“But I bet your mobile ringer is on high.”

  “Of course it is. Bat line too.”

  He grabs a carrot from the appetizer plate and crunches into it. “Someday you’ll meet a woman who makes you want to turn the bat line off.”

  “Maybe. For now, I see no reason to end my run as New York’s most eligible bachelor. But you’ve ended yours. How’s it going with the lady?”

  “Perfect. Totally perfect. She’ll be here any minute. She has a crush on the shortstop.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  During a break in the action later in the game, I step into the hall to take a quick call. When I’m done, I hear the click of shoes.

  I turn.

  Haven Delilah.

  She’s walking toward me, and why, oh fucking why does she have to look the way she does? That chestnut hair. Those chocolate eyes. That body. She’s a total smoke show, and the universe must be having a field day, making my biggest rival the hottest babe I have ever seen.

  “You following me, Delilah?”

  “Yes, Summers. I was up at the crack of dawn, waiting for you. I’ve been slinking behind buildings and hiding around corners just to follow you to Yankee Stadium. What a shock to run into a sports agent here.”

  I ignore her sarcasm. “That’s so thoughtful that you came here to congratulate me on adding Lorenzo to my roster.”

  She crosses her arms defiantly. She does everything defiantly. It’s so fucking sexy it should be illegal. “Congrats. Too bad you didn’t get a pitcher though. I’ve heard they have more long-term value. Oh, but probably none were on the market, since I rep half the bull pen.”

  “It’s okay. I get that you’re still licking your wounds. But I guess this makes us even now.”

  She rolls her eyes as the caterer—earbuds in place—heads down the hall carrying an empty tray.

  Haven takes a step closer, getting in my space, and holy shit. I can smell her perfume. Or is it her shampoo? It smells like honey, and it goes to my head. Fucks with my senses. “Still having a hard time letting the past go?”

  I swallow roughly as she calls me on my bullshit, right as her insanely seductive smell is drifting through my mind.

  She pitches forward, squeaking in surprise as the caterer bumps her with the empty tray. “Oh!”

  She stumbles closer. Instinct has me grabbing her arm, steadying her. She lifts her chin. She’s inches away. Her face is kissing distance from mine. Her lips are dangerously close. Lips I know so well. Lips I’ve traced, explored long into the night.

  For a moment, all our games, all our anger sizzles away. “You okay?” I ask.

  She looks into my eyes, her chocolate-brown irises blazing with some unusual combination of heat and confusion. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  She looks down at her arm. The arm I’m holding. She seems to register my hand on her bare skin. She swallows then looks up at me.

  Her breath hitches when she meets my eyes. And what’s that I see? Is her skin flushing? Holy shit. Haven is still affected by the way I touch her.

  Well, this changes everything.

  53

  Several months later

  After I record an episode of The Consummate Wingman, I pop into Marie’s office. “I’ve been remiss.”

  She arches a brow. “I know.”

  “Forgive me.”

  “Only if you pay up.”

  “I always make good on my bets.”

  She holds out her hand. “I did enjoy the hundred dollars. Almost as much as I enjoyed being right.”

  “And saying ‘I told you so’? Do you enjoy that at all? I can’t tell.”

  She wiggles her fingers impatiently. “I did tell you so. I told you that you two would be more than friends. And then I predicted you’d move in together in less than six months. And you acted all independent.”

  I have the decency to look sheepish. “What can I say? You were right on that count.”

  I hand her the winnings on that wager. It’s far less painful than waiting longer to cohabitate would have been.

  She taps her chin. “Next thing you know, I’ll be betting on when she’s going to pop out babies.”

  My eyes widen. “No one is saying anything about babies yet.”

  “Mark my words. You’ll be doing that after you say I do.”

  “I haven’t even proposed yet.”

  She shoots me an amused grin. “Seems we have our next wager.”

  “And that’s how you dress for the first day on the job,” I declare as I finish typing my latest column for Gentleman’s Style.

