“She was—” I start, trying to tread lightly.
“Actually, a perfect casting option forThe Housewives of Beverly Hills,” he finishes, smirking. “Season one, episode tragic.”
I laugh, and so does he.
“But hey,” Jake adds, lifting his beer toward mine. “I still believe in love. But this time, I'm holding out for someone who's there for me, loves me, supports me. Someone who's fine with takeout, a night in, and reruns on the TV.”
That makes me think of Stella and our simple routines. How much I love the peace and comfort I feel with her. And the shame I feel about avoiding her all week because I didn't know how to tell her I want to be her real boyfriend.
He leans his arm on the railing, his gaze fixed on the ocean. “That's the good stuff, man.”
And I don't disagree.
Before I can respond, Lucas calls from inside. “Jake! Your boy Austin's on the news!”
We head back into the main room, where Jess's brother, Austin Lexington, is giving an interview on ESPN, talking about his recovery from Tommy John surgery. He looks good, confident—the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you're about to get back to doing what you were born to do.
“He'll be here tomorrow,” Lucas says. “Flying in after his PT session.”
“Still can't believe Jess's little brother is Austin fucking Lexington,” Jake says from the kitchen island, where he's now assembling what looks like the world's most elaborate charcuterie board. “I've been watching him pitch since he played for USC.”
“Wait until you meet him,” Lucas says with a grin. “Kid's exactly like Jess but with a ninety-seven-mile-per-hour fastball and significantly less terrifying opinions about your life choices.”
Alex Chen, the studio executive from Wonderland whom I met at Lucas's dinner party last year, looks up from the poker game where he's been quietly demolishing Grant and Wyatt. “Speaking of life choices, Grimaldi, when are you going to stop throwing yourself off buildings for a living?”
It's a fair question. One I've been asking myself more and more lately. “Maybe sooner than I planned.”
“Your shoulder still bugging you?” Jake asks with genuine concern.
I roll my shoulder experimentally. It's better than it was a month ago, but not the same. Probably never will be.
“Among other things,” I admit. “The stunt work's been good to me, but I don't know how much longer I can keep crashing through windows and getting lit on fire before my body calls it quits.”
Grant leans forward, his eyebrows raised. “You ever think about what's next? I mean, if you're serious about shifting gears, I know people. I'm happy to make a few introductions.”
“Same here,” Wyatt adds, sipping his drink. “You've got the chops. If you wanted something more behind the scenes—coordinating, consulting—there's plenty of work that won't land you in physical therapy.”
I nod, genuinely touched. “Appreciate that.”
Grant grins. “Besides, you'll never get domesticated if you keep risking your life for a paycheck. Women love a man who comes home in one piece.”
“Speaking of women,” Alex says with a knowing smile, “I know the whole thing with Stella was supposed to be fake, but it looked anything but fake at that FlixPix premiere. What's actually going on there?”
I feel my chest tighten. “Nothing's going on. We're just friends. Her mom left last week, so the whole fake-boyfriend thing is over.”
“Come on,” Lucas says, grinning. “I saw you two at that premiere. If that was acting, you deserve an Oscar.”
“Yeah,” Grant adds. “I've seen you with actual girlfriends, and you looked less invested in them than you did with Stella that night.”
Alex nods. “The way you two moved together, the little touches, how you kept checking to make sure she was comfortable? That wasn't acting, man.”
The guys exchange looks, and I realize they're not buying my deflection for a second.
“Look,” I say, running a hand through my hair, “maybe there were some moments. But it was just the situation. Playing house for a week, you know? Things got a little blurred.”
“Blurred how?” Wyatt asks, and there's something knowing in his tone that suggests the wives have been talking.
“It doesn't matter,” I say quickly. “She's not interested in anything more than friendship.”
