One Night Stand-In Page 19

  Hearts have a mind of their own.

  Because when I arrive at the Luxe Hotel, I don’t listen to my head. I listen to my heart.

  And my heart says he’s here.

  He’s waiting for me outside the building, looking cool and gorgeous in a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt and no tie. His hair is messy, like it usually is, and the most delicious amount of stubble lines his jaw.

  Slamming the door of the cab, I hoist my purse with my laptop in it higher on my shoulder, and I walk.

  To him.

  To possibility.

  To a chance.

  Not just a second chance, but a terrifying and thrilling chance at love. The very thing that has taunted me my whole life.

  The demon I’ve hidden from.

  The monster I’ve avoided.

  But love can be so much more than that.

  It can fill your heart and mind with so much incomparable joy. And joy is what I feel. Not a shred of responsibility. Not an ounce of doubt.

  As I walk to him, he walks to me. A knowing grin is on his face. There’s a gleam in his chocolate eyes. A passion. An intensity that’s all his, and all mine, and all ours.

  We reach each other at the same time.

  “Lola,” he says, speaking first. “Do you want to know the whole truth of ten years ago?”

  I stop, startled. I wasn’t expecting that twist. “Yes, I do.”

  He takes a breath, steps closer, and cups my cheek. His hand is so warm, so right.

  “The reason it hurt? The reason it all went to hell so quickly?”

  “Yes?” I ask, my voice pitched with worry but also hope.

  His eyes lock with mine like he never wants to look away from me. “I was falling in love with you.”

  I gasp, bringing my hand to my mouth as tears fill my eyes. I’m not a crier, but for the second time today, a lump fills my throat. “You were?”

  He nods, his expression so earnest, so true. “I was falling so damn hard for you, and then everything combusted. And I was petrified. I’d been falling in love with you, and then I just lost you. I can blame my family for my fear of love. But I have myself to blame too. I hated losing you, but I didn’t know how to fight for you. And the end result was that, in my mind, love equaled pain.”

  My lips quiver, and I nod, understanding him even more now. I lift a hand and touch his arm, needing contact. “I was falling in love with you too,” I say, and that admission feels like a new kind of freedom as all the secrets of the past tumble free.

  His lips crook into a grin. “Is that so?”

  “That’s why I couldn’t bear to just be friends with you. I wanted more. I wanted it all with you. I didn’t know how to have it. But Lucas,” I say, taking a breath, drawing more strength, “that’s the reason I’ve never fallen for anyone else.”

  “It is?”

  “I gave my heart to you a long time ago. No one else could ever come close.”

  He groans his appreciation, a warm, sexy sound. Then his fingers thread into my hair. “Know what I think?”

  “What do you think?” I ask, unable to mask a grin.

  “That no one should come between us again. You’re the one, Lola. You’re the one who got away. You’re the one I want back. You’re the one I love.”

  My heart soars, flying free, taking off into the sky, rising to the stars. A wish that has come true. This moment is almost too much, but I want to savor every second of the recklessness, the risk.

  I rise up, press my lips to his, and whisper my deepest fear and my greatest joy: “I’m in love with you too.”

  He doesn’t let me go. He kisses me tenderly.

  He kisses me like we have years to make up for. Like I’m the one he wants to kiss tonight and tomorrow and for all time.

  As his lips explore mine, my head goes hazy, my body floods with endorphins. Tingles spread down my arms, across my skin, everywhere.

  We kiss like there’s nothing else in the world but us, our lips, our touch. Like the city’s millions can walk on by, the night can carry on, and we’ll do the same. We’ll carry on with each other.

  When we break the kiss, he looks woozy and ridiculously happy.

  Like how I feel.

  And I feel something else too.

  Something wild and daring.

  Something reckless.

  There’s a crazy beating in my heart as an idea takes hold. An idea that won’t let go. This is something my sister would do.

  And maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe I can learn from the reckless one.

  I dance my fingers up the buttons on his shirt. “What would you say about screwing the awards?” I whisper, like we’re scofflaws, breaking all the rules. “Let’s be the irresponsible ones.”

  His grin says yes. “How about sex, bowling, and French fries?”

  “I’d sell my soul for that.”

  He draws me close. “But you don’t have to. All you have to do is let me love you as so much more than a friend.”

  “Consider it done.”

  30

  Lucas

  It’s safe to say neither one of us is going to win.

  It’s also safe to say neither one of us cares.

  Later that night, after round two, I grab my buzzing phone and check my email.

  It’s from the competition organizers.

  “Oops,” I say when I read it. “Turns out we were disqualified on account of not showing up.”

  She laughs as she shrugs. “Win some. Lose some. Win some more,” she says, then drops a kiss on my lips.

  Yep. I won.

  I won big.

  And later that night, she wins when I take her bowling at Pin-Up Lanes.

  She crushes me.

  But in my defense, I can’t stop touching her, kissing her, wrapping my arms around her. I have years to make up for. And I plan on doing just that.

  After the game, we indulge in fries.

  “It was one week ago when we were here,” she says, glancing around.

  “Who would have thought twenty-four hours would change everything?” I muse.

