“Let’s go out. I have a standing reservation at Ralazzio. We have more than enough time to get there.”
Ralazzio is one of the most amazing restaurants in the city; there’s a month’s waiting list for tables at least.
“Don’t tell me you have plans after this?” he says.
“My friend Jada has invited people to join her for drinks for her wrap. At The Wilder Club. This little place near our apartment.”
He unscrews his own water. “Jada is your friend with the jungle kiss experience?”
“Yeah, but she always has wrap parties. She’s in a lot of small quick shows. It’s not like, mandatory.”
“Will Kelsey be there, too?”
“Kelsey’ll be there.”
22
Never beg a woman for anything. She should be begging you.
~The Max Hilton Playbook: Ten Golden Rules for Landing the Hottest Girl in the Room
* * *
Mia
The Wilder Club is hopping. I can tell where my group is just from the laughter in the far booth. I take Max’s hand, feeling jittery about having him meet my friends. “You good?”
“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to meet the people who draw moustaches on me,” he says.
I snort and drag him around a group of bright-haired neighborhood people and up to the bar. Sweat beads on my forehead underneath my hat, and it’s not just because it’s hot inside.
Several sets of eyes follow us. People have recognized him. “Two local brews,” I say.
“Is that the drink here?”
“Yup.” I turn and watch him look around. It’s strange seeing The Wilder Club through Max’s eyes. It always struck me as wonderfully old school, full of aged woodwork and plants and vintage maps. Tiny brass lamps on thick, plain tables. I love the coziness of it, but Max’s habitat is made up of limos and places of airy glamour that are lit by chandeliers.
And he looks larger than life in here, a sleek, magnificent hawk at a gathering of colorful songbirds.
“A little different from what you’re used to,” I say.
He pulls me to him by my scarf. “I love seeing your life.” He kisses me, and my nerves ratchet down. We’re together. We can handle this together.
A couple of women come up and ask Max to do a selfie. He’s fun about it—he makes the selfies good, and my chest just swells to watch it. I’ve never felt so right with a man.
“For the love of god, don’t put the location,” I say to them while Max is paying for the beers.
“Oh my god, we won’t,” the one says. “The place would be mobbed.”
An angry, booming voice. “You.” I spin around and Antonio’s giving Max his best Scarface meets Blue Steel. “Nobody puts their hands on my flower,” he growls.
“Except maybe Kelsey?” I say to him, grinning. “Can Kelsey put a hand on your…flower?”
Antonio gives me outrage. Then, “It is in no way like a flower.” He turns to Max. “And you!”
“Dude. The jig is up.” I loop my arm in Max’s arm. “Max, this is my cousin Antonio. He’s awesome and studying to be an actor. Antonio, Max is with me. And you’re not a murderous gigolo anymore.”
Antonio frowns. He liked being a murderous gigolo.
I make them shake hands.
“You had that poor boy shaken,” Max informs Antonio. He tells us what Rollins said about him. Antonio is excited that Rollins was so convinced. Something unwinds in my belly, seeing them get along. It’s Kelsey and Jada I’m worried about, but this is a nice first step.
“Have you ever thought about modeling?” Max asks Antonio. “I mean, if the acting doesn’t work out.”
Antonio likes that. He’s been thinking about it, though his experience is all in Milano, he says to Max. “And for the record,” Antonio says, “I was kissing my thumb.”
“He was kissing his thumb, it’s true,” I tell Max. “So was I.”
Meanwhile, my gang has spotted us. We make our way over to the big corner booth. Lizzie and Jada and Kelsey are there. Antonio slides in next to Kelsey. “He knows.”
I introduce him around. Kelsey smiles as she says hello. Jada is gracious when he congratulates her on the show, but it’s not okay. The fun has stopped and people are stiff now. I feel like it might never be okay. Is politeness between Max and my friends the best I can ever hope for?
There’s more small talk, which is bad enough, but then he takes a book from his pocket and sets it on the table.
The Hilton Playbook.
And that really stops the conversation in its tracks.
“Oh, look,” Kelsey says.
What was he thinking? Despair spreads through my gut like acid. He wrote the book. He can’t unwrite it.
Jada folds her arms. “You carry it around?”
“I’ve been re-reading it. I want to know your experience with it,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me, but I want to know.”
“How I ended up with a jungle-kissing reverse-chaser?” Jada asks. “How Kelsey lived with one?”
My mouth goes dry.
“I don’t know if I feel like spooling it all out.” Kelsey drains her beer. I say a little prayer that he doesn’t offer to buy a new one for her. Kelsey wouldn’t take well to that.
Except Max really is interested, and I think that Kelsey senses it, because she launches into her story. What it felt like to have Nathan take the center stage, and be all scintillating, but ignoring her. “He seemed so funny and unique, but it was all your lines!”
He nods. Some protective instinct seems to be telling him not to use the interview coaching analogy. “I didn’t…think it through from that angle.”
“It’s not an angle,” Jada says. “It’s a freaking ruse. I specifically gave a guy the benefit of the doubt because of that cute dog story and it wasn’t real. I felt deceived, and I feel like your book encourages that.” She turns to the page where it says to memorize the jungle-kiss script.
He takes it, looks at the words he wrote. They don’t want excuses, and he’s not giving them.
“It was a bit much to suggest they memorize it,” he says simply. “They should have their own unique thing.”
“Yeah, that’s a start.” Jada tells him her friend Gracie’s story.