Jocelyn

“Got any plans tonight?” Lindsay opens the door to her apartment with a bottle of wine in hand. “Because this is for you.”

She pushes it into my arms before relieving me of my suitcase and pulling it inside behind me.

“That bad, huh?” I ask, taking a look around her apartment. I’ve been here a few times, not so much for socializing, but for late night conferences or tough decisions made easier over a glass of wine.

Her place is cute and adorable—all things my expensive, somewhat cold condo will never be. She’s got throw pillows the color of Skittles decorating her couch and warm glowing lights lining her living area. It’s the grown up version of a college dorm room, and one can’t help but feel warm and welcomed inside.

“I’ll drive you home,” Lindsay says. She leaves the suitcase and my carry-on in the middle of the entryway and stalks toward the kitchen. The ankle-length skirt she’s wearing swishes around her bare feet, and she’s got somewhat of a flower-child vibe going on. “In exchange, you can pay me in news. Tell me about your weekend.”

“Why did you call me over here?” I slide off my heels and plod, also barefoot, into the kitchen. “Sounds urgent.”

“Tell me about your weekend, first. Because there’s a chance I’m dumb and confused.”

“Nope.” We slide onto bar stools, and I clink my glass against hers. “You’re definitely not dumb.”

“Confused, then.”

“Probably not that either, but I am,” I admit. “I can’t figure out what happened between my taking off and my landing that has everyone in an uproar.”

“Everyone?” She raises her eyebrows.

I shrug. “Okay, you are everyone.”

She lets out a laugh, shaking her head as she takes a healthy sip of wine. “Just one glass for me, then I’m driving. What happened? I’m not asking again, so ‘fess up.”

“It was...” I feel a rush of excitement returning as the memories flood back. The hot kiss in his dressing room, the feel of his body against mine, soft sheets shrouding us, the bursts of laughter that made even the most tender, sensual moments something filled with happiness. “Amazing.”

“So, you slept with him?”

I hold up a few fingers to demonstrate exactly how many times.

Her jaw falls open. “Damn, woman! You were only in town, what—twenty-four hours? You’ve been busy.”

“But he’s so...” I pause, debating which word to use first. He’s so many things, and I can’t possibly pick between generous, kind, sexy, romantic. “He’s incredible. God, I sound like a teenager over here.”

“You’re in love! Did you tell each other?!”

I grin, wait for a suspended second, and then nod.

“Ohmigod.”

“I know! I didn’t plan on it. I most certainly didn’t prepare anything, and I never dreamed it would happen—especially not this weekend, so soon. But everything just felt right. I wasn’t an idiot, was I?”

“No, you’re not.”

I frown. “That doesn’t sound nearly as convincing as I hoped it would. What did I do wrong? Is there some dating taboo I’m not aware of that I broke? He said it first, so I figured it wasn’t too soon.”

“I’m just confused at one piece of the equation,” Lindsay says, eyebrows furrowing. Her glass of wine is forgotten on the counter as she leans in nearer to me. “If you both are madly in love, then why the hell did Boxer sign a contract with Andy Rumpert?”

I blink. “He didn’t.”

She sits back, fingernails tapping against the counter. “Then color me confused.”

“Who did you hear this from?”

“Andy.”

“What?!”

“He called my cell—my cell phone, and I don’t even know how he has that number—to congratulate you. Through me. It was bizarre.”

“Congratulate me on what?”

She clears her throat. “Your relationship.”

“Why would he do that without telling me, without saying anything?”

“You had no clue about this whole thing?”

My face colors, and it doesn’t escape Lindsay.

“What am I missing?” she says. “Tell me what you left out.”

“Andy showed up in New York,” I tell her. “Out of the blue. From what I can tell, Boxer was completely surprised too. At least, it seemed like it—I’m not so sure anymore. We never talked about it.”

“Where? Why?”

The details here are all hot and fuzzy, and a flush of warmth to my stomach has me blushing again as I recall the details. “Rumpert visited the shoot Saturday afternoon and surprised us both.”

Lindsay’s barely holding back a smile. “And?”

I roll my eyes and lower my voice, as if someone’s listening. “We were making out in Boxer’s dressing room, and things were getting all steamy when Rumpert knocked on the door and interrupted everything.”

Lindsay leans forward, her face in her arms, clearly stifling laughter. “I’m trying not to be insensitive.”

I groan, the images coming back to me in droves. Boxer pressed against me, his hand on the mirror, holding me in his arms as we spiraled into an abyss of desire. “The fingerprints.”

“Fingerprints?”

I explain a few more of the details and Lindsay eats it right up, wearing a look of surprise and an odd smile on her face.

“I didn’t give you enough credit, boss,” she says. “That sounds like a fantastic make out session.”

“It was,” I tell her. Even at a time like this, I can’t deny it, nor can I wipe the satisfied smirk off my face. Until I remember the evidence. “But I’ll bet you anything Rumpert connected the dots. It’s not like Boxer was wearing a ton of clothes, and I was probably all flustered, and with everything else...”

“What does it matter if he put everything together or not?” Lindsay shrugs. “It’s your business who you make out with and where.”

I give her a look. “It’s Andy.”

“Right.”

“Where there’s a will, he’ll find a way to ruin things.”

“Boxer didn’t say anything about meeting with him?”

“No, he...” I pause, flicking through memories of this morning when he’d begun to say something about meeting someone, and I’d filled in Charli. “He didn’t volunteer anything.”

“Maybe he was trying to keep you out of it?”

“Maybe,” I say. “Any thoughts on where Rumpert is now?”

She shrugs. “I’ve got his number, since he just phoned.”

“What do you say about calling him back?”

She clicks dial. “Should I talk, or do you want to?”

I push the wine glass away. “I’ll handle this one.”