His eyes narrow. “For lingerie? You were shopping for lingerie?”

  “Well, I wasn’t shopping for avocados.”

  “Did you wear the lingerie for another guy?” he asks in that jealous rumble again.

  I stare at him. “Is that a real question?”

  “Yes, it’s a real question. Humor me with a real answer.”

  I roll my eyes, even though I like his jealous streak a helluva lot. “No, you caveman. I buy lingerie for me. Because I like it. Like the pink bra and panties I had on tonight. I bought them for me.”

  His dick twitches. “But I liked them too. So did my dick.”

  “Glad to hear it. Anyway, that’s where they took classes. That’s where the iPad has to be.” I’m ready to grab some clothes and catch a cab right now.

  “Great. How about you finish what you started while I google Takes Two to Tango and find out their business hours.”

  “Are you serious?” I say with an incredulous laugh.

  He glances at his erection. “Do I look like I’m joking? Me before tango, please.”

  I smile, delighted by his voracious sexual appetite. It matches mine. Because even though I do want to finish the list, I also want to finish him.

  He grabs his phone and speaks into it. “Google, tell me the hours for Takes Two to Tango while Lola sucks my cock.”

  And I crack up so hard. So hard and so deep that it’s clear I can’t leave this man bereft of a blow job. Because I don’t want to stop either.

  I lean down and kiss the tip of his fantastic dick.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” he murmurs.

  “Now talk me through it, Lucas. You’ll get your reward as you figure out the details,” I say, drawing him into my mouth again.

  He groans a fantastically filthy yes as he slides his thumb across the screen. “It’s open,” he says, breathing out hard as I take him deep. “Fuck . . .”

  He hits the back of my throat, filling my mouth.

  “Open at . . .” He tries again, but he can’t speak as I wrap my fist around the base, gripping him as I suck.

  “In the morning . . .” He thrusts up into my mouth, and we find a rhythm.

  I take him deep, and he rocks into me, his thumb fumbling away at the screen.

  “At eleven. We’ll go . . .” He grunts, panting roughly, finally tossing the phone onto the pillow. “Fuck, Lo.”

  I grin wickedly, moving faster, driving him wild, giving him his reward.

  “At eleven. Holy fuck. At eleven. Okay?” He bites off a string of curses, the last one ending with Coming now.

  And as he fills my mouth, I’m wickedly delighted that we solved another clue and racked up another O.

  But I’m more thrilled that he likes this so much. That he craves my body, my mouth, my skin as much as I do his. It’s like a vindication of everything I feared years ago.

  That he’d rejected not only the friendship, but this part of me too.

  I didn’t simply lose him.

  I lost a little sliver of confidence.

  I found it again on my own, but it’s sure as hell good to know he responds to me the same way I do to him.

  But when he leaves a little later, guitars and T-shirts in hand, I’m sadder than I thought I’d be to say goodbye.

  “See you tomorrow,” I say at the door. I’m in a T-shirt and yoga pants. He’s in his clothes again, hair mussed, lips full. Post-sex Lucas. It’s a good look on him, the lover look. It suits his olive skin, his dark-brown eyes.

  “Technically, I’ll see you today.” He looks at his watch. “After all, a certain someone kept me up way past midnight.”

  I affect a huge yawn. “That certain someone needs her sleep.”

  “Same here,” he says, rocking on his heels.

  The silence of the late hour wraps around us, and for a few seconds, the air is heavy, thick with unsaid things.

  I could ask him to spend the night.

  But . . . I don’t think I want to.

  I don’t think he wants to either.

  Because I don’t know what waking up together would do to this strange, unexpected state of our relationship. It’s as if we’re living in a time warp. A day, maybe two, that exists outside the boundaries of the calendar.

  If we rise and shine in the harsh light of day together, what would that do to this bizarre truce? Would it break it? Would we fall apart again?

  Right now, the cocoon of nostalgia and night, of friendship and desire, enrobes us.

  I don’t want to face him, or us, or myself in the unforgiving light of the morning.

  I don’t want to think too much about what just happened.

  The more I think on it, the more I will feel.

  He already feels too deep in my heart.

  And it’s only been one night.

  “See you in ten hours,” I say, breaking the silence at last.

  “See you then.”

  He turns to go, and my heart pounds angrily, like it’s demanding I take that back, like it wants me to ask him to stay.

  My pulse spikes.

  And I want.

  “Lucas!” I call out.

  He turns around. His eyes radiate hope. Words tango on the tip of my tongue.

  But so does the past.

  Not just ours.

  But all the pasts I’ve seen. My parents and their pendulum swings of love, hate, and then too much love. A surfeit of love that they smothered themselves in, ignoring the rest of the world.

