“And that’s how you dress for the first day on the job,” I declare as I finish typing my latest column for Gentleman’s Style.

“Why don’t you write how you undress when you come home from a hard day of work?” Truly calls out from the bedroom.

“Fine. I’ll tackle that next.” I pretend I’m typing like a madman, making the clickety-clack sound of keys. “I don’t undress myself. My lover does when I walk through the door, and she pounces on me like the hungry, naughty minx that she is.”

The hungry, naughty minx herself pops out of the bedroom, showing off sexy jeans and a snug black sweater. “Of course I do. That’s one of the bennies of living with you. Also, how do I look?”

“Good enough to eat. Like always.”

“Ooh, will you have a slice of my summer later? Maybe take a bite of the lily?”

I stand, stalk over to her, and curl my hand around her head. “No. Like I tell you every single time, I will devour your sweet, delicious pussy.”

She shivers against me. “You better. Also, stop talking about dessert, or I’m going to try to jump you at the theater. I’m feeling pretty good after that review we got on that gal’s nightclub podcast. Coco.”

I am so incredibly proud of Truly. She’s a powerful, successful entrepreneur in the city. She runs one of the best-reviewed and most popular nighttime establishments around, and the second-most as well, since she and Charlotte just opened Bisou. It means “kiss” in French, and given the sexy, romantic vibe she and Charlotte crafted for the place, it’s fitting. It’s also earning rave reviews in all the write-ups.

“Why don’t you play the review for me again?”

“Oh stop. Stop. You don’t want to hear it for the fiftieth time.”

“But I do.”

“Fine, if you insist.”

She grabs her phone, taps her podcast app, and hits play.

“Bisou, I could kiss you. Or be kissed.

That’s how I felt when I entered the gorgeous new establishment. It drips with romance. It radiates sex. It’s exactly the kind of place that makes a gal want to throw out all her apps and meet a man in person again. Ambiance, people. That’s what Bisou has, and it has it in every single corner. From the drinks to the music to the decor, I just might try to find a way to live there.

Until then, you’ll find me at the bar, kicking a high-heeled shoe back and forth, listening to Edith Piaf, drinking my absinthe.”

“Can I just say, I told you so?” I ask.

Truly grins at me. “Yes, you can. Anytime.”

“I’m also glad you promoted Gabriella.”

“She is a goddess.”

“I like it because it means you have more time.”

“Time to spend with you,” she says.

“You have such good time management skills.”

“That is true.”

We leave her apartment together for the theater.

Our apartment, I should say, since I’ve moved in with her.

Everything is fitting these days in our life together.

I Adam Levine’d myself these last few months. My business has taken off, and the launch of the Gentleman’s Style brand in the United States has been met with terrific audience growth and advertiser dollars. A win-win. Valerie has been pleased, and so have readers and listeners. The work I do for her brand dovetails perfectly with my cohost work with Ryder.

And I almost hate to admit this, but that Marcus bloke? He’s become a friend. Every now and then, we go out for a beer. As long as he avoids the odes to hops, we are all good.

I also told him he’d best keep his hands off my sister. Abby came to visit a few weeks ago, and I was sure Marcus was taken with her when we all went out. Turns out, he’s dating Coco, the restaurant and nightclub reviewer. Now, they seem perfect for each other.

And it’s a good thing Abby’s still single, because boys are trouble, and she has school to finish. Turns out, she took out a loan, sneaky little turkey. But I’m clever too. I paid it off for her two months later, since business has been quite good indeed.

Just focus on that whole tailbone thing, and we’ll be good, I’d told her.

Didn't I tell you? I figured out the tailbone is connected to the brachial plexus, she’d said.

Truly and I make our way to the heart of Times Square, ducking down Forty-Fourth Street and through the doors of the St. James Theater. She squeezes my hand. “I can’t believe we’re finally seeing this show. I’ve been dying to.”

“And I’ll admit that I’m pretty damn excited to see Nora onstage. She’s worked so hard, and she’s wanted this so much.”

“She’s going to be amazing.”

A few minutes later, Sloane and Malone join us, scurrying in to grab seats in the same row. They’re followed by Spencer and Charlotte, then Nick and Harper. The gang is all here. We say quick hellos before the lights dim, the music swells, and the curtain rises.

Indiana Jones treks across the South American jungle and into the cave where an idol awaits him. After he grabs it, he races past poisoned arrows, falling stones, and a boulder that zooms, not across stage but downstage toward the apron, appearing as if it’s going to careen into the audience before Indy escapes at the last possible second. The lights go dark, and the boulder presumably rises somewhere above us all.

A little later, Nora comes onstage, belting out, “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes? Oh why, oh why, oh why did it have to be snakes?”

Turns out she was upgraded. She served as the understudy for Marion, and when the actress fell ill, Nora took over. Never underestimate the value of a good understudy.

And somewhere in this city or on its outskirts, Troy is likely giving a speech about some fella he barely knows. In fact, I’m going to see him at a wedding next weekend, and I’m looking forward to catching up.

After the show ends and we greet Nora backstage, giving her flowers she adores and compliments she deserves, we take off for our respective sections of the city.

I slide an arm around Truly’s waist. “Want to go to the Luxe Hotel for a little nightcap?”

“Not Gin Joint or Lucky Spot or Bisou?”

“I like the Luxe. It reminds me of a certain night.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “You’re just trying to have hotel sex with me, aren’t you?”

“Is that such a bad thing?”