“Manmorial Weekend,” I repeat as I settle onto the couch. “I still can’t believe this is a real thing.”
“It’s not,” Grant deadpans. “It’s a lifestyle.”
Jake raises his shot glass. “To tradition.”
“To delusion,” I mutter, but I clink with them anyway. “So, how are the numbers looking?”
“We’re on track to hit $120 million this weekend, maybe more,” Grant says, beaming. This is Sophia’s first film as a producer, and she’s also playing the lead role. It’s also the film that brought her and Grant together in more ways than one.
“That’s good to hear, man. Congrats.” I shake his hand and head over to take a seat on the couch. “How’s everything with you and Lauren?” I ask Jake.
He hesitates, just for a second. Then the smile returns, and it’s bright, practiced, and way too shiny.
“Good. She’s just been busy.”
Grant reappears with a beer for himself and one for Jake. “Busy filming audition reels forReal Housewives, probably.”
Jake rolls his eyes. “She’s networking.”
Lauren is a presence: beautiful, social, and allergic to subtlety. I’ve only seen her when she’s at events with Jake. She’s always polished, always working the room like it owes her something. Last year, she nearly caused a press frenzy at a studio fundraiser when she loudly suggested that Grant should get back together with his ex and co-parenting partner, right in front of Sophia. Nobody’s said it outright, but it’s common knowledge that Lauren enjoys the proximity to power more than the quiet behind closed doors.
Jake’s always defended her, always brushed it off.
But now? It looks like there might be trouble in paradise.
“She’s networking with producers by asking them to follow her on Instagram mid-brunch,” Grant mutters.
Jake waves him off. “Look, I get it. She’s a lot. But she’strying.”
Wyatt glances over at him but says nothing. Jake picks at the label on his beer bottle, peeling it back slowly.
“It’s all fine,” he says.
Which is code for definitely not fine.
“You know,” Jake says, pointing his beer at me. “We almost didn’t invite you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Not because of you,” he clarifies. “Because of Jess.”
My eyebrows lift. “What about her?”
“She’s scary,” Jake says immediately. “In a hot way. Like a Bond villain you root for. But if you’d told me even six months ago that you two would end up married?”
“Same,” I say.
Jake leans forward slightly. “So, how’s it going? Really.”
I think back to a few nights ago when I heard a moan come from her room after I rescued her from the killer spider on her bed. When she screamed, I almost went into cardiac arrest from worry. I got so caught up in getting to her that I didn’t even realize I had no clothes on. She didn’t, either. You can’t call what she was wearing proper clothing. It took every ounce of willpower and determination I had to walk away.
I wondered if I should go back in there, but then I heard her moan. I’ve never strained so hard to listen beyond my bedroom walls. I slid my hand beneath the waistband of my boxer briefs and wrapped it around my cock, stroking slowly as I imagined her doing the same. I imagined her thinking of me while she used her hands to satisfy the same urges I felt for her. When I finished, I heard her in the bathroom at the same time I was in mine, cleaning up my mess.
I open my mouth to deliver one of my practicedresponses—we’re adjusting well;the documentary’s keeping us busy;it’s been surprisingly fun—but none of them feel quite right.
“She challenges me,” I say instead, “in a way I didn’t know I needed.”
Grant whistles low. “Funny thing about love.”
