

  33. Justin

  34. Misty

  35. Sam

  36. Misty

  37. Tyler

  38. Misty

  39. Sam

  40. Misty

  41. Tyler

  42. Misty

  43. Justin

  44. Misty

  45. Tyler

  46. Misty

  47. Sam

  48. Misty

  49. Misty

  50. Sam

  51. Misty

  52. Tyler

  53. Misty

  54. Tyler

  55. Misty

  56. Sam

  57. Misty

  58. Tyler

  59. Sam

  60. Tyler

  61. Misty

  62. Sam

  63. Tyler

  64. Misty

  65. Sam

  66. Justin

  67. Tyler

  68. Misty

  69. Justin

  70. Misty

  71. Tyler

  72. Misty

  73. Misty

  74. Misty

  Author’s Note

  FLASHING HER GATORS

  Copyright © 2019 Romy Lockhart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any other information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is a work of fiction, all names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Formatting by Leanne Clugston

  www.facebook.com/FormattingByLeigh

  Cover Design by LSK Designs

  https://www.lskcoverdesign.com

  One

  Misty

  No pink today. I refuse to play into the sweet and sunny personality the station created for me for one more second. It’s ruined any chance of me ever being taken seriously and I should have realized this five years ago. Instead of playing along, grateful for the break, while I looked around for the real stories. The news I want to report. The important stuff.

  Not reporting on how well animal therapy is helping the old folks in the homes in town, or whatever. Don’t get me wrong, I love all those cute animal and sweet story videos that circulate social media as well as the next person. I just don’t want my entire career to consist of delivering fluff pieces.

  So, no pink today. I need to start working on changing my image. Dark clothes, nude makeup. Less smiling. I need to force my bosses to take me seriously, and apparently begging to be allowed to report something less uplifting isn’t the way to do that. So, thank you, next.

  I pull out a simple black dress that I don’t think I’ve ever even worn. It’s probably less jarring than the pant suit I considered first. Don’t want to go too crazy to begin with. I slip in to it and consider my reflection. It’s sexier than I expected. Probably bought it for a date I ended up cancelling. No guy is worth more than whatever story I’m chasing.

  Too sexy? I consider it from all angles. I’m all boobs and butt. Nothing disguises that fact. Diets don’t make much difference, and I have to wear something like seventeen layers if I want a flatter silhouette, which is kind of the equivalent of zipping myself into a Sumo suit. Considering that, I decide the dress isn’t so bad after all. It’s knee-length and there’s no cleavage on show. It’s just skin-tight. It’ll do.

  I slip into chunky heels and go to the phone table in the hall to grab my purse. That’s when I see the answering machine is blinking. Okay, yes, I have a machine. In my defense it came with the apartment which I’m renting because I never intended on this job becoming a long-term thing. I never expected to actually get any messages. I mean, who gets calls on land lines anymore? Seriously. It’s probably just an over-eager telemarketer. Still, curiosity gets the better of me. I hit the button to listen to the message.

  “Hey, Flash, I got this number from your mom. I hope you don’t mind me calling you. I know it’s been a long time. Anyway, I have a story you might be interested in. It’s a case I’m working on right now. It’s Ty, if you couldn’t tell.”

  He rhymes off the cell number to call him back on. I pick up the pen by the phone and scribble it down on the notebook I’ve always kept there. I stuff the slip of paper into my purse, fully intending on calling him back as soon as I get five minutes to do so. A case he’s working on? I’m intrigued.

  But right now I don’t have a second to spare. I’m going to be late.

  My cell starts ringing in my purse. I don’t need to check it to know who it is. Justin, as always, trying to keep me out of trouble. I haul ass to the old folks’ home. It’s time to start presenting my new image to our viewers.

  Look out, world. Misty’s got a new plan.

  Two

  Justin

  The manager of the old folks’ home is getting antsy. Misty usually isn’t this late. She’s cutting it fine today. I’ve called her a couple times already. She didn’t answer, which isn’t completely unusual, but it’s starting to get a little tense around here. I haven’t told the producer she isn’t here yet. It’s my ass on the line too if she doesn’t arrive in the next five minutes.

  Still, I just shrug my shoulders when the manager of the home asks where the hell she is for the sixth time. How should I know? It’s not like she ever tells me.

  “She’ll be here. Don’t worry.”

