Chapter 41

41

I’m rarely at a loss for words. I traffic in them, I juggle them, and I spin them into different combinations, whether with my mouth or my pen. But tonight, I’m not certain I remember how to make the shape of them on my tongue.

Words evade me as we catch a Lyft to the swank cocktail party in a ballroom at the Luxe Hotel. Maybe that’s because there are too many words jostling around my mind, squeezing hard against my heart.

Perhaps that’s the issue.

Words are taking over in a mad alphabet soup. Words I never intended to attach to myself. To my emotions. And as for those pesky things—didn’t my emotions get the memo that I banished them long ago?

I’ve been following a stoic plan for ages, marching forward, and part of that plan was avoiding this kind of wild rampage in my heart.

Too late.

I feel it. I feel it everywhere.

The last time I felt anything remotely close to this, I was blindsided by my ex.

But then, as Chip said, heartbreak doesn’t have to break you. It can be the best thing that ever happens to you.

Looking at Truly on the way to the party, all I can think is he’s so damn right, because the words that tango on my lips feel like they’re comprised of four letters, and those are the most dangerous words of all.

Falling for Truly means falling for the one person who’d wildly complicate my life.

And yet . . . I don’t want to turn away from whatever is brewing between us.

When we reach the hotel and head into the elevator, I locate words again. I face her, take both her hands in mine, link our fingers, and meet her gaze. “I know we said we’d figure this out. I know we said we’d get this out of our system, but I really can’t foresee a world where you’re out of my system.”

For a second, I hold my breath, hoping I haven’t scared away the woman who values her space, the woman who’s already beholden—to Gin Joint.

But the look in her eyes nearly knocks me to my knees. It says everything. That I’m not alone. That she’s feeling all of this too.

Maybe this is what happens when two workaholics meet their match.

She strokes her thumb across my jaw, making me shudder with desire and longing for her. She inches her face closer to mine and whispers, “I don’t want to live in a world where you’re out of my system. What are we going to do about that?”

“I don’t have a clue. But let’s try to figure it out soon, yeah?”

She smiles and whispers “Yes” against my lips. A yes that thrums through my whole body and beats in my heart.

Once inside, I shake off all these new sensations, because it’s time to focus on business and being here for the man of the hour. Enzo moved to the States mere months ago and hardly knows anyone, so my job is to be his wingman in a world where his woman knows everyone.

As Valerie works the room, Enzo leans effortlessly against the bar, surveying the glittering crowd in the chandelier-encrusted ballroom. “Ah, when I was growing up, a poor boy in Madrid, I never imagined this might be my life.”

I raise a glass. “It’s a good life.”

“I have a solid job, the love of a fantastic woman, and I’m starting to make new friends in a new town.”

“I’d say your job is more than solid, mate. It’s pretty damn secure.”

He flashes that grin, and somewhere, someone with a camera snaps it. “But is it though? Is any job truly secure? Is yours secure?”

“You got me there. My work is anything but secure,” I answer.

He raises his champagne glass. “To insecurity in work.”

I clink my glass to his, since nothing feels truer than the utter lack of reliability I’m experiencing on the business front. His comment is a reminder that I haven’t heard a word from Ryder, and he usually books me by the end of one week for the next one. My shoulders tighten in worry. Even if I didn’t win the full-time gig, I hope I’m not losing the part-time one on his show.

But tonight I’m here for Enzo, not me.

Enzo glances toward Truly, who’s chatting with Troy and Sully. “But perhaps there is no insecurity in love?”

I shoot him a look. “What do you mean?”

“You’re funny. Maybe you think it’s not obvious.”

“What’s not obvious?”

“She’s more than your date.”

I could deny it. I could lie. But I don’t want to pretend with this. “Let’s hope so.”

Valerie marches over, raises a glass of champagne, and offers a toast to us. “To my kind and thoughtful husband-to-be and his very charming best man. Now, what is it that you men were discussing? Sports cars, stealth bombers, aftershave, and other exceedingly masculine things?”

Enzo smiles. “I was simply telling him that I think he needs to sort out his feelings for a certain lady.”