  And the present too.

  My job. My business. My focus.

  And my sister. That sweet, crazy girl I love to Cassiopeia and back.

  “Yes?” His voice is pitched with hope.

  I part my lips. “I’ll email Harrison,” I say, speaking from my head, not my heart. “Like we talked about.”

  Lucas nods several times, as if agreeing with me is the most important thing right now. “Good plan. Update him. Let him know we’re on track.”

  Then he taps his forehead in some sort of good night salute.

  Not a good night kiss.

  It’s for the best, I tell myself.

  If he leaned in and dusted his lips across my forehead, I’d ask him to spend the night.

  And I don’t want to ruin what we just got back.

  It’s too precious. Too wonderful. I’d hate to break it.

  Or us again.

  Besides, we still have tomorrow.

  13

  Early Saturday Morning

  * * *

  To: Harrison Bates

  From: Lola Dumont

  CC: Lucas Xavier

  Subject: Update

  * * *

  Hello Harrison!

  * * *

  Hope you had a fantastic evening. Just a quick morning update to let you know we have collected the Star Wars T-shirts and the guitars. We are on track and should have everything in time for the security deposit deadline.

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  Lola

  * * *

  To: Lola Dumont

  From: Harrison Bates

  CC: Lucas Xavier

  Subject: Your update makes me wonder . . .

  * * *

  Is this your way of letting me know you want me to make things harder? Is it not challenging enough for you? I can raise the bar higher if you’d like. Just say the word!

  * * *

  To: Harrison Bates

  From: Lola Dumont

  CC: Lucas Xavier

  Subject: Re: Your update makes me wonder . . .

  * * *

  No! It’s incredibly challenging, I assure you! I’m simply giving you a status report. I wanted you to know that everything is coming along nicely, and we thought you would appreciate an update. I hope you were able to enjoy some quiet last night. :)

  * * *

  To: Lola Dumont

  From: Harrison Bates

  CC: Lucas Xavier

  Subject: Your updates feed my soul

  * * *

  Thank you for asking! I did relish a silent evening with my typewriter, my gummy bears, and no one arguing in the next apartment, over costumes or kale or board games or llamas or whatever.

  * * *

  Also, status reports are so jolly. I do appreciate yours, and even though payback is a delight, I’m not so cruel that I’d ask for more. A deal is a deal. I would never make you jump higher or through a hoop on fire. Or walk a tightrope, God forbid!

  * * *

  I hope you enjoy collecting the rest of the items. Also, while we’re at it, did you happen to try the cheese at Grater Good? I mean, really. Have you ever had anything better in your whole life?

  * * *

  To: Harrison Bates

  From: Lucas Xavier

  CC: Lola Dumont

  Subject: The cheese feeds MY soul

  * * *

  The cheese was decadent.

  * * *

  To: Lucas Xavier

  From: Harrison Bates

  CC: Lola Dumont

  Subject: “Decadent” barely scratches the surface

  * * *

  Melts in your mouth, doesn’t it?

  * * *

  To: Harrison Bates

  From: Lucas Xavier

  CC: Lola Dumont

  Subject: “Divine” is more like it

  * * *

  Yes. I’m thinking of ordering a wheel of Gouda for each of my clients as holiday gifts this year. Alongside a DVD of Die Hard. Make that the whole Die Hard collection.

  * * *

  To: Harrison Bates

  From: Lola Dumont

  CC: Lucas Xavier

  Subject: Allow me to clarify

  * * *

  By “collection,” he obviously means the first three Die Hard films.

  * * *

  To: Lola Dumont

  From: Lucas Xavier

  CC: Harrison Bates

  Subject: Your clarification is correct

  * * *

  Yes. Thank you for catching that. Clearly, no one should even count the latter two. They only belong on a list of sequels that never should have been made.

  * * *

  To: Lola Dumont

  From: Harrison Bates

  CC: Lucas Xavier

  Subject: Birds of a feather

  * * *

  Along with Weekend at Bernie’s II, Pitch Perfect 2, Pitch Perfect 3, and that thing with Jar Jar Binks.

  * * *

  Also, I like you two. I like you a lot.

  * * *

  See, Lola—you don’t have to be all serious with me. We can have fun. Hope you had the fries at Pin-Up Lanes last night. They’re divinely decadent.

  * * *

  To: Harrison Bates

  From: Lucas Xavier

  CC: Lola Dumont

  Subject: Last word

  * * *

  So good I’d practically sell my soul for them.

  14

  At the same time as the emails fly back and forth

  * * *

  Lola: Whoa. For a second there, I thought he was serious about jumping through higher hoops.

  * * *

  Lucas: Me too. But I also think he imagines himself as some sort of gamemaster.

