Page 12 of Kiss Me Tonight

My heart gathers in my throat.

(Or maybe that’s the beer-induced vomit already threatening to make an appearance.)

And then he goesinside.

I let the curtain fall, obscuring my view of the street. Twist around. Let my body slip against the glass window until my ass is on the floor, my forehead is parked on my bent knees, and I’m forced to admit out loud:

“Guinness is the devil.”

And I’m never drinking it again.

3

Dominic

“Assistant coach.”

It’s all I can do not to spit out the words as I sit opposite London High’s athletic director.

Adam Brien and I go way back—we both played on the offensive line at Louisiana State University. During the off-season, we partied together until the sun crested the horizon. I suited up and attended his first wedding in Rhode Island—I was out of the country for his second—and I regularly send gifts for every one of his kids’ birthdays.

Normally, hanging out with him would be cause for celebration. Pop open a beer can. Kick my feet up on the desk. Ruminate about all the good times we shared when we were fifteen years younger.

This situation is anything but normal.

I stare down at the contract, my fingers splayed over the London High School crest printed at the top of the page. Drag my gaze up, up, up until I’m looking my old buddy in the eye and feeling my mouth twist in a sneer. “You’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”

Brien drums his fingers on the desk, his expression, for once, giving nothing away. “You can’t be droppin’ F-bombs like that around the kids.”

Without missing a beat, I point to his signature scrawled at the bottom of the first page. “If they saw this shit, they’d be dropping F-bombs too.” Hands flat on the desk, I lean in.Keep your calm. Don’t lose your shit.Swallowing down all the four-letter words that are wanting to join the party, I grit out, “A month ago, you promised me the head coach position. I just fuc—”

And, repeat: no F-bombs.

Clearing my throat, I try again. “I just movedacross the country, bought a house that looks like the backdrop to a 70s porno, with floral wallpaper and shag carpet everywhere, all so I could do you a solid.”

That makes Brien laugh. Uproariously. “Domea solid? DaSilva, you werefired. You, man, not me.”

If I were the sort of guy who blushed, my cheeks would be flaring red right about now.

And, yeah, there’s no denying it. Iwasfired, though that particular call had nothing to do with me and everything to do with inner-company politics. Hollywood is a firepit of snakes, and I was more than willing to play the game, so long as the checks kept coming in too.

Go on that new dating show, my former boss at Sports 24/7 told me.

Network ratings are down and a publicity stunt, like you falling in love on national TV, could do us all a favor, he said.Put A Ring On It? Hell, all you need to do is stick around for a few weeks before getting yourself booted off.

So, I went.

And I stayed longer than just a few weeks.

Because I’m all about taking one for the team and doing the dirty work. Blame it on foster-care syndrome, if you want, or we can just call a spade a spade: Hollywood is a cesspit of the mundane, a real-life version ofGroundhog Daywhere the same shit happens day after day. I was more than willing to go on an adventure and get paid while doing it.

Maybe that makes me an asshole.

I’m more inclined to think it makes me an opportunist.

An opportunist with a heart.

Lips clamping shut, I rake my fingers through my hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. “Brien, you called as soon as news broke of the network letting me go.” They’d fired me for the same reason they’d asked me to go onPut A Ring On It: network ratings. Only, Sports 24/7 hadn’t appreciated their cover being blown post-production. Within months, I went from being the alleged forerunner on the show to the man who went on for all the wrong reasons. Once the episodes began airing a month ago, Sports 24/7 cut their losses. In other words, I got kicked to the curb. “You said you had a gig all lined up for me here,” I add, keeping my temper in check. “Teach P.E. Coach ball. I bought a house—”

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