  “Why don’t you write how you undress when you come home from a hard day of work?” Truly calls out from the bedroom.

  “Fine. I’ll tackle that next.” I pretend I’m typing like a madman, making the clickety-clack sound of keys. “I don’t undress myself. My lover does when I walk through the door, and she pounces on me like the hungry, naughty minx that she is.”

  The hungry, naughty minx herself pops out of the bedroom, showing off sexy jeans and a snug black sweater. “Of course I do. That’s one of the bennies of living with you. Also, how do I look?”

  “Good enough to eat. Like always.”

  “Ooh, will you have a slice of my summer later? Maybe take a bite of the lily?”

  I stand, stalk over to her, and curl my hand around her head. “No. Like I tell you every single time, I will devour your sweet, delicious pussy.”

  She shivers against me. “You better. Also, stop talking about dessert, or I’m going to try to jump you at the theater. I’m feeling pretty good after that review we got on that gal’s nightclub podcast. Coco.”

  I am so incredibly proud of Truly. She’s a powerful, successful entrepreneur in the city. She runs one of the best-reviewed and most popular nighttime establishments around, and the second-most as well, since she and Charlotte just opened Bisou. It means “kiss” in French, and given the sexy, romantic vibe she and Charlotte crafted for the place, it’s fitting. It’s also earning rave reviews in all the write-ups.

  “Why don’t you play the review for me again?”

  “Oh stop. Stop. You don’t want to hear it for the fiftieth time.”

  “But I do.”

  “Fine, if you insist.”

  She grabs her phone, taps her podcast app, and hits play.

  “Bisou, I could kiss you. Or be kissed.

  That’s how I felt when I entered the gorgeous new establishment. It drips with romance. It radiates sex. It’s exactly the kind of place that makes a gal want to throw out all her apps and meet a man in person again. Ambiance, people. That’s what Bisou has, and it has it in every single corner. From the drinks to the music to the decor, I just might try to find a way to live there.

  Until then, you’ll find me at the bar, kicking a high-heeled shoe back and forth, listening to Edith Piaf, drinking my absinthe.”

  “Can I just say, I told you so?” I ask.

  Truly grins at me. “Yes, you can. Anytime.”

  “I’m also glad you promoted Gabriella.”

  “She is a goddess.”

  “I like it because it means you have more time.”

  “Time to spend with you,” she says.

  “You have such good time management skills.”

  “That is true.”

  We leave her apartment together for the theater.

  Our apartment, I should say, since I’ve moved in with her.

  Everything is fitting these days in our life together.

  I Adam Levine’d myself these last few months. My business has taken off, and the launch of the Gentleman’s Style brand in the United States has been met with terrific audience growth and advertiser dollars. A win-win. Valerie has been pleased, and so have readers and listeners. The work I do for her brand dovetails perfectly with my cohost work with Ryder.

  And I almost hate to admit this, but that Marcus bloke? He’s become a friend. Every now and then, we go out for a beer. As long as he avoids the odes to hops, we are all good.

  I also told him he’d best keep his hands off my sister. Abby came to visit a few weeks ago, and I was sure Marcus was taken with her when we all went out. Turns out, he’s dating Coco, the restaurant and nightclub reviewer. Now, they seem perfect for each other.

  And it’s a good thing Abby’s still single, because boys are trouble, and she has school to finish. Turns out, she took out a loan, sneaky little turkey. But I’m clever too. I paid it off for her two months later, since business has been quite good indeed.

  Just focus on that whole tailbone thing, and we’ll be good, I’d told her.

  Didn't I tell you? I figured out the tailbone is connected to the brachial plexus, she’d said.

  Truly and I make our way to the heart of Times Square, ducking down Forty-Fourth Street and through the doors of the St. James Theater. She squeezes my hand. “I can’t believe we’re finally seeing this show. I’ve been dying to.”