  * * *

  Lola: Perhaps he runs escape rooms.

  * * *

  Lucas: Or a live-action puppet show.

  * * *

  Lola: The Delightful Sadist Puppeteer. Which means we’re his marionettes.

  * * *

  Lucas: Yes. We are. And I weirdly enjoyed his puppet theater.

  * * *

  Lola: So did I. Perhaps I’ve secretly wanted to be a sock puppet my whole life.

  * * *

  Lucas: Dreams do come true. Also, props on making that seamless transition in the email chain from serious to playing along.

  * * *

  Lola: I’m quick on my feet.

  * * *

  Lucas: And with your tongue and your lips. Incidentally, your mouth is both divine and decadent.

  * * *

  Lola: I wouldn’t know how yours is.

  * * *

  Lucas: That needs to change.

  15

  Lola

  “I had three hundred and fifty-two new subscribers last week.” Peter straightens his shoulders and shoots me a proud smile over his steaming mug of coffee.

  I hold up a hand to high-five. He smacks back. “That’s what I like to hear,” I say, as we study the newest set of designs for his YouTube channel at the ungodly hour of nine a.m.

  Thanks, Luna.

  Screw that morning exercise shit on a Saturday. I woke up at the last possible minute, showered in record time, and emailed with Harrison and Lucas, while also texting Lucas, as I dried my hair. Multitasking for the win. Then I hightailed it here in the nick of time.

  As we review the next set of concepts, I take a drink of my black coffee, one sugar, stifling a yawn.

  My client arches a brow, his cool blue eyes curious. “Late night, Lola?”

  I laugh. “A little bit.”

  He shoots me an I’m waiting look, tapping his foot impatiently on the coffee shop’s tile floor.

  I shake my head. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “So you did kiss. Interesting,” the lean and lanky man says with a sly grin.

  I wag a finger. “Nope. You’re getting nothing from me. I was just out with a friend,” I say, since that’s one way of referring to Lucas now, and I’m damn glad I can call him that again.

  Peter nods, vociferously agreeing. “I’m sure. Just a friend. Like, say, exactly how I see Karen,” he says, naming his ex-girlfriend and the reason he’s intent on growing his YouTube channel.

  I know the story well. When Peter first hired me, he held nothing back. The man poured his heart out in a veritable deluge. “I’ve been racing around the city on rollerblades, playing chicken with cars, darting past pedestrians at race-car speeds, thinking it will somehow soothe my savage heart. It hasn’t. Not one bit. See, my girlfriend ditched me because she was embarrassed about my sport. She thinks I’m not acting my age. That I behave like a teenager. I can’t believe you’re still going around the city on roller skates, she said, even though she knows they’re called ‘blades.’ She said rollerblading is sooo yesterday. And now I want to prove to her that rollerblading isn’t outdated. That it’s cool again. It’s retro hip, like elbow patches and newsboy caps. My brother says I’m crazy, but I know he’s wrong. That’s why I need your graphics to help make my channel amazing and sophisticated. More about the art of blading than the speed.”

  My heart ached for him. I doubted that growing a YouTube channel would win back a woman who’d callously tossed aside a man simply because she disliked his sport. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do? Grow it to win her back?” I’d asked.

  “Positive.”

  “We could also try to grow it for its own sake,” I’d offered.

  “And that’ll help me win her back.”

  Who was I to argue with his heart?

  Especially since he seems happier now that he’s recording his exploits and triple axels for video consumers around the globe.

  Rollerblading is his passion, and he wants to share it with the world, maybe as a way to win Karen back, or maybe because sharing his passion is healing his heart.

  That’s my hope for him.

  I offer him a genuine smile. “Karen doesn’t know what she’s missing,” I say, gesturing to the screen and his antics last night when he executed a lightning-fast fishtail in the park, followed by a precise figure eight.

  He takes a gulp of the coffee, shaking his head. “Don’t try to distract me. Who’s the late-night fella? Is he one of your Latin lovers?”

  I drop my jaw. “Hey! Way to pigeonhole me.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Fabian, Alejandro, that guy from college from Brazil. C’mon. I don’t think I’m pigeonholing you. You clearly have a type. We all do. Just like my type is an ex who won’t give me the time of day. Evidently, I like to suffer. So, who is he?”

  Even though Peter has become something of a confidante, I’m not ready to let on about Lucas, and definitely not with a client. Still, I can give him a little nugget. Besides, it feels good to talk about last night. “I saw the guy from college. We’ve been tasked with picking up a bunch of things for our siblings, who were tossed out of their apartment but can’t get them because they’re on tour.”

  A perplexed look falls across his face. “Does not compute.”