“You’re kind to worry about my romantic affairs, but I swear I’m fine. Let’s focus on this fantastic union,” I say deflecting, deflecting, and then deflecting some more.

Valerie swings her gaze around to Truly then back to me. “Do you know what I’ve learned about men?”

“What have you learned, my love?” Enzo asks.

She points to his eyes, then to mine. “I’ve learned that it’s all in the eyes. That’s how you read them. That’s how you can tell. When I work on deals, I always look a person in the eyes. They never lie. Yours never did,” she says to Enzo. Then to me, “And when I look at yours, and I see the way you gaze at that woman, all your truths are self-evident. Inescapable.”

“Maybe they are,” I muse.

Enzo nudges her. “Just as we predicted.”

“We did,” she says. “We can always tell when love is blooming.”

“Good skill,” I remark, because what else is there to say? She’s right. For me, at least.

Enzo catches someone’s eye and points to a dapper man in a suit. “I must go talk to Carlos about a painting.”

“Oh yes, the one that reminds us of an Edward Hopper. Get it for us.”

He makes a growling sound at her, as if this art acquisition is part of their foreplay. “Consider it done.”

He heads off, and Valerie cocks her head, her brown eyes locked with mine. “Now, tell me stuff. I want to know more about you. I’m so fascinated by your job. I absolutely love hearing about all sorts of new professions.”

But now isn’t the time to spill the details that clients don’t need to know. “There’s not really much to tell. It’s a simple job,” I say, lying through my teeth, because it’s completely complicated. “You find me, you hire me, I do a job.” I subscribe to the less-is-more approach.

“Yes, I know that. I hired you. Because I wanted more groomsmen. Because Enzo doesn’t know many people here in New York yet. But I’m not interested in my story. I’m interested in yours. Tell me how you came to be in this field, because I doubt you were trying to imitate Kevin Hart from that film.”

I push out a laugh. “You’re correct. I started before that movie came out. I can write the hell out of a best man’s speech. That’s how I got started.”

But that’s not enough for Valerie. She asks where I’m from, and since that’s innocuous enough, I tell her just outside of London. We chat about the neighborhoods in that city, also a safe topic.

“London is one of my favorite cities. I find it so much more civilized to attend the theater in London.”

“I can’t say I disagree. The relative lack of ticket scalpers does help the civility there.”

“In general, you can’t beat the politeness in England. I do enjoy good manners.”

I chuckle. “Manners are pretty cool.”

She narrows her eyes as if studying me. “There’s something about you that feels so familiar.”

A doubt of worry shoots down my spine. Was it my manners comment? That can’t possibly be enough to give anything away. Surely I can’t be the only writer/blogger/podcaster/media expert who gives a damn about manners. I’ve worked hard to keep my worlds separate—fake names on this side, no photos on the other. I work in a business where privacy and discretion are critical. “I’m sure I sound familiar because, well, I probably just sound like Daniel Craig,” I say, doing my best to keep the answer light and airy.

She shakes her finger at me, a sly smile sneaking across her face as she gestures to her ear. “But I swear I can hear something else in your voice. Something in the way you speak, in your command of words and the things you say about cities and life, and men and women.”

My muscles tighten, and I weigh my best options. Run and hide behind the bar for the rest of the night and hope she won’t find me, or deny, deny, deny.

“After a while, all Englishmen sound the same, I suspect.”

She snaps her fingers. “I know. Did I meet you at Ryder Lockhart’s?—”

I go cold everywhere. Ice freezes in my veins. Walker’s warning rings loud and terrifyingly close. Someday, you’re going to be waxing eloquent on the radio about how to land a promotion, and when you leave, the guy down the hall will remember the toast you gave at some wedding as Jay the best man, or Jackson or Jackoff.

Or the reverse, I’m learning.

“His ping-pong match. He’s a business associate of mine. Weren’t you there? I swear I saw you there.”

I breathe again, grateful to tell the whole truth when I say, “You should see my ping-pong game. It’s total rubbish. Must have been someone else.”

She drums her fingers against the bar. “Perhaps.”