  She takes a bite of another fry, and when she’s done, she lifts her chin, a quizzical look in her eyes. “Do you think you can fall in love in twenty-four hours?”

  I shake my head.

  Her brow furrows. “You don’t think so?”

  I lean across the table and press a kiss to her lush lips. “I don’t think so. I know so.”

  When we leave, we pass the counter, and the guy in the vest snaps his gaze to us. “Hey! How did it all work out?”

  “We gathered all their things,” I say. “Got it all sorted out.”

  “That’s great,” he says, but then he makes a rolling gesture. “I mean the other thing. The thing Harrison was working on?”

  Lola’s brow creases. “That was it. The scavenger hunt thing?”

  The man’s expression falls, and he waves a hand. “Never mind.”

  But something else is going on. “What should we ‘never mind’?” I ask.

  The guy shakes his hand. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a crazy idea.”

  Lola tilts her head and smiles. “Maybe tell us.”

  The man exhales sharply. “It’s not my story to tell.” He takes a beat. “It’s sort of yours.”

  31

  Lola

  I whip out my phone at lightning speed.

  With guns blazing, I click open an email, ready to fire off a note to my sister’s landlord.

  But as Gmail auto-fills his address, a name blasts across my screen.

  Amy.

  I answer right away. Bowling pins clang on the hardwood from a nearby game.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Remember that exclusive submission? The one I was meeting the agent about on Sunday night?”

  “Sure,” I say, recalling what she’d told me. “The comedy, right?”

  “It arrived this morning. I read most of it this afternoon. It’s spectacular. Sarcastic
, clever, original, and full of more heart than I ever expected. I want it badly, and if we get it, I want you to do the cover.”

  “That’s great.” Only, I doubt that’s why she’s calling on a Friday night. “But . . .?”

  “There’s no real ‘but.’ Well, except the ending. It needs a better one. I’m going to talk to the writer about fixing the ending,” she says, excitement in her voice. “And a title change for sure. Talk about rambling. But the story felt somewhat familiar.”

  The hair on my arms stands on end, and Lucas shoots me a what the hell is going on look. “What do you mean, Amy? Is this bad?”

  She laughs. “No, it’s not bad. It’s . . . interesting.”

  I pull Lucas aside, around the corner, down the hall, sharing the phone as Amy tells us about the novel she received.

  It’s not The Happy-Go-Lucky Sadist.

  But it is written by him. He’s not a TV writer anymore. He’s writing books, and this one is called That Time I Kicked Out the Love Birds, Bowled a Perfect Game, and Hung Out with the Llamas.

  32

  Harrison

  What a difference quiet makes.

  I stretch my arms and sigh contentedly, pleased with the last week of my life.

  Is there anything better than conquering writer’s block?

  I think not.

  Well, fine. Maybe one thing is better—conquering it like a motherfucking badass, because that’s what I am. Judging from this late-night email from my agent telling me there’s interest in my manuscript, that’s exactly what I pulled off in a mere week.

  I settle down into my couch, crack open a new can of orange soda, and set my feet on the coffee table.

  Then I do my new favorite thing.

  I listen.

  To the sound of nothing.

  Nada.

  Zip.

  It’s heaven. A balm for the creative soul, and it’s unleashed a torrent of ideas during the last seven days. A caper of sorts. A comedy. One man’s journey to restore his faith in, well, himself.

  Through cheese and bowling, pancakes and alpacas, and dance lessons.

  That was unexpected. I never planned to take tango lessons. But I can’t seem to stop taking them.

  Or to stop seeing—

  Buzz.

  What is that godforsaken infernal noise?

  Oh, right.

  The buzzer.

  I heave myself up, head to the intercom, and ask who’s there.

  “Lola and Lucas.”

  Not gonna lie. That delights me. Those two are fascinating. Inspiring too. “As they say on The Price is Right, come on up. Well, it’s ‘come on down,’ but you get the gist.”

  I open the door to wait for them, and a minute later, the pair of riddlers strides toward me down the hall, curious looks on their faces.

  “Hey,” Lucas says, then extends a hand. “I’m Lucas.”

  “I feel like I know you already,” I say.

  “And you do, in many ways,” he says.

  The dark-haired woman offers her hand, and we shake. “Weirdly, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says.

  “Weirdly, indeed.” I invite them in, and they follow my lead, heading inside.

  Lucas tilts his head, then scratches his jaw. “So, you wrote a book about that wild-goose chase you sent us on?”

  I hold my arms out wide. “Screw that one-month novel-writing camp. I wrote it in five days. Top that!”

  Lola laughs. “Can’t beat that.” But then her expression turns more serious. “But I want to know something. Was that whole breakup letter to Luna and Rowan designed to get us together?” She points from herself to Lucas. “Since I’m presuming you heard about us during their many fights?”

  A laugh bursts from my chest. Are they for real? They think I’m a matchmaker? “Are you kidding?”

  “No. I’m serious,” Lola says, her lips ruler-straight, her eyes intense.

  “Did you actually read the story?”

  She shakes her head.

  “One, it’s not a love story. Two, it’s not about the two of you. And three, why the hell would I try to get you two together?”

