He slides his fingers through my hair. “I had a feeling that’s what was going on. So, what changed?”

  “It started with rollerblading.”

  He laughs. “Okay, fill me in.”

  “I went with Dot and Bette, and that’s when everything sort of hit me. I’d been hanging on to the pieces of my sister. And I knew I’d been afraid to have all the good things. Like love. This kind of love, big and powerful and terrifying and life-affirming.”

  He can’t seem to rein in a grin at my description. “Did you realize she’d want you to?”

  “No. I realized I want to. I want to have it,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

  His smile warms my soul. “Even better answer. And I want you to have all the good things. Including me.”

  “You’re very, very good to me.”

  “I am. And I will be,” he says. “I might not be great at a lot of things, but I’m really good at being your boyfriend. I plan to be the best at that. If you’ll let me.”

  “Hmm,” I say playfully. “I guess we’ll find out at dinner.”

  “Oh, we’re having more than dinner, honey.”

  “Does that mean you’ll bend me over the bed and smack me later?”

  “Obviously.”

  I kiss him a final time, then another, then once more before we go into the hotel. Right away, I spot Marcos and Drive-Thru Babe in the lobby, wrapped in a deep, big congratulatory embrace that tells me their collaboration got the slot.

  I head over to them, refusing to feel jealous. I won’t let envy get the better of me. “Congrats,” I tell Marcos. “We’re so excited for you.”

  “Yeah, congrats, man,” Nolan says.

  “Thank you. I couldn’t be happier,” Marcos says.

  Funny thing. Maybe we didn’t get the show, but I couldn’t be happier either.

  26

  Health Food No More

  Nolan

  * * *

  We aren’t scheduled to meet with Ilene for another fifteen minutes, so after extracting ourselves from the Marcos hug, I pull Emerson into the elevator, push her against the wall, and pin her hands to her sides.

  Then I kiss her ruthlessly as we pass each floor on the way to my room. In a heartbeat, she’s grinding against me, seeking out friction with my hard-on as I devour her lips.

  I crush her mouth in the kind of cutthroat kiss that makes her gasp and sigh. Soon, the elevator reaches the twelfth floor, and the second we’re in 1205, I unzip her jeans, and she does the same for me.

  I rip off my glasses and find a condom while she wiggles out of her jeans. Then I’m covered, and I hike up her leg around my hip and sink inside.

  She shudders, her whole body surrendering to the feel of us together as she ropes her arms around my neck. Looking up at me, she licks her lips. “Watch me. Look at me,” she murmurs.

  “Always,” I groan as I thrust into her.

  She clenches around my cock, and heat coils in my body.

  This feels so right. So good.

  It’s only been days, but it feels like forever when you miss the person you love madly. “Missed you,” I whisper.

  “So much,” she says, finishing the sentence.

  Yes, it’s the same for both of us.

  I grip her hips, push deeper, fuck her harder, but I also give her something else she wants.

  A kiss.

  Only this time, I’m slow.

  Teasing.

  Barely brushing my lips over hers in a gentle, intimate kiss, telling her without words that we can fuck hard or slow, kiss rough or soft. We can have it all.

  “Whatever you want, honey,” I rasp out, “I’ll give you.”

  “I know,” she says, panting. “I know.”

  That feels like a brand-new promise too—that I’ll give her what she needs in and out of bed.

  Soon, though, the thinking subsides, and we’re reduced to noises.

  The slap of skin.

  The feel of warm bodies.

  Until she comes on a breathless gasp, and I follow her there, losing my mind.

  Then, we slow down until I still and brush my lips to her neck, the spot of her bruise. It’s still a little tender, a little blue.

  “Love your mark,” I whisper. “Love you.”

  “Love you so much.”

  A few minutes later, we’re in the bathroom, straightening up for our meeting, and she catches my eye in the mirror. “What did you mean about the loan? And asking your brother for help? I was a little preoccupied with kissing your face, so I didn’t quite get everything.”