  “And I’ll admit that I’m pretty damn excited to see Nora onstage. She’s worked so hard, and she’s wanted this so much.”

  “She’s going to be amazing.”

  A few minutes later, Sloane and Malone join us, scurrying in to grab seats in the same row. They’re followed by Spencer and Charlotte, then Nick and Harper. The gang is all here. We say quick hellos before the lights dim, the music swells, and the curtain rises.

  Indiana Jones treks across the South American jungle and into the cave where an idol awaits him. After he grabs it, he races past poisoned arrows, falling stones, and a boulder that zooms, not across stage but downstage toward the apron, appearing as if it’s going to careen into the audience before Indy escapes at the last possible second. The lights go dark, and the boulder presumably rises somewhere above us all.

  A little later, Nora comes onstage, belting out, “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes? Oh why, oh why, oh why did it have to be snakes?”

  Turns out she was upgraded. She served as the understudy for Marion, and when the actress fell ill, Nora took over. Never underestimate the value of a good understudy.

  And somewhere in this city or on its outskirts, Troy is likely giving a speech about some fella he barely knows. In fact, I’m going to see him at a wedding next weekend, and I’m looking forward to catching up.

  After the show ends and we greet Nora backstage, giving her flowers she adores and compliments she deserves, we take off for our respective sections of the city.

  I slide an arm around Truly’s waist. “Want to go to the Luxe Hotel for a little nightcap?”

  “Not Gin Joint or Lucky Spot or Bisou?”

  “I like the Luxe. It reminds me of a certain night.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “You’re just trying to have hotel sex with me, aren’t you?”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “I like hotel sex. I like bedroom sex. I like kitchen sex.”

  “Reason number five thousand, two hundred, forty-four why you’re perfect for me.”

  When we arrive at the hotel, I hope to convince her of one more: that I know her. That I remember how we started. That I appreciate the little things, the big things—all the things.

  We step into the elevator, and I hit the close button immediately so we’re all alone.

  Just like we were the night before Enzo’s wedding. “Do you remember the last time we rode this elevator?”

  She smiles magnetically. “I do. I told you I didn’t want to live in a world where you’re out of my system.”

  “And I said the same. It was the first time we admitted what was happening. I said, too, that we’d figure out what to do next. Now I have another idea of what to do next.”

  Her breath catches as I drop to one knee and take her hand. “The last time we were in this elevator, I knew I’d want this with you someday. I knew you were the one. You are . . . the only one for me.”

  “You’re the only one for me,” she whispers.

  “I could give you a speech about all the things I love about you, but I’d rather show you every day for the rest of our lives why I’m madly in love with you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  She clasps her hand to her mouth and nods as tears streak down her cheeks. “I would be honored to be Mrs. Modern Gentleman.”

  Laughing, I slide a stunning diamond solitaire onto her finger, rise, and kiss the red lipstick off her lips.

  “Mrs. Jason Reynolds works too,” I murmur. “And so does Truly Goodman, as long as you’re mine.”

  “Always. I’m always yours.”

  When we reach the twelfth floor, I take her to a suite, and we enjoy reason number five thousand, two hundred, forty-five.

  EPILOGUE

  The next weekend

  “Dude! You’re a rock star. I can’t thank you enough.” Eddie lumbers over to me on the lawn, clasps my hand, and pumps it up and down.

  Admittedly, I was a little surprised to receive an invitation to his wedding, but weddings can be fun. I said yes, especially since Troy is working undercover at this one, albeit in a new capacity. He’ll be rapping though, so some things never change.

  “I’m not sure what you have to thank me for, but I’m just happy to be invited.”

  He gapes at me, sweeping his long hair off his forehead. “Are you kidding? If you didn’t turn down Randy, I’d never have had a chance to score with such a smart and sexy babe.”

  He tips his forehead to the bride-to-be, the redhead from Gavin’s wedding who wanted to fuck me and my accent.