But the fact that she’s friends with him underscores the bigger issue. I need to move on my exit plan, and I need to move fast.

I can’t shake the feeling that planets are on a collision course tonight. Even as I chat with Truly, Enzo, and other guests at the party, I can’t completely let go of that encounter.

Troy seems to sense my unease, and he pulls me aside. “You’re distracted. What’s going on? Whatever it is, you can’t let it get to you right now. It’s showtime.”

He’s right. Damn it. He’s absolutely right. I’m letting this worry knock me off my game. “It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s something. Will talking about it help?”

“I actually don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sometimes things are better when you talk about them.”

I drag a hand through my hair, then serve it up in a whisper. “I think Enzo’s fiancée is starting to draw the connections. I think she knows what I do in my other job.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“I want to keep everything separate.”

“Why?”

“How would it look? My work depends on me being credible and trustworthy. If someone like Ryder finds out I’m a paid friend, how would that look?”

“Like you’re a man making a living. Like you’re figuring out how to chase your dreams and pay your bills. Isn’t that what your schtick is all about? Helping men be the best?”

“Yes, but . . .”

He clasps my shoulder. “You need to remember you’re not dealing drugs, you’re not running illegal pit bull fights, and you’re not sex trafficking. You’re helping people have the wedding of their dreams. I feel like that’s exactly what a modern gentleman would do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go play that role, and you should let this all go.”

He weaves his way back into the crowd, saying hi, making conversation, and playing the part to a T. Perhaps I’ve trained him better than I thought.

I make my way back to Truly, deciding to follow Troy’s advice. What’s the worst that could happen? What is Valerie going to do? Out me before her entire wedding? Declare for everyone here that Jay the best man is actually Jason Reynolds, the Modern Gentleman? What good would that do?

Later, I raise a glass, give a toast, and say a brief speech about Enzo, ending it with “And what is most lovely of all is to see two people who support each other, who care deeply for each other, and who have shared passions. That’s what I see when I look at Enzo and Valerie.”

As I lock eyes with Truly, my heart seems to expand beyond the space allotted in my chest. The way she looks at me, the way I see so much of my future in her eyes, is all I need to shed whatever remaining worries are setting up camp. Everything is going to be fine. How could anything be less than fine when my woman looks at me like she feels the same damn way?

When the event is over, I take her hand, bring her close, and say, “Come home with me tonight.”

“I’m already there.”

On the way home we have the safety talk. She tells me she’s on the pill, and I want to kiss the sky. I’m going to take my time with her tonight, to savor every bare inch of her.

At my apartment, we’re not fevered and frenzied. We don’t strip in a mad rush, and I don’t bend her over the couch. I put on music, bring her to my bed, and undress her slowly, then lay her out before me. After I take off my clothes, she pulls me to her, whispering, “Get in my system. Because that’s where you are.”

She’s not saying she’s falling for me. But I know this woman—she won’t jump first. I have to.

I’m falling for her. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in both my jobs, it’s that words matter greatly. I run the backs of my fingers across her cheek. “Do you know something, my naughty little minx?”

“What is it?”

“I’m crazy for you.”

Her smile is magnetic. “That’s what I meant to say too. I’m pretty crazy for you.”

“I don’t know what this means for tomorrow, but right now, I don’t want to figure out anything except what it feels like to make love to you. I already know what it’s like to fuck you, but I want to know what this is like too.”

“So do I.”

As she pulls me close, brings me inside her, I have the answer.

It’s everything.

It’s everything I thought I could avoid.

It’s everything I desperately want.

We move as one, our bodies curled together, our skin hot. Her breathing intensifies, and she arches against me, her back bowing spectacularly. I have no words. My throat is arid; my chest is a furnace. When her hands tangle in my hair and she shudders, I’m positive this is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

She’s the most beautiful.

Her whimpers and murmurs turn into cries as she tumbles over the edge, and I’m right there with her.

After, as we lay spent and sated, I’m sure I’ve never been this happy, and I’m just as certain we’re going to have to figure out incredibly soon what we’re doing next.

Like in the morning, when we leave to grab a quick breakfast before my softball practice and see a familiar face outside my building.