Charley pulls a plate with a steaming burrito out of the microwave and hoists herself up onto the marble counter to dig in. “Ouch!” she yelps, dropping the burrito onto the plate.

“Most people let their food cool down to somewhere below the molten stage before they attempt to eat it,” I say, opening the refrigerator to grab a non-alcoholic beer.

Charley won’t allow alcohol anywhere near the apartment. Her and my dad think they’re being sly, but I see the looks they exchange whenever I mention getting a drink. They’re conspiring to keep me sober. I pretend to want alcohol more than I actually do, just so I can see the victory in Charley’s eyes when she denies me my crutch.

“I can’t wait. I’m starving,” she replies, tearing off a small chunk of tortilla and popping it in her mouth.

I twist off the bottle cap and chug a bit of sparkling piss masquerading as beer. “If you’re hungry, I’ve got something bigger and juicier than that burrito you can feast on,” I say, setting the amber bottle down and spreading her knees apart as I pull her toward the edge of the counter.

She smiles and kisses the tip of my nose. “Did you see that article on Spin this morning? Sounded like that writer wants a piece of your juicy burrito.”

I smile back at her, trying not to let her see my unease with the topic. The truth is that, after I left Katie’s office in Sherman Oaks, I had to make a surprise appearance at Amoeba Records in Hollywood to create a paper trail, so to speak.

Katie is the photographer credited with taking the picture included in the article. The article on the Spin website is unusually favorable and timely. It took some finesse to get their editor to agree to not only publish the review today, but also to use Katie’s pictures of our acoustic set.

I wouldn’t have been able to pull it off if I didn’t have a favor to call in with one of their writers. Lauren Zaire still owed me from the time I granted her an exclusive when she was just a lowly music blogger. I helped her get the job writing for Spin. It pays to have friends in this business.

I could give a fuck about a good review. I just needed to confirm to Jordan that I was in L.A. that night, and I was with Katie. If my plan worked, he will have contacted my lawyer as soon as I texted him the link to the article this morning. He’ll be eager to hash out the details of our non-disclosure agreement now that he knows I was dead serious when I said Katie and I are working together.

When Katie called me a few days ago to say she’d gotten the results of the DNA test, but she wasn’t certain whether she wanted to come forward yet, I was disappointed. But I wasn’t surprised. Which is why I asked her to help me put the alternative plan in place with my lawyer Pete Nellis.

I have more lawyers than I can keep track of these days, but Pete is the first attorney I worked with when I signed the agency agreement with Jordan at the tender age of sixteen. Pete has been my dad’s lawyer for almost twenty years and he’s based in San Francisco, so it seemed like a no-brainer to use him for a non-disclosure agreement between Jordan and me.

The details of the agreement are pretty basic: Jordan is not allowed to publish anything containing me or Charley’s name, image, likeness, or voice on the internet, in print, or any format. In turn, I agree to do the same for Jordan and Wesley. In , the statute of limitations on sexual assault not involving a deadly weapon is six years, so Katie and I are already precluded from filing charges. Fear of Katie’s corroboration, and how harshly Jordan and Wes will be judged by the court of public opinion, is the only weapon I have to keep that sex tape from getting out.

It’s easy to dismiss one accuser. It’s difficult to dismiss two accusers when one is a man with everything to lose and the other has DNA evidence.

“I think Lauren wants my juicy burrito about as much as she wants an actual burrito. She and her wife are vegan,” I reply, sliding my hand underneath Charley’s tank top and unsnapping her bra with a snap of my fingers.

Her eyes widen. “It’s scary how good you are at that.”

I slide my other hand under the front of her shirt and cup her breast as I lean forward to kiss her neck. “It took a lot of practice to get good at that.”

She gasps and shoves me away. “You’re such a whore.”

“Reformed whore, baby,” I say, positioning myself between her legs again despite her half-hearted attempts to push me away. “My whore days are over. In fact, I was thinking… How about we take my dad down to City Hall on Monday and make it official?”

She stops trying to fight me off and looks me in the eye. “Monday?”

“Yeah, I know you have the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, then the wedding the next day on Saturday. City hall is closed on Sunday, but I don’t see why we can’t go in on Monday. Sign some papers, say some vows in front of a judge, enter into a lifelong contractually binding agreement.”

She blinks. “Well, as romantic as that sounds, are you sure you’re not suggesting this for the wrong reasons?”

I place my hand on her face and softly brush my thumb across her bottom lip. “What are the right reasons? Love? Security? Friendship? Which one of those are we missing?”

She breaks into an easy smile as she coils her legs around my hips and pulls me close. “Well, for one thing, we’re missing a ring and a dress,” she says, her eyes locking on mine. “Are you being serious?”

I wipe the smile off my face and fix her with as serious an expression as I can muster. “As cancer,” I say, prying her legs from around my waist and getting down on one knee. “Marry me, Charlotte. Marry me, and I swear I’ll give you the wedding and diamond you deserve after my dad is gone. I’ll stop at nothing to give you everything you want. I’ll set the world on fire for you, Char.”

Her eyes glisten with tears as she looks me in the eye, and I brace myself for rejection. Then, I swear, I hear angels singing in my head as she nods, apparently unable to speak. I kiss the inside of her calf and stand up to pull her into my arms.

She whimpers as she tightens her arms around my neck. “I love us.”

“I love us,” I murmur into her ear. “So much.”

She lets out a congested laugh as she releases her hold on me and reaches for her plate. “Michelle is going to flip her shit.”

My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I wait for Charley to get lost in her burrito before I head to the bathroom to check the notification. It’s a text from Pete.

I don’t like the idea of Jordan being within a hundred miles of me or Charley. It’s like inviting the devil into your home. But sometimes you have to take calculated risks to vanquish your demons once and for all. And after tomorrow, I’ll never have to worry about Jordan or that fucking video ever again.