  I hold her gaze as I put on my clothes. “I called and asked him to float me the rest of the money for Inés’s loan. I don’t want him to pay it off for me; I just need an advance. I’m going to look for work as a line cook somewhere in the city to help make my rent. TJ has a friend in Queens who’s subleasing, so I figure with our YouTube money and some line-cook dough, I’ll be able to cover the bills and pay him back for the final loan payments. I decided to just get over it—my need to do it all on my own. He likes to help, so he’s happy to get the debt off the books. And I want to be here in New York.”

  Emerson dips her face, looking a little sheepish. “That’s so sexy.”

  I laugh. “It’s sexy, me asking for help from my little brother?”

  She nods then meets my gaze. “Yeah. It totally is. You were pretty stubborn.”

  “Pot. Kettle.”

  “That’s why I recognize it. And I’m impressed. I know that wasn’t easy,” she says.

  “It was worth it to be with you,” I say.

  Fourteen minutes after making out in the elevator, we head downstairs, ready to meet the pink-haired whirling dervish. “I bet she takes us to a quinoa joint,” I say.

  “An acai berry one,” Emerson suggests.

  “An acai berry, chia seed, quinoa, and kale shop,” I say, not to be outdone.

  When we reach the lobby, I’m surprised to recognize two ladies I adore, hugging in front of reception. Evelyn is there too, embracing both of them as all three bounce in excitement.

  Hmmm. That’s interesting, and I’m not sure what to make of their moment.

  So I focus on my mission. At the edge of the lobby, I find Ilene by her shock of pink hair. She paces, talking on the phone, and when she sees us, she waves us over then gestures for us to follow her out of the hotel.

  We do, and the whole time we’re walking down the street, she keeps up the uh-huhs and yups and got its.

  Until we reach a kombucha shop, where Ilene stops as she ends her call, and stuffs her phone into her purse. “That’s done, so now we can get a little something,” Ilene says.

  Emerson looks from the door to Ilene. “I had a coffee, but Nolan would love any type of kombucha.” Then my girlfriend winks at me, mouthing sucker.

  “I’m going to make you pay for that,” I whisper.

  But Ilene just laughs. “Please. I have someplace else in mind.”

  All I can think is thank fuck, since I hate kombucha.

  She ushers us a few doors down to a lunch spot called The Happy Cow. A quick scan of the menu tells me it’s vegetarian. A quick scan of my memory bank reminds me it’s the first place Emerson and I reviewed together—the one in San Francisco, that is.

  “Want lunch? This place has great salads, sandwiches, veggie burgers. You name it.” Ilene smiles at me unapologetically. “I’m a vegetarian too, so I thought it’d be perf. Hope you don’t mind. And I am soooo hungry I could eat a whole plant.”

  The woman is a hoot. “I’m an equal opportunity eater,” I say.

  “And I love veggie sandwiches,” Emerson puts in.

  Ilene flashes her a knowing grin then winks. “I know. I’ve watched every single episode of your show.”

  When we’ve placed our orders, I wait for Ilene to ask for a charcoal shake, or a hemp seed smoothie, or a grass platter. Instead, she reaches for a glass of ice water, drops a straw in it, and drinks, then sighs happily. “So, how’s it going?”

  “Great,” I say, wondering when she’s going to get around to letting us down easy.

  Ilene looks to Emerson. “And you? You look hawt, Emerson. Your cheeks are all rosy red.”

  Emerson swallows, maybe a little embarrassed. Or maybe not, since she reaches for my hand and threads her fingers through mine. “I feel fabulous.”

  Ilene’s eyebrows climb, and her lips twitch, but she says nothing.

  “We’re together,” Emerson adds, and there’s that big mouth on my woman.

  I love her big mouth.

  “Yes, we are,” I add. “We just wanted you to know. Not that it matters now, per se. But we wanted you to know from us.”

  Take that, Max.

