Jana

It’s not until a week later, when I text Jake for the actual days he wants me to be in New York, that I realize “the thing” he wants to take me to is a formal gala on the first Monday of May.

I devour celebrity news like Girl Scout cookies. The first Monday of May in New York City means the Met Gala.

“It always matters. There will be some super awkward meeting at the Met Gala. I’ve seen how it goes on TMZ.”

“I’ve never been to the Met Gala. Do you want to go? Ben goes every year. As far as I can tell it’s a pretentious bore.”

I was teasing him. I was…oh God. I’m going to have an awkward run in with one of the models he’s had sex with. The prophecy is coming true.

I call Nina in a panic and fill her in.

“You are a lucky bitch,” she says.

That’s not helpful. “I’m aware,” I say through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t change the fact I’m a country bumpkin in comparison to…well, everyone.”

“Don’t compare yourself to Beyoncé.”

“I’ve heard that Anna Wintour personally approves each guest. She clearly hasn’t gotten to my name on the list yet, and when she does, Jake’s going to get a call regretfully declining because who is that person?”

“Maybe he put you down as the future Mrs. Jake Aston, and Anna Wintour knows better than to piss off a hot billionaire?”

I squeak. I’m not cool enough for any of this.

Nina laughs. “Seriously, this is a sign he’s serious about you. Or things have gotten slack in the bedroom and he knows the Met is a sure-fire way for you to give up slot C.”

“Things haven’t gotten slack,” I mutter.

“But still, put a Brazilian on the to-do list the week before.”

I’ve been keeping up with that maintenance, not that I’m going to tell her that. Jake doesn’t complain when the hair is growing back in, but when we see each other and I’m freshly waxed, he goes down on me for like an hour.

Only a fool wouldn’t keep that monthly appointment with that kind of reward.

“I need a dress,” I whisper.

“Nope.” Her voice goes crisp and business-like. “Okay, so here’s your first big lesson in dating a billionaire, in public. Things like this? You need a stylist. The stylist will—”

“I know what a stylist does.” People subscription. TMZ addict. I know what celebrities do. I’m not a celebrity. “I can’t really afford…”

“Ask Jake who dresses him.”

“Jake dresses himself.” I frown. “I think.”

“His tuxes come from somewhere, and I don’t think he spends a lot of time on Fifth Avenue. Just ask.”

So I do, and when he stops laughing at the question about who dresses him—he agrees, the answer is almost always himself—he apologizes for not mentioning the dress thing yet.

“I was going to bring it up when you come here next weekend. I should have known you’d have figured out it was the Met Gala on your own.”

“Sorry for being too clever.”

“I love how clever you are. I’ll have to work harder at making the next surprise more of an actual surprise. So yes, the weekend before the Gala, there will be a few dresses for you to pick from, and people to help you get ready on the Monday.”

“And that’s not weird at all for you?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s weird, kind of vain, and pretentious…but also a lot of fun. You deserve to be spoiled like a princess, Jana. Don’t think twice about it.”

Of course I still think about it, but I let my thoughts drift in an excited direction instead of worrying about being spoiled. I’m not going to pretend he can’t afford to treat me to a crazy night out.

And I’m already thinking about how I can give him a special surprise of his own right.

April drags on forever. Jake comes to Baltimore twice, but by the time I arrive in New York at the end of the month, I’ve made a mental decision that this just can’t continue like this.

Something has to change, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be my address.

When I arrive at Jake’s building late Friday afternoon, the doorman greets me by name. “Hello, Miss Jana. Mr. Aston just called, he’s ten minutes away, but I can take you up to the penthouse.”

“I can wait—” But Pierre is already moving toward the elevator. “Okay. Thank you.”

He hands me a keycard once we’re inside. I’ve seen Jake do this a dozen times now, at least. More, with coming and going. Pierre presses the P button and the elevator swiftly ascends. When we stop on the top floor, he gestures for me to swipe the card to open the doors.

With a near-silent whoosh, the foyer reveals itself. “Thank you,” I say again, holding out the card.

He just smiles and waves his hand. “Mr. Aston said to leave it with you.”

While I’m waiting for Jake, I unpack my bag. I didn’t bring too many extras for this weekend. A few nice bra and panty sets, although I’m not sure what I’ll need under the dresses. I’ll discover that tomorrow, when the stylist brings the short list of outfits over, and there’s time to shop on Sunday, too.

I have the shoes picked out, though. I carefully lift the black heels out of my suitcase. The upper part of the show is an elaborate filigree pattern cut out of black velvet. Whatever dress I choose to wear must match these, because I fell in love with them.