  “As a novel idea?” Lucas offers.

  I laugh again, louder, deeper this time. “Take a good look at the man in front of you.” I hold out my arms and turn in a slow circle. “Do I look like cupid? Do you see wings? A bow and arrow? A diaper?”

  Lola has the good sense to look sheepish. “Obviously not.”

  I tap my chest. “I’m not a secret matchmaker. I’m not any sort of matchmaker. Plus, happy endings are unnecessary. The guy doesn’t always get the girl, because he doesn’t need the girl.” I raise my chin. “My book is a personal journey. A comedy about a man figuring out what he wants in life. His happiness. Not happiness with another person. I don’t need to have lovers smooching at the end.”

  They laugh, and Lola wraps an arm around Lucas. “Well, thanks anyway. That was an accidental by-product, then, of that time you kicked out the Love Birds.”

  “Wait. You two got back together?” I ask with a groan.

  Lucas drops a kiss to her cheek. “We did. So, thanks, even though you didn’t mean to do that.”

  I drop my face in my hands. “That was never the goal,” I grumble.

  “What was the goal?”

  I raise my face. “It was for me. It was the first time I was inspired in ages. I wrote about a man finding his place in the world.”

  “Through a breakup letter to his noisy tenants?”

  “Yes. It was restorative. It was everything I needed. I had no idea when I wrote that letter. I wrote it for payback, but as soon as I started dropping off their things, it unlocked my story. I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote.”

  “Good,” Lucas says with a grin. “Looks like it worked out for all of us.” He turns to leave but stops and swings back. “One more thing. How did the dance lessons work out?”

  My traitorous heart hammers as I picture Angeline, the captivating, clever dance instructor who taught me the first steps of tango. Whom I invited to dinner. Whom I saw tonight.

  Whom I’ll see tomorrow. “They’re working out great.”

  Lola lifts a brow. “Maybe that’s your ending.”

  I sneer. “Books don’t need happy endings.”

  “No, but sometimes life is better with them,” she says, then waves goodbye. “Thanks again. Perhaps you do have a touch of cupid in you.”

  They turn and leave, holding hands.

  Something in me burns with annoyance.

  I’m not the guy who writes romance.

  I don’t believe in it.

  But when I return to my couch and find a message from Angeline telling me she’s looking forward to tomorrow’s dance lesson, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t mind a happier ending for me.

  33

  Lola

  A few months later

  Angeline was right.

  Lucas and I rock at tango.

  We take lessons a few times a month.

  And when we finish tonight’s lesson with a flourish and a dip, Angeline claps. “Bravo! You’re fantastic.”

  Lucas offers a hand and pulls me up. “You are fantastic,” he says to me.

  Angeline strides over to us and sets a hand on his shoulder, then mine. “I told you, you had couple’s energy. I was right.”

  “You do have crazy lovebird energy!” That’s Rowan, chiming in from the other side of the studio.

  “Yes! They have so much of it that it’s like a new perfume,” Luna chirps.

  I roll my eyes, but they’re right. Those two lovebirds are definitely right. And even though they didn’t try to bring us back together, they’re happy as clams that we are.

  We are too.

  So happy, in fact, that sometimes the four of us take dance lessons together.

  But we make sure to schedule them when Harrison isn’t coming by to see his girlfriend.

  After all, there’s no need for Luna and Rowan to bump into the enemy, even tho
ugh he’s not truly the enemy.

  Better safe than sorry.

  We say goodbye to Angeline and take off into the Manhattan night to grab a bite with our siblings.

  Over sandwiches and salads, we catch up on the latest news from the Love Birds tour, and get the details about their new place in Queens.

  Lucas lifts a fry, pointing it at Rowan. “You better be quiet in your new apartment. I don’t want to do another wild-goose chase.”

  Rowan smirks. “But maybe you do?”

  Luna squeezes Rowan’s arm and plants a kiss on his cheek. “I’m sure they do. They loved it. It brought them together.”

  Lucas rolls his eyes, but simply shrugs.

  It did bring us together, and I’d go on countless more with this man.

  * * *

  A few more months later

  Our friends keep us busy with weddings.

  We go to Amy and Linc’s ceremony in a park, where they read passages to each other from some of their favorite books. Then Tristan and Peyton celebrate in a gorgeous room at the Luxe Hotel, where Tristan’s brother is the best man and the bride looks more beautiful than she’s ever looked.

  We dance and laugh and toast.

  And when the weddings are done, we go home with each other, since we made the jump and now live together.

  We’re sometimes irresponsible, and truth be told, I might not do a damn thing about being outrageously loud when Lucas takes me to new heights of pleasure every night.

  But the walls are thick, and there are no complaints from neighbors. Or landlords.

  Speaking of landlords . . . one afternoon, Lucas and I pop into An Open Book to pick up copies of That Time I Kicked Out the Lovebirds.

  Amy asked Harrison to shorten the title, and he agreed it made sense.

  She asked him, too, for a better ending, and though he grumbled, he added in a closing coda where the guy falls for his tango instructor.

  Whether it’s art imitating life or life imitating art is anyone’s guess.

  But inarguably it’s a damn good ending for his story.