  “And we know that Marcos got the slot. He’s really talented. You made a great choice,” I add.

  But then, back in the hotel, Dot and Bette seemed stoked too. I’m not sure what to make of that.

  “Marcos is incredible,” Ilene agrees. “So are Dot and Bette.”

  She sips her water then sets it down again. “That’s why I hired them for our new food sub-channel. We had such success with all the food shows that we’re launching an entire sub-channel devoted to cuisine. Let’s be honest—people love to eat.”

  Well, yeah. It makes life and stuff possible. “That they do,” I agree.

  “And that’s why we want your show to be the lead show on Webflix itself, to attract new viewers and then bring them to the sub-channel. Sort of the marquee property among our food shows. It’ll have top placement, and we’ll promote it . . .”

  She keeps talking, but I can’t process the details because I just shot into the stratosphere on a Webflix-fueled rocket.

  This is so much more than I ever expected, and it feels surreal.

  When Ilene’s done, she says, “So what do you think?”

  Emerson turns to me, her green eyes shining, her hand gripping mine, and then everything feels fantastically, terrifically real.

  And worth every single bump in the road.

  I lean into Emerson, forehead to forehead, and just breathe in the moment. The joy of this news. The thrill of creating something from nothing, building it from the ground up, pouring love, sweat, work, tears, late nights, and wild hopes into it.

  For a chance.

  When we break apart, Emerson takes off, firing off questions a million miles a minute, and I just sit back and watch my girlfriend, my best friend, my partner steer our ship toward a whole new future.

  Yes, every single day was worth it.

  Not because of the show, but because of the woman by my side. The person I get to work with. The person I get to love.

  27

  On a Scale of One to Ten

  Emerson

  * * *

  Ordinarily, I don’t like hot dogs. Which is weird, since, hello? Phallic food is fun. But hot dogs I can take or leave.

  Usually, leave.

  That was before I found Your Dog Loves These Wieners, a food truck in Central Park with dachshund drawings all over the vehicle and decadent veggie dogs on the menu.

  I lift the long dog, bring it to my mouth, and meet Nolan’s eyes. “Will it fit?”

  With a snort, he turns to the camera, delivers an aside. “She said the same thing to me last night.”

  I roll my eyes. This guy. “Please. I’m the mistress of handling that. I’m talking about this veggie dog, babe.”

  “Try it, honey.”

  “I will,” I say, then open wide and bite down. And wow. Just holy delicious fake meat, that tastes fantastic mixed with mustard and avocados and pesto and happiness.

  I moan around the dog.

  “Damn, that’s quite a foodgasm,” he remarks.

  “But would you do it again?” a voice calls out from the crowd gathered around the truck.

  I meet the young woman’s bright blue eyes, glance at her inked arms, her excited smile. The question echoes through my mind like it did at the vegan café a few months ago when I was missing Nolan dreadfully. When I was trying to figure out all my stuff. What I’d fight for. What I’d ask for. What I could let go of. What I desperately wanted to have.

  Now, the question’s easy to answer.

  I’d do it all again, every second, because I love where I am. I’m living my best life, not Callie’s or anyone else’s.

  So, the answer is yes.

  Though, right now, the inked fan only wants to know if I’d do the dog again. And that answer is an easy one too.

  “Yes. This one’s a ten.”

  Nolan pretends to stumble. “Whoa. You’ve never given a ten before.”

  He’s right. I give good scores, but never perfect ones.

  I shrug. “This hot dog rates it. There’s just one other thing I’d give a ten.”

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  I step forward, drop a chaste kiss onto his lips, then say, “You.”

  The audience coos.

  He blushes.

  And I swoon like I do every day with my co-host—my love.

  Nolan’s my ten, and maybe that’s why our show turned into a bona fide hit. We’ve always had chemistry. Turns out that was more powerful than all the what-ifs in the world.

  After the shoot, we head up Central Park West to our place. Nolan never got the sublease in Queens. He moved into Jo’s apartment with me. It made financial sense and all the other kinds of sense too. I want to be with him. He wants to be with me.

