I turn off the burner to let my sauce thicken, but before I’ve turned away from the stove to grab some lemons from a bowl on the counter, I feel firm hands on my hips. A soft kiss on the side of my neck. I smell the faint scent of Colin’s shampoo.
“That smells amazing,” Colin says behind me.
I turn around and slide my arms around his neck, and he rests his palms on my ass in reply.
“Hello,” I whisper.
“You’ve been a busy little bee today,” he replies.
“I like keeping busy.”
“I never expected you to actually work for me. The PA job is supposed to be a networking opportunity for you.”
I shrug. “I’m getting a salary as your assistant. I might as well earn my money.”
“But I’m not the one paying you.”
“Either way, I’m your paid personal assistant this week. I like working hard. I like being helpful.”
“Well, damn, this is a pickle.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How so?”
“If you’re going to take your job seriously, then that means I’m fucking my personal assistant. And that makes me a douchebag.”
I giggle. “I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t.”
“But I’ll know.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to live with yourself.” I snicker. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving. And I guess I could eat food, too.” He presses himself into me, and he’s hard as a rock.
“There’s no way I’m letting this dinner sit a minute longer. It’s already over-cooked. Tell that hard-on to take a chill pill for now.”
He looks down. “Take a chill pill, dude.” When he looks up, he’s smiling adorably. “He said he’ll do his best. But no promises.”
“That’s all anyone can do. Do me a favor and set the table. Also, grab us a couple beers from the fridge. I got a variety pack of different craft beers at the store. Thought it’d be fun for us to try them out throughout the week.”
“Great idea.”
While he gets to work, I plate our food. And a moment later, we’re sitting at Colin’s round kitchen table, feasting on the over-cooked meal I’ve prepared. As we eat, the vibe between us is relaxed and easy, the same way it was this morning at breakfast. And I’m beyond relieved about it. Whatever I might have blurted during sex, it’s clearly water under the bridge now.
As we’re eating, “Hate Sex High” begins playing at random on the “today’s top hits” playlist, and I immediately spring to life. “I love this song!” I say, bopping to the sexy beat in my chair.
“Based on its current position on charts around the world, I don’t think you’re alone in that.”
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” I ask.
“Not at all. I’m stoked for Fugitive Summer’s success. Not only because they’re our friends, but a rising tide floats all boats. Any time a River Records artist has a smash hit, that’s more money in the coffers for everyone’s marketing budgets.”
“Wow. I never thought about it that way.”
“Music is a business. And hit songs are very, very lucrative for a label.”
I listen to the song for a moment. “Even if music is a business, it’s still art—a form of personal expression.”
“Of course.”
“And you can plainly tell Savage had something vitally important he wanted to say here.”
Colin laughs. “What clued you in? How many times does he say she came three times?"
We both laugh at the raunchy lyrics.
“Do you think Laila was pissed at Savage for calling her out by name as the woman chasing a ‘hate sex high’?” I ask.
Colin shrugs. “If Laila was ever upset about it, then she’d made peace with it by the time of the party last night. I talked to Dax and Fish today while you were out about some band stuff. And during our conversation, Fish said when this song came on last night—while you and I were messing around in that guest room—everyone started dancing and singing along like crazy, along with the band. Fish said Laila was singing louder and prouder than anyone else, especially on the raunchiest parts.”
I run my fingertip down the bottle of beer on the table in front of me. “During today’s phone call, did you happen to tell Dax and Fish where we were when this song came on last night?”
Colin cracks a lop-sided smile. “There was no need. I’d already told them about us last night, as we said our goodbyes to everyone.”
I smile, taken aback. “I thought we were going to keep this thing we’re doing a secret.”
“Only from our families, so they don’t flip out and assume we’re jumping into something more than we are. But I have no problem with our friends knowing what we’re doing. Do you?”
There’s so much to unpack in what Colin just said, I don’t even know where to begin.
He furrows his brow. “You’re pissed I told our friends what’s going on?”
My heart skips a beat that he’s now twice referred to his friends as ours. “No. I’m happy our friends know.”
“It didn’t occur to me not to tell them the truth. I’m sorry if I—”
“No, no, I’m glad you told them.” I grab my beer and take a long sip, hoping to camouflage the fact that I’m feeling tongue-tied and confused. We can tell this group of people about us, but not that one? We can eat meals together and lie in bed naked and tell each other intimate things we don’t tell other people . . . we can kiss and have sex and snuggle . . . And basically act like we’re in a committed relationship, in front of the whole world . . . other than with our families?
After putting down my beer, I take a big bite of food, yet again trying to hide the fact that I’m deeply confused. Well, shit. I can’t remain silent forever. I might as well ask Colin at least one of the questions that’s been rattling around in my brain since last night.
“So, did you feel like last night was a success for you, in terms of erasing any awkwardness between you and Laila and Savage?”
“Yeah, last night was great. I’m happy for Laila and Savage—anyone could see last night they’re a match made in heaven.” He presses his lips together, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry I had an ulterior motive when I invited you to the party. You had every right to be pissed at me about that.”
“Yes, I know. But I forgive you. Next time, however, ask me for something you want, directly, rather than manipulating me to get it.”
Colin smiles wickedly and then bites his lip in a way that feels tantalizingly sexual. “You’re hot when you’re pissed at me, Red. Red hot.”
He’s never called me Red before. I must admit, I like it. “I’m not pissed at you. I’m annoyed with you.”
“Still hot.”
As we’re exchanging lustful looks, “Hate Sex High” comes to an end and none other than “Fireflies” by 22 Goats begins.
“Ugh. Skip it,” Colin says.
“No. This is my favorite 22 Goats song.”
“I’ve heard it a time or two.”