49
“A gold mine? You don’t say?” Truly tugs on my bow tie, unknotting it in the elevator to her apartment.
“Evidently. Did you have any idea you were fucking a gold mine?” I slide a hand under her dress as the lift shoots us up to her floor.
“I had no idea. But this changes everything. My boyfriend is made of gold. And apparently makes gold.”
I laugh at her designation. “Boyfriend? Is that what I am?”
“You’re definitely no longer just a friend. And I’m pretty sure we don’t say lover anymore unless we’re at a seventies party.”
The elevator stops at her floor, and we exit. “I can’t take you to a work event and introduce you as my lover? Or if I did, I’d need a Tom Selleck mustache or to be dressed for disco?”
“Something like that,” she says, laughing as we head into her place.
The second the door clicks shut, I pull her against me, sliding my hands into her hair. “Hey, you naughty minx. Thanks for coming with me tonight.”
“Thank you for stalking me before the wedding.”
“How did you know I was stalking you?”
She smiles, like a naughty little thing. “I saw all your missed calls.”
“Why didn’t you pick up, you evil torturess?”
“Because it seemed like the kind of thing I’d rather hear in person. I was right. When the person you love realizes he wants you more than work, it’s kind of an awesome thing. I know, because that’s how I feel for you.”
Her words thrill and electrify me. They remind me that taking this kind of chance, without a safety net, was worth it. She was worth the jump.
I grab her wrist and lead her back to her bedroom, where I strip her out of her clothes and lavish attention on her fantastic body all night long.
In the morning, I wake up to the smell of pancakes. The scent draws me out of bed and into her kitchen, where she’s crooning into a spatula about her creation.
“You do know that song turns me on?”
She spins around, her eyes hooded, her voice smoky. “They’re hot off the griddle. Come and get ’em.”
“I will. But like I said, it turns me on. I want you first.”
“Jason, don’t you know? With me, you can have everything. You can have love and pancakes. And I’ll never serve you bacon.”
“That sounds like the perfect way to start every single day.”
After breakfast, and after post-breakfast experiments in other uses for syrup, followed by a long, hot shower, my phone rings. When I see it’s Ryder’s number, I take the call. But I don’t feel desperate. I’m simply curious.
And that’s a welcome change.
“Hey, Ryder, how’s it going?” I ask as I settle onto the couch while Truly gets dressed.
“Great. Apologies for calling on a Sunday, but sometimes business moves at either the speed of tar, or of the Concorde.”
“And never at the speed you want when you want it.”
“That’s the truth. Listen, I apologize for the cryptic message yesterday. I couldn’t say much because of the changes going on here.”
“No worries.”
“Here’s the deal though. We’re expanding. And I’m taking on a new role. I’m heading up programming for all of the shows and podcasts, so I’m taking a step back from the day-to-day hosting roles.”
“Congrats. Sounds like a good gig.”
“It’s a great one. We’re starting new shows, a couple of food podcasts, some restaurant reviews, and a new beer podcast we picked up. An affable fellow Brit is hosting that one.”
I furrow my brow. “Marcus?”
“Yes, that’s him. He knows his stuff.”
“I thought he was . . .” I trail off, not bothering to finish with taking my job. Assume nothing—that’s what I tell my guys. But in retrospect, I’d like to laugh at myself. Because that role makes perfect sense for Marcus. There’s no one better to host a beer podcast.
“And I’d like you to cohost with me.”
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, my jaw clangs to the floor. “You want me to be your Consummate Wingman cohost?”
“Yes. I do. Is that too much work? Can you fit it in with what you’ll be doing for Valerie? It won’t start for another few weeks. That’s why I told you I don’t need you this week. I want to work on some formatting changes to accommodate the next setup.”
“Yes. Yes. I say yes!”
