He nearly falls over my sofa when I launch myself at him, legs wrapped around his waist. He slides his hand under me, hefting me up, and slants his mouth over mine again and again. And then he takes me to the bedroom and reaffirms, with his hands, and his lips, and his clever, clever tongue—along with his Jake Gyllenhaal—that the hotel-room sparks were so, so, so not a fluke.
The apartment is growing dark. I flop a damp arm over my eyes. “You’ve killed me. You better have nice things to say at my funeral.”
“She died doing what she loved.”
I laugh, a little puff of air, because I don’t have energy for more than that. “She died doing who she loves.”
“I like your version better,” he says, running a hand down my torso. “That’s why you’re in marketing.”
“You’re not ready to go again. We’ve already gone—”
“That erectile dysfunction literature really was helpful,” he muses, brushing his hand against the underside of my breast. “I may have mentioned this in passing, but… Did you know that if youdon’tsuffer from erectile dysfunction, you can still take the pills and… Well, let’s just say you don’t have to get ready if you stay ready.”
“Is this one of those ‘go to the hospital if you remain erect for more than four hours’ things?”
“Guess we’ll have to spend the next four hours figuring that out.”
“I don’t think so.” I sigh and then yelp as he nips at my throat. Conflict isn’t scary. It’s fun, and hot, and we can both be bad with each other.
And that’s when the buzzer to my apartment sounds for the second time today.
“Ignore it,” Jack says, kissing me deeply. My phone starts vibrating, and I pull away reluctantly. I roll over and grab for it.
“Crap. Margie’s here.” I stand and stretch, tipping a flirtatious glance at Jack. And then I pull on my long Rolling Stones shirt and shorts.
“I loved you in those, by the way.”
“My sloppy seduction worked?”
“Just barely.”
I shake my head and move to the living room to let Margie in.
“You were sleeping?” she asks, when she sweeps into the apartment.
“Ah—”
Arms wrap around me from behind, and Jack presses a kiss to my temple. I peek down at him. He’s decent.
“So, not a lot of sleeping. Got it,” Margie says. A smile hovers around her lips. She’s happy for me. So happy, I nearly have to remind her she stopped by to tell me something.
“Oh. Yes. Well, I met with the showrunner today. Lunch. And…”
“Please tell me you still have a show,” I say.
“Yes… I have a show. Lucas has been dying to get out of his contract to get into movies more, and he’s been obsessed with that script about the hitmen brothers.”
Jack looks at me as I cover my face. “Is that the one that… Never mind.”
“Anyway, since he can’t film our show for a while, but the insurance policy the studio had on him paid out, they let him out of his contract. He’s free to flap his little movie-star wings and fly away from the nest. Plus, the movie needed him banged up for a few scenes, so they’re actually speeding up their shoot schedule to take advantage of his mouth jewelry. Method acting on steroids. As if there’s any other kind.”
“That’s amazing, Margie!” I exclaim.
She holds up a hand. “Best for last. Best. For. Last.And, my little chaos babies… Your shenanigans got me a bigger part on the show. My series-regular role has turned into a starring one.”
I jump at her, rapturous that I haven’t done her career irreparable harm. Happy for Lucas. Happy for her.
Jack goes to the kitchen to whip up sustenance, and I fill Margie in on everything that’s happened in the last hour or so.
