I’m free falling and I don’t care how hard I land.

Lauren is everything I imagined her to be.

Sweet. Loving. A fucking goddess.

Oh, how I miss her and I only dropped her off a few hours ago.

Truffles and I have been hanging out, in the garden, the basement, the kitchen, and now we are chillin’ in the living room. He followed me around all over, a great companion to talk to earlier, as I finished up some last-minute things regarding the town cars Gramps asked me to sell.

And now we sit and wait for the rest of the time to go by until we go pick up his mommy. It’s not a full work day, so we’ll get her in a little over an hour.

She’s asked to stay here for a while, and of course I don’t mind. Having her here with me, next to me, under, or even on top of me, during our most sexy times, is something dreams are made of.

My phone rings and I look, hoping it’s Lauren, calling to say she’s ready now.

But fuck. It’s my damn agent, calling…again. I should just answer it, tell him once and for all I’m not doing anymore reality shows.

I answer via speakerphone. “Look Ryan, I don’t know why you keep calling me, but it better not be about another reality show.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jax, take a chill pill, dude. Hasn’t Paris been okay for you?”

He’s always had the tendency to be a prick.

“Spill it, Ryan,” I say, hoping my eye roll comes through in my tone.

“Dude, I’ve been trying to reach you forever. I really think I have something you won’t mind doing at all.”

His salesman pitch in full force.

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Ryan. Just tell me.”

“Okay so, uh, Antonio Michaels, the CEO of CraveMe Lingerie is launching a new line of men’s underwear exclusively with a brand new online magazine. Anyway, he’s been seeking you out for the exclusive one-page spread, you being the face of the new line.”

I sit up on the couch now, my interest piqued. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“Right. Well, he wants you and all of your glorious assets to pose, wearing the new line of underwear, with the caption Um Yes, Just Yes…you know, playing up what Dixie Lane said when—”

“I know what it’s playing up, Ryan. And the answer is no. You know I’m trying to put that all behind me. Doing that, with that caption, will call attention to it all over again.”

“But this time you’ll have the upper hand, showing all of the world your victory dance, so to speak.”

“And what do you mean by showing all of the world? What type of magazine is this for?”

“It’s a magazine named after a well-known clothing line, and the digital imprint of this magazine is expected to have a large international reach.”

“What’s the name of the magazine, Ryan?”

“Haute Couture.”

Fuck.

The world is just as small as it is large. Especially when it comes to me and Lauren.

When Ryan told me the magazine exclusive would be with Haute Couture, I damn near blew up.

I mean, why?

Why couldn’t it be with another lame-ass nobody publication so I wouldn’t feel bad turning it down?

But it’s Lauren’s magazine.

And now I’m stuck, between saying no to rehashing the stupid fucked-up-shit Dixie Lane put me through, or saying yes to help ensure the successful launch of a magazine run by the woman I’m falling in love with.

Yep. I just went there.

Ryan tried to sugarcoat it with fortune and fame, yet I am so over that shit. However, I told him I would think about it. Give him an answer in a few days.

An hour later, I head to HC to pick up Lauren. I haven’t decided how to bring up the topic, and I wonder how much she even knows? I trust if she knew about it she would have told me.

I park, and wait for her by the elevator, eager to see her and hold her.

The elevator doors slide open and out she hops, into my arms.

Where she belongs.

Of course I kiss her tender lips, then ask, “Are you hungry?” I hold her hand as we walk to my car.

“Yes, I am. But can we just cook at the villa?”

“More omelets?” I deliver a cocky grin.

“Yup.”

About a half block before we reach my villa, I pull over and stop the car.

Lauren looks at me, her furrowed brows show her curiosity. “Why are you stopping here?”

I grab her hand and kiss it. “Baby, I want you to try to drive. I offered to be with you the next time you’re behind the wheel of the car.” I lift my chin toward the distance ahead. “The villa is just ahead. Drive Lauren, baby. I’ll be right in the seat next to you.”

Tears pool in her eyes. “Okay.” She fans her eyes. “Okay.”

“Alright, on the count of three, we hop out and switch places.”

She nods, placing her hand on the car door handle, ready to open it.

“One, two, three!”

We both hop out, run around the car, stopping to kiss once, before she ends up on the driver side, and I end up on the passenger side.

I explain how to adjust the mirrors, and the seat since the Porsche is kind of intricate. And after she makes the adjustments, we both buckle our seatbelts as she places her left hand on the steering wheel and the right hand on the gearshift.

I reach over, rub her shoulder and neck. “Breathe, Lauren. Just Breathe.”

Taking a deep breath, she shifts the gear into drive, eases off of the break and onto the gas, gripping the steering wheel so tightly, her knuckles turn pale.

She takes off, slowly, slowly. Then a little faster, confidence building, building. Now, she’s driving about fifteen miles per hour, breathing in and out until we reach the villa’s driveway, turning in, and up the driveway before easing to a stop.

Shifting the car into Park, she turns and looks at me and says, “Jaxson Malone, you’re my freaking hero.”