  She rushes over in her dress, a tight white number that’s plastered like a bandage around her body. Guess they aren’t doing the whole don’t see the bride before the ceremony bit either. “Jay Bond,” she purrs. “I’m so glad you never gave me your digits. If you had, who knows what would have happened? Instead, I went home with this total babe. And he’s all mine now, with all his crazy scars.”

  He winks at his bride. “I’ve got some new ones thanks to her.”

  She smacks his shoulder playfully. “And bite marks. Don’t forget the bite marks.”

  “Bite marks, scratch marks, rope burn, you name it,” Eddie says, grabbing her arm and dropping his mouth to her neck, ready to give her a vampire’s kiss.

  She shoos him away. “Don’t mess up my hair before the ceremony!”

  He snaps to attention. “You’re right. I’ll mess it up later.”

  She drags a finger down his shirt. “You better.”

  And yes, it seems Eddie indeed found his perfect, unfiltered match. He looks my way. “And thanks for doing me the solid with the Troy hookup. He rocks.”

  “He does. And I’m thrilled for you and Randy. You guys really are perfect for each other,” I quip.

  Randy squeezes his arm. “We are. Know what my favorite thing about Eddie is?”

  I shake my head, sending a prayer to the gods of polite discourse than I’m not about to hear her top ten naughty nights out with him. “You don’t really have to tell me.”

  “I’m going to anyway.”

  “No, seriously. You don’t.”

  She smacks my chest. “I do, I do. My favorite thing is he loves to cook me dinner. When I come home from a hard day at work, because managing mutual funds all day is exhausting, the last thing I want to do is cook. But he cooks gourmet meals for me. And that’s not all. He also loves to rub my feet. Did I score or what?”

  That’s thoroughly unexpected—her two favorite things, as well as her job.

  “I’d say you did,” I say with a smile, filing away this latest bit of data about couples. There is often so much more to a couple than you see. You might think you know one thing about them—they’re filthy mouthed, they like pugs, she’s the quintessential older woman and he looks like a boy toy, but beneath it all, there’s more that makes them tick.

  Art and foot rubs, love and patience, heart and soul.

  I catch sight of Truly standing under a tree, chatting with Troy. She’s making small talk with my former subcontractor, looking effortlessly beautiful as she sweeps a few strands of hair off her cheek, tucking them behind her ear.

  Once again, I’m keenly aware of how stunning she is, inside and out. How she’s now mine, and I’m so damn grateful my friends and my sister didn’t let me walk away from the best thing that ever happened to me. I almost let her slip through my fingers because of business, because I was stubborn, and because I was afraid.

  But I have her now, and I plan to keep making her happy every day.

  We’re one of those couples now. We share a passion for work, humor, sarcasm, hobbies, fitness, and of course, we connect in the bedroom. We’re connected on so many levels, it’s like we were meant to be.

  But I suppose that’s how you should feel when you fall in mad love with a very good friend.

  I head over to join my fiancée, dropping a kiss to her cheek.

  After we take our seats and the bride joins the groom at the front of the lawn, Troy, now an internet-ordained minister, clears his throat and proceeds to rap their wedding vows, as only Troy can do.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Not to be entered into lightly, holy matrimony should be entered into solemnly and with reverence and honor. If any person here can show just cause why these two people should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  I can’t think of any reason to speak now.

  Also, as Sully would say, the man has skills.

  ANOTHER EPILOGUE

  Truly

  A year later

  Soft French music filters through the bar. Antique curios and a collection of old clocks line the shelves. The plush sofas in the lounge that hearken back to Belle Époque era are my favorite kind—full.

  As in full of patrons, sipping drinks with names like Mais Oui and C’est La Vie.

  Bisou is ours, mine and Charlotte’s, and I’m so damn glad the deal with Darren fell through. We did this. We built this, and it’s thriving thanks to a couple of savvy businesswomen.