She holds the half-eaten taco with both hands as I cradle her in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard for all the bums, tourists, and late-night streetwalkers to see. I don’t care who sees us. Bring on the paparazzi. Let Jocelyn watch.
I can’t be friends with this girl. I haven’t laughed like this, had fun—fun!—like this since I was five years old shooting dart guns at my brothers. Being friends is not an option. I need more.
I’m just getting ready to tell her that when she puts her arms around my neck and gives me the softest, sweetest kiss I’ve ever tasted. It’s honey on marshmallow levels of sweetness, and I can’t handle it. I need her so badly it’s painful, and I groan.
“Sweetheart, can we go somewhere else? Preferably somewhere private.”
Her eyes burn, smoldering with desire. “Please.”
I wiggle out my phone, not daring to set her down, not daring to let this moment pass. I hit the call button for an Uber. It gives me an estimate of three minutes. Three frigging minutes—I can’t wait that long…but I guess I’ll have to, because she slides out of my arms.
“One second,” she says. “How long ’til the Uber comes?”
I tell her a few minutes then watch as she runs back to the sketchy-ass taco stand. She forks over a few bucks, gets another load of tacos, and brings it back. I don’t comment because I love—and I mean love—the fact that she eats whatever she wants. Despite weighing half of me, she’s put away the same number of tacos. I’m impressed.
“These aren’t for me,” she says, glancing at my face.
Obviously I don’t hide my surprise very well.
She jogs easily over to the mailbox in front of her comedy club. “Here you go,” she says, handing over the plate of food to the man living next to the mailbox. “Have a great night, Phil.”
“Good show,” he says. “That boyfriend of yours is a keeper.”
“Goodnight Phil,” she yells, walking back to me. “Mind your own business!”
I pretend I didn’t hear their exchange.
However, she can read my face again. “Ignore him,” she says. “He’s full of it. Thinks he’s got everyone figured out.”
“That was nice of you,” I say. “You two seem like you get along.”
She waves a hand. “He’s my biggest fan. It’s the least I can do.”
“So he’s my competition?” I raise my eyebrows. “What do I have to do to become your number one fan?”
She leans in, gives me a wink. “Take me home tonight. I’ll let you figure out the rest from there.”
I believe I’ve died and gone to heaven. She’s hot, funny, and unafraid to say what she wants—hell, this morning she added an amendment to our contract, stating that she wants to have sex. If I don’t propose to her now, some other bastard will, and he’ll be the lucky one.
“Why are you single?” I ask instead.
Lilia would have my ass if I proposed right now anyway. She wouldn’t want anyone encroaching on her wedding plans. Also, it’s too soon…right?
“Oh,” she says, a light going on in her eyes. “Don’t get me started. We could be here all night.”
“Bullshit.”
“Ryan…”
The way she says my name has me watching her eyes, waiting for her to find the words she needs to say. I reach out and cup her cheek in my hand. The skin is soft, so very soft, and I let my thumb brush over her lips. “Yes?”
“You didn’t have to do that back at the bar.” She raises a shoulder. “Really, I can roll with the punches, take a joke. You didn’t need to make a thing about what Lawrence said.”
“He didn’t need to be a dick.”
“He was just having a good time,” she says. “I’m around a lot of dicks, anyway. I’m used to it. Lots of comics are awesome, hilarious people, but there are a few…”
“In any profession,” I add. “There are some great hockey guys, and then there are…”
“Dicks,” she finishes, and we share a smile.
“Exactly.”
“Well,” she says. “I guess I owe you a thank you, but just know, I didn’t expect you to do that, or to say anything. I can stand up for myself.”
“It was nothing,” I say. “I don’t mind showing everyone how I feel about you.”
“But love…” She says the word quietly, with reverence, as if she’s in church. “It’s too soon for that. And when I—er, well, this morning when we talked—”
“When you asked for sex, you mean,” I say with a wink. “Yes, I remember that vividly.”
Her face colors, but she nods. She wasn’t lying—this girl can roll with the punches.
“I honestly meant it. I don’t expect anything from you, and you shouldn’t from me. We’re just having fun.” She flashes a quick smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I want to make that clear.”
“Of course,” I say. “Fun it is.”
“So…” She hesitates, kicking her toe against the ground. “Speaking of fun…where’s that Uber?”
CHAPTER 28
Andi
“Is this weird?” I ask as we sneak through the doors of the guest house like two teenagers. “We can go someplace else.”
“Like your house?” Ryan raises an eyebrow at me. I’ve already explained that I live with roommates—more specifically, my dad.
“Point taken,” I say.
Even if my dad has been strangely encouraging about my new relationship-sort-of-thing with Ryan, that doesn’t mean he’d welcome Ryan into our home with open arms at three thirty in the morning, especially smelling like whatever mechanical bulls mixed with tacos smells like.
“This is my home away from home.” Ryan steps through the door, exposing a quaint space fit with everything one might need to live.
It’s the guest house behind Lawrence and Lilia’s place, but it’s hardly tiny. In fact, it’s nicer than ninety percent of the full-sized houses in this city. A small kitchen is visible past the living room, a coffee maker and beans sit on the counter, and a bowl of fresh fruit is centered on the table. “Sometimes I sleep in the extra bedroom at the main house if we’re hanging out there and I don’t want to walk back, and because Lilia’s a great cook.”
I laugh. “Makes sense. It seems like such a shame that this sits empty all the time.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the back, to a clean, plush, modern bedroom that’s just the right combination of minimalist and luxurious. “It was part of the agreement when Lawrence moved out here.”
“Agreement?”
“With my parents.” He cringes a bit. “My parents are great, and they love us a lot—maybe too much. They wouldn’t let Lawrence move out here until he could afford a place with a back house for them to come stay whenever—and for however long—they’d like.”
“No such thing as a parent loving their child too much,” I say softly. “I think it’s sweet.”
“Yeah,” he says, slowing his pace as we enter the bedroom. “I suppose it is. Anyway, my parents never use it much; they prefer to stay in the main house. But who knows? My mom’s hoping Lawrence and Lilia will be converting the guest bedroom into a child’s room soon, so…I suppose she wants a place to stay when she comes to visit her grandkids.”
“No pressure.”