  So, we’re together.

  It was that simple.

  It just was.

  And I breathe, free and easy, at last.

  Other things are simple too. Like friendships—a few nights later, Katie and Harlan fly into town for a sports award gala. Jason is here too, heading to a related event—a pro-athlete player auction.

  “Bet you only go for a dollar tomorrow,” Nolan ribs when Jason joins us at Gin Joint.

  “More like top dollar,” Jason says. He ruffles Nolan’s hair then brings me in for a big hug. “Thank you for making my brother happy,” he whispers.

  I hug him harder. “It goes both ways.”

  “I know. He only talks about you all the time. And always has.” He lets go just as Katie and Harlan push through the bar’s front door.

  Jason flops onto the couch, tipping his chin toward Nolan. “As for tomorrow night’s auction, I’ve got my best suit. No one can resist a hot athlete in a sharp suit.”

  Katie jumps right into the conversational fray. “Suits are catnip. They’re pretty much the reason I stay with this clown,” she says, pointing to her hubs.

  Harlan clears his throat then pats Katie’s growing belly. “My suits and my offspring, sweetheart.”

  Katie plants a kiss on his cheek. “That too.”

  A little later, Jo sails into Gin Joint, looking fabulous, practically glowing. I squeal when I see her, then race over and give her a hug. “Details. Tell me everything about London and that guy,” I say.

  She’s kept me updated about her life and love overseas via FaceTime and texts, but I steal her for a few minutes and get the latest.

  “So, there you go,” she says when she’s done.

  “I can’t wait to find out what happens next,” I say.

  With a laugh, she admits, “Me too.”

  When we rejoin the group, Nolan’s chatting with Katie and Harlan, so I turn to Jason, eager to hear what my boyfriend’s brother is up to. The auction is a big deal to him, and I have a feeling all his suit-wearing plans are deliberate.

  “So is there someone in particular you hope won’t resist you in your suit?”

  With a smile, he dips his face. And yes, I think it’s safe to say he’s hoping something —or someone—happens at the auction.

  Epilogue

  The Lucky Guy

  Jason

  * * *

  That is an excellent question.

  With a very complicated answer.

  Is there a guy I hope shows up? Yes. But will he bid on me, or expect me to bid on him?

  No idea.

  I still don’t know what Beck wants from me or what I want from him, even after the night he banged on the door at my place and told me the truth about what happened a year ago.

  That night he confessed to a lot of things that surprised the hell out of me.

  And, admittedly, excited me too.

  But a few weeks later, I’m still trying to figure out the other starting quarterback in San Francisco. Like I said, it’s complicated.

  “There might be someone in particular,” I tell Emerson.

  She nudges my arm. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  I lean closer, whisper in her ear. “I promise to tell you. . .when I figure it all out.”

  “You better figure it out soon. I want to know!”

  “Of course you do,” I say, then add with a sigh, “And so do I.”

  “Well, I hope that happens sooner rather than later,” she says.

  And she’s not the only one who wants to know what’s up in my love life, since when my friend TJ joins us at Gin Joint a little later, he proceeds to grill me about the auction. “So, what’s the verdict? Have you decided?”

  If only this were as easy as knowing who to throw to on the football field. “On a suit, yes. On a plan, no.”

  TJ chuckles. “So, basically you have no fucking clue what you’ll do if Beck bids on you tomorrow?”

  “It’s pretty much going to be a line of scrimmage decision. But hey, feel free to attend tomorrow and find out who bids on who.”

  “Maybe I will,” TJ says, then my brother tears his attention away from Emerson and Jo, and back to me.

  “I could offer a cooking metaphor for you, Jaybird. Like, maybe you need to let this romantic situation marinate a little longer,” Nolan says.

  “Or he could take it off the heat,” TJ offers.

  I grin, maybe a little wickedly. “I do like the heat though,” I say.