-38-
Grant
TWO MONTHS LATER
Leave it to Tara to be late to her own party. By the time we arrived at Kyle and Ruby’s place, everyone else was already there. We set our bottle of wine on the kitchen island, beside the other bottles the guests had brought, and the tray of macarons Ruby had no doubt stress-baked.
“There she is!” Payton said when she spied us sneaking in. She was McAsshole’s younger sister, and the resemblance was apparent. “Cutting it close. It’s almost eight.”
The TV was on, a commercial playing in the background as people chatted over the sound. In a few minutes, Dance Dreams would come on. It would be the fifth episode of the season—New York selection week. After that, they went to the live shows.
Tara had signed an NDA about whether she’d made it as a contestant and was forbidden from telling anyone. So, tonight, our friends were finally going to find out if Tara was going back to New York, or if her journey had ended.
Of course, she’d already told me. We’d decided we were done with secrets after the blindfold club—at least, secrets from each other.
Joseph poured a glass of wine for himself and a glass of ginger ale for Noemi. She was still struggling with morning sickness, and I felt bloody awful for them both. Seeing his wife sick was especially hard on him, because it wasn’t something he could control.
She was here, though, so hopefully it was beginning to ease.
“Shh,” Ruby announced to the group. “It’s coming on.” She squeezed onto the couch between Kyle and Julius, breaking up their bromance.
I’d spent months trying to track down the blindfold club and was seriously annoyed when I discovered McAsshole was best friends with Julius. All that work when I could have gone right to the source. At least now we were all friends. Maybe I could work on Julius’s girlfriend Courtney to convince him to try out for rugby. He’d played football in college, she’d told me last week at our previous ‘watch party.’
Tara and I sat on chairs gathered from the dining table. Silas and Regan weren’t the guests of honor like us and must have gotten last pick, because they had been relegated to folding tailgate chairs. But once the show was on, everyone was quiet, and our gazes were glued to the large screen.
Every time there was a shot of Tara, no matter how brief, the group would cheer, and Elena was the loudest. The girls catcalled when she was shown at practice, her chest drenched with sweat and in a low-cut sports bra. My girl was so hot, I felt that way every time I looked at her.
When it cut to commercial, the group would break into discussions, and I wanted to laugh each time the show returned, and they fell silent. They were all so invested in her success. It was powerful and wonderful to watch.
“Where’s Hot Cello Guy?” Kyle’s brother-in-law Dominic said during the next break, reading Twitter aloud from his phone. “The people want to know.”
I smiled and shook my head.
They’d edited it down to less than three minutes on-air, but Dance Dreams had shown Tara’s audition during the Chicago episode, and they’d included the part where Rita called me hot cello guy. #HotCelloGuy had been a reality TV star for thirty seconds, and for one night, I was trending on Twitter. My parents probably died with embarrassment.
Finally, it came time for Tara’s segment on the show. She’d been grouped together with nine other hopefuls. They’d spent a grueling week practicing a routine together, and then performed for the choreographers. If they liked what they saw, they’d pick dancers to fill out their team.
There were trades and steals among the choreographers too. Things to give the show more drama, but none of that mattered at this stage. If a dancer was selected tonight, they were in.
Our friends lost their collective minds when Tara was picked second from her group. The women screamed and leapt from their seats, and Silas clapped me on the back, as if I had anything to do with it. I grinned anyway.
“You’re going back to New York!” Elena shouted in disbelief. She looked so fucking thrilled for her friend.
Tara was all smiles.
Yes, we were going back to New York. While she was at practice, I’d meet with our literary agent. We’d submitted the first half of the book five weeks ago and turned in the final when she’d come home from selection week.
There was a six-figure advance coming our way, plus offers for movie rights.
And we’d told no one.
Well, except for Joseph and Julius. It was to protect the club they’d built and run. We let them read it and change what they needed to, covering their clients’ identities, starting with setting the book in New York instead of Chicago. I couldn’t help but wonder . . . would Julius’s business suffer when the book came out? Or would the subtle publicity help? He’d lose some clients, but people loved being part of something infamous.
We were able to get him alone in a quiet corner after the show ended and update him on the book’s progress. He listened, not saying a word.
Tara bit her bottom lip. “I know you’re not thrilled we’re doing this, but—”
He lifted one of his hulking shoulders. “Would my life be easier if you weren’t? Yeah. But it’s not all bad. You’re just pushing up my timetable.” He gave half of a smile. “I’ve been planning a move and an expansion, and the Feds want to upgrade the systems.”
“Oh, wow. That’s good. But about the,” she lowered her voice, “FBI. We kept them out of the book, but I have a condition. I need you to come clean about them with everyone at the club.”
Julius’s brown eyes filled with concern. “I’m not supposed to and you gotta understand—they offer all of us protection.”
Her eyebrows tugged together. “I get that, but you can’t keep them in the dark. They deserve to know, and you need to let people decide for themselves if they want to keep working for you.”
His expression went firm but before he could say anything, she set her hand on his arm in a calming gesture.
“If the FBI gives you shit about it, tell them it was the deal you had to make to keep their cover.”
He sighed and put his fists on his hips. He didn’t like being challenged, but it was clear as he considered his options, he saw he had none. If we put the FBI’s involvement in the book, it would doom his club.
“Fine. I’ll tell them, but you’re lucky I like you,” he grumbled.
She rose up on her toes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You like everyone, Julius, and they like you because you’re a great guy.”
The party went late, and afterward, Tara and I snuggled together in the back of a cab. She laced our hands together. “I made a decision.”
“Yeah?”
“No pen name. Anonymous.”
We’d gone back and forth on the author name. It was her story, and she’d slaved over every scene, helping me fill in details. I’d done the bulk of the writing, but she wanted us to share credit as equals.
We’d been pitching pen names to each other all day, but it quickly devolved into jokes. “You don’t want to be Harry Balls?”
“Tempting, but no. I like being anonymous. I thought it was kind of fitting.”
I pressed my lips against her hairline, breathing in the scent of her fruity conditioner. “How’s that?”
“We spent so much time trying to be seen, and now we’re willing to walk away from it.”
“Uh, people are going to be seeing you. Or did you forget you’re on a television show now?”
Her knowing smile was lit by the neon lights of a store as we sped through the heart of downtown. “You know what I mean. This might sound stupid, but it’s like, I just needed one person to see me. Really see me. And now that I’ve found that person, I’m good. I don’t need anything else.”
It made my chest tighten to hear her say that. As if my heart was suddenly a little too big to fit comfortably inside it. I gave her the biggest smile I had. “I feel the same. I don’t need anything else.” I squeezed her. “Just this.”
* * *
Thank you so much for reading THREE GUILTY PLEASURES!
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I would do anything for my dream job. Now I have to.
In order to save my skin at the office, I'm forced to sell it at an exclusive and illegal blindfold club. He paid thousands of dollars for one night to own me, but when my blindfold comes off, I want more. More nights, more rules, and more from this unavailable and uncompromising man.
Rule number one, no questions. Rule number two, no lies. But, rule number three? That's the hardest one to obey.
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