“Really?”
“Eventually.”
He groans. “Eventually?”
“She makes people work for it.”
Jake leans in, resting his forehead against mine. “I’d work for it. I’d work for all of it. For you.”
My heart does that ridiculous achy flutter thing I thought I’d grown out of.
I kiss him—soft and certain. “You already did.”
I’d be lyingif I said I wasn’t a little nervous about Maya meeting Jake.
To be fair, most of what she’s seen of this whole mess has involved me crying into a tub of ice cream and swearing off men forever, which isn’t exactly a five-star Yelp reviewof our relationship.
And that’s not fair to him because he makes me happy, stupidly, ridiculously, grin-until-your-cheeks-hurthappy.
I just hope she sees that today as we brunch in her house with her signature cocktails, her passive-aggressive playlist, and the ever-present threat of emotional dismemberment if Jake puts a foot wrong.
God help him.
As soon as the ride share leaves us in front of her town house, she opens the door, and I know we’re in for business when she looks Jake up and down, bringing her “Boss Bitch” cup to her lips and says, “So. This is the man who made my best friend cry so hard she hiccupped for two hours and threatened to move to the Outer Hebrides.”
Jake blinks. “In my defense?—”
She raises a finger. “You don’t have one yet.”
He clamps his mouth shut and nods solemnly. “Fair.”
I whisper, “God help us all,” under my breath and follow her inside.
The table is set like we’re hosting brunch for royalty. Fresh croissants, fruit salad arranged like a Pinterest board, and—yep—tiny cards with inspirational quotes. Jake picks one up and reads aloud.
“‘Hurt her, and I bury you where no one will find you. —Maya.’” He looks up, deadpan. “This one feels lessinspirationaland more…legally actionable.”
Maya lifts her mimosa and toasts him. “Good. You’re catching on.”
To his credit, Jake doesn’t flinch. He just takes the seat she gestures toward while she settles directly across from himlike an interrogator at a parole hearing.
“Where’s Matt?” I ask, hoping her husband might provide a buffer of basic decency.
She shoots me a look that saysplease, as if I should know better. “He’s otherwise occupied.”
“You kicked him out?” I ask, incredulous.
She nods. “I needed to have a word with loverboy. And my husband is far too polite.”
“Maya—”
“No, she’s right,” Jake cuts in calmly.
Maya raises her glass again. “I’m prepared to give you a second chance. Mostly because you apparently give my girl mind-blowing orgasms, and frankly, that’s good for her health.”
“Maya!” I groan, face in my hands.
“What? You told me yourself,” she says, unapologetic. “I’m just glad the movie star knows what he’s doing.”