  As much as Misty complains about this gig, I know she’d never flake on it. Sometimes, okay most of the time, she just takes her time showing up. Usually the day after she’s asked for something from the producers and they’ve shot her down.

  They always shoot her down. Those guys are assholes. They can’t see how much the viewers love her. How low their ratings would dive if they didn’t have her.

  The irritable manager mutters something under his breath as he walks away from me. I’ve already set up the camera. We’re ready to go as soon as our star gets here. The old folks are sitting around this TV room with an array of bunnies, guinea pigs, and kittens in their arms.

  Misty’s going to talk to the manager and then sit next to Ethel who’s holding the cutest bunny I’ve ever seen, to ask how she’s doing, before we pass back to the studio.

  I look at my watch. Four minutes and counting.

  “Young man,” Ethel says, looking my way.

  “Uh, yes, ma’am?”

  “Where’s that nice lady from the TV? I think Snowy needs to go to the bathroom.”

  I look around for one of the guys from the anima
l rescue that brought the bunnies in. They’re all in blue and white polo-shirts. I spot one and motion to him. He comes over, raising his eyebrows.

  “I need another bunny,” Ethel says, immediately holding Snowy out to the guy.

  He picks the bunny up and raises an eyebrow. “Why do you... Oh.”

  The pee stain on his polo-shirt spreads quickly. He grimaces. “Not again.”

  Ethel smiles sweetly. “Well, I guess I could take him back now.”

  The guy passes the bunny back and she pats his little head gently, whispering, “Good boy.”

  And that’s the moment Misty makes her appearance. She rushes in front of the camera and I pass her a microphone and ear piece, my gaze catching on what she’s wearing. Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in black. Her natural blonde hair seems even more golden tinted than usual.

  “You look amazing,” I blurt, feeling the blood rush to my face at my admission.

  She smiles, and it’s a genuine smile that lights up her whole face. “Aw thanks, Just.”

  Then we’re given the signal. The studio is about to cut to us. We prepare and Misty begins introductions, waving the manager over. She’s flawless. Every move she makes is so natural. She makes it look easy. Every little hiccup is taken in her stride. She’s incredible.

  Too good for me. Too good for anyone, really.

  We cut back to the studio and Misty breathes out a sigh as she passes me back the mic and earpiece.

  “So, you really like the dress?”

  “He does,” Ethel cuts in, smiling knowingly. “But it’s not your usual style, dear.”

  Misty smiles wryly. “Well, you’ve gotta try new things sometimes, right?”

  The old lady winks at me. “Yes, of course.”

  I’m too mortified to speak, but luckily Misty hasn’t even noticed.

  “We should get back to the studio,” she tells me. “Can you pack up on your own? I need to make a call.”

  She wanders off and I start to pack up, the heat in my face cooling as I realize she hasn’t noticed how much I was drooling over her. Just as well. I’m not sure I’m ready to find out how she’d respond to realizing I’m attracted to her.

  “She’s a nice girl,” Ethel tells me, “but it’s going to take more than compliments to get her to notice you.”

  “It’s that obvious?” I ask.

  “Not to her, but I think she has other things on her mind.”

  “The studio aren’t taking her seriously.” It’s all she can seem to think about. I get it, but I wonder what would happen if they did. Would she finally notice me, or would moving up in the world mean leaving me behind?

  “That’s their problem. She isn’t taking you seriously, young man. You’ll need to show her why she should or she’ll never notice you.” She smiles at me, before calling over to the rescue guy who’s now changed his shirt. “Gary, I need another bunny again.”

  I finishing packing up and load the van. Misty is talking on her cell next to her car. Her face is lit up, and she’s pacing back and forth like she does when she’s excited about something. I bump my shoulder against the van door and bite back a yell. The throbbing pain makes me wince and groan as I close the doors and try to decide if I should wait for Misty’s call to end or not.

  I check my own cell, and roll my eyes at the message from my brother James.

  Your girlfriend was looking hot today, bro. That dress. OMFG. Let me at her.

  He’s always teasing that he’ll ask Misty out if I don’t. He never does. It’s not like he ever sees her in person. They don’t run in the same circles.

  Find your own woman to drool over, I text back, before I put the phone away.

  I stop short at calling her mine. She’s not. Never has been.

  Never will be?