The heart wants what the heart wants.

“Jana?”

Speaking of what—or who—my heart wants… “In your bedroom!”

He’s tugging his tie loose as he walks through the door, and my knees go wobbly and weak.

“Hello, handsome.”

“My apologies for being delayed.” He pulls me close, and I start to work on his shirt buttons as he kisses me. Hot, hungry kisses that too quickly come to an end. He drags in a rough breath. “An old college buddy is in town. How would you feel about going out for dinner?”

I sway against him. “Sure.”

He groans and squeezes the back of my neck. “I’ve missed you. We can make it a later dinner so I can properly show you just how much.”

“Even better.”

We end up at a hipster bistro just off the north end of Central Park, not far from Columbia University. Jake dressed casually, so I follow his lead, and I’m glad I did, because the place is nothing but denim and plaid and ironic t-shirts.

I recognize Jake’s friend Ben—the only other clean-cut guy in the place—sitting with a taller, broader, bearded man at a table for four. They both stand, and Jake throws his arms around the bearded giant first.

“Marcus. God, it’s good to see you.” He steps back and wraps his arm around my waist. “This is my girlfriend, Jana.”

I hold out my hand Marcus takes it in his, his eyes crinkling as he gives me a slow smile. His handshake is firm, but nice. Can a handshake be nice? His is, and I immediately like him.

We order drinks, and it doesn’t take long for the conversation to turn to how Jake and I met. Marcus howls when I tell him I thought Jake was a delivery driver.

“He pulled off playing a man of the people? Shit. Good one, Jake.”

“I wasn’t trying to trick anyone,” my boyfriend says gruffly, and I squeeze his thigh.

“I saw what I wanted to see,” I admitted. “I was crushing pretty hard. He could have worn a ‘Hello, My Name is Jake Aston’ sticker and I probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

Jake covers my hand with his. “It was a mutual crush.”

The sound of a click drags us back to the other two men. Ben’s holding his phone. “I’m sending this picture to Toby, so he can be a part of the moment when Jake Aston officially—”

Jake cuts him off with a growl.

I blush and scramble for something else to talk about. “So, Marcus. What do you do?”

“I work for the National Park Service in Colorado.”

My eyebrows shoot up. That wasn’t what I was expecting, although his entire look says rugged, outdoorsy guy. “Cool.”

Jake claps Marcus on the shoulder. “He was a computer engineer for a few years. We met at MIT. But he was always cutting out of work to climb and hike and do search and rescue.”

Marcus shrugs. “Pretty much. So I finally realized…that was what I should do on a full-time basis. Turns out there’s a fair bit of paperwork and office time as a park ranger, too. But the ratio of fresh air to behind the desk time is still better.”

We pause our conversation to order food, then keep going. Marcus is easy to talk to, although I get the sense he’s careful in what he says—and what he doesn’t.

I have all sorts of questions for Jake about him, but as the night goes on, they slip away. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so hard or enjoyed a meal so much, and that’s saying a lot, because Jake makes me laugh all the time, and my friends are hilarious.

“Tonight was so much fun,” I murmur against Jake’s cheek as we settle in the back of his car just before midnight.

“It was.” He grins and gives me a quick kiss. “And you’re pretty toasted.”

“Just toasted enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“Dirty things. Secrets. Whatever you want.”

“Yes, please.” He shifts his thighs, spreading them wider. I drop my hand to the top of his leg and relish how tight and flexed the muscles are there. Then I stroke my hand higher, happy to find him hard and tight there, too. He groans under his breath. “Ah…”

I squeeze his erection through his jeans. “I wish we could do this more often.”

“Mmmm.” He licks his lower lip, and I get distracted by how good his mouth looks when he slicks it wet like that.

“Because the long-distance thing…”

He rolls his head toward me and gives me a lazy smile. “Yeah?”

“I just feel like it’s a little dysfunctional. In a long-term sense.” Whoa. Get a little whiskey in me—and some wine, and those shots, too… And suddenly I’m sharing everything.

But before I can walk that back, he nods. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“Of course.”

“Oh. Good.”

He traces his fingertips over my cheek. “We should talk about this tomorrow.”

Under my hand, his cock flexes, lengthening. Inside my belly, a corresponding heat swirls. Yes. Tomorrow. Because tonight, or whatever remains of it, we’re definitely busy with something else. Something more physical than a conversation about making our long-distance thing something more…local.