  She’s still talking so I wave as I get into the van. She nods and waves back. She’s still on the phone when I look in the rear view. Must be something important. I wonder if she’ll ever look at me the way she looks when she’s talking about chasing a real story.

  Three

  Misty

  Tyler sounds just as sexy and mysterious as he always did in college. He has one of those gravelly voices that just melt my panties straight off. He was one of the few dates I actually regretted cancelling. To top it off, he’s giving me a lead on a story that could make my career as a serious reporter. A serial killer in my home town in Florida? And the police haven’t even made the connection yet. I have chills, like seriously.

  “There’s a reason the cops aren’t all over this for what it is,” Ty admits.

  “A reason?”

  “You know what I am, right?”

  And now, my chills have chills. “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly. The cops think animal attacks are on the rise. But I know what I saw.”

  “What did you see, exactly?”

  He clears his throat. “I shouldn’t say over the phone. You busy this weekend?”

  This weekend? It’s a good thing it’s Friday, because I don’t think I could wait a whole week to grab this lead. “I can be home by tomorrow lunchtime.”

  “Call me when you get here.”

  He hangs up, and I put my cell back into my purse, cancelling the missed calls from Justin when I was running late this morning. I get into my car and start the engine. I’m already calculating my next move. I don’t know how long I might need to be in Florida for, and my fluff piece gig is a five day a week live filming kind of thing. Last minute leave is not going to work.

  I drive to work, catching up to Justin just as he enters the studio parking lot. I park alongside his van, wondering how easily I could drag him into my brand new plan.

  He gets out and I realize I’m going to have to sweeten the deal. He knows when I’m scheming. I can’t play him like I can most people when I’m trying to get information or talk them into something.

  “Just?”

  He glances at me, his dark eyes expectant. “Uh, yeah?”

  “How do you feel about a trip to Florida?”

  He stares at me. “What?”

  “There might be a story,” I tell him, shrugging. “Tom hasn’t okayed it yet, but...”

  He blinks. “You want me to go with you?”

  “Well, I’ll kind of need a camera man if I want Tom to say yes.”

  “Oh. Well. Sure.”

  He seems entirely stunned, and I can’t quite figure out why. I shrug it off, knowing my curiosity will pick at it later when I’m not so preoccupied with this story I’m chasing.

  “I’m going to speak with Tom. So I’ll let you know the details once I’m done.”

  I move ahead of him once we get inside the building, heading straight for Tom’s office.

  The producer is pretty sick of me and I know it. I complain too much, I’m always asking annoying questions. If I cared it might make me think twice about storming into his office.

  “Hey Tom,” I sing as I walk in.

  He blows out a breath. “Misty. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Uh, what? “No, you’re not, but you will be.”

  “Don’t wear that dress again. It confused the viewers.”

  “Confused how? Like they don’t know what a dress is?”

  He rolls his eyes. “No. Confused like Whose Funeral is it Anyway was trending on Twitter three minutes after you wore it.”

  Oh. Well, shit. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it navy next time. I have something to ask.”

  “I guessed that when you walked in.”

  “Well, you’ve always been a good guesser.” I smile to tone down the sarcasm. Riling him up isn’t going to do me any favors. “I want to do a home town series next week. Justin’s down with it. I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel for fluff pieces in this town. I think this’ll breathe new life into my segment.”

  He frowns, glancing at my dress. “Whose home town?”

  “Mine. Lake Summerville. I have a solid fan base, Tom. You said so yourself. Those people would
love to see the place I grew up.”

  “You have some stories lined up?” He raises an eyebrow.

  He has no freaking idea. I nod, thinking on my feet now to avoid spilling the truth. “My grandmother knits sweaters for cats, for starters.”

  I watch him snort. “Fine. But I want an email listing the stories you’re going to cover by Sunday night. I want transcripts of what you’re going to say and what you’ll be wearing. Stick to outfits wardrobe have pre-approved. No more black.”

  Man, he’s a pain in the ass. I hold my tongue before I can ask if he wants to call my mother and make sure I’m not going to be eating any junk food too. “Sure.”

  “Tell Justin to check with Pete about what equipment he needs.”

  I smile. “Of course.” I turn to leave, wanting to get out before he decides to pull the rug out from under me.

  “And, Misty?”

  Shit. Knew he was going to throw in a catch.