Page 95 of My Not So Wicked Boss (My Not So Wicked 3)

I whipped my head toward Shelby. “Thank you, Shelby.” The sarcasm ran deep, making everyone laugh.

“Don’t worry about Jenna and Brad,” Emma commented. “It can’t be any worse than the time they pulled me on stage for that made-up sketch to see how Sawyer would react if another guy kissed me.”

Sawyer cleared his throat. “Let’s not talk about that.” Obviously, it bothered him still. I knew it had that night too, by the sour look on his face. I thought he was going to storm the stage and punch the guy. Yet Emma still hadn’t believed that Sawyer had feelings for her.

I wasn’t sure I agreed with Emma’s assessment that it couldn’t be worse than that, but I didn’t get to voice my opinion. It was time for the show to begin.

The house lights lowered while the spotlight for the stage illuminated some of my sneaky best friends.

Miles paid no attention to Brad and Jenna. He pulled me close to him. “Did I embarrass you? That was not my intent.”

I placed my hand on his clean-shaven cheek, touched by his concern for my feelings. “I know that. However, I would like to explore those talents of yours later.”

Miles ran a finger down my cheek. “You are making it very difficult for me to stay.”

I reached up and took his hand. “I already know it will be worth the wait.”

“Aspen,” he said low, “we aren’t waiting anymore.”

I settled against him, safe in his arms. I knew he wasn’t talking about leaving the comedy club early or even about sex. He was referring to living our lives unafraid of making past mistakes. We both knew we’d make mistakes just as much as we knew what we had between us was no mistake.

“All right, all right, all right,” Brad spoke loudly into his mic. The crowd got quiet and we focused our collective attention on the stage. “Who’s ready to get this party started?”

The crowd roared.

Brad flashed a wicked grin at his wife. “Baby, listen to that crowd,” he said more than pleased. “Why don’t you tell them what we have in store for them tonight.”

She swiped the mic from him and nudged him with her hip. “Love to, handsome.”

Jenna glowed in the spotlight. I always admired her curves and confidence. She was showing them off nicely in a denim jumpsuit that only she could pull off.

“Sooo,” she began, “our headliner is running late. I guess now that he’s starred in two movies, he’s feeling a bit full of himself, or . . . maybe his flight was diverted because of bad weather.”

There was a collective groan in the audience.

“No worries though,” Jenna threw me an evil look, “we have an even bigger celebrity in our audience tonight who has graciously volunteered to entertain us while we wait.”

Everyone in the crowd started looking around for the supposed celebrity while I gripped Miles’s leg. I couldn’t believe my friends. Well, I could, but come on, this was our first night out as a couple. My friends should be breaking him in slowly, not shoving him into the fire. Miles, on the other hand, was both pensive, shifting in his seat, while also looking a bit smug being billed as bigger than the comedian/movie star we had all come to see.

The spotlight was directed right at us, blinding us. Brad and Jenna both pointed at Miles.

“Ladies and gents,” Jenna’s voice hitched up a notch, “we give you the one and only New York Times number-one bestselling author and the master of thrillers himself, Taron Taylor.”

The guy behind us shouted, “Dude, no way! His books are so trippy.”

“Stand up,” Jenna instructed Miles.

Miles rubbed his legs before reluctantly standing and giving a wave.

Several females around us ogled him and commented about loving his dance routines on Instagram. A few even squealed like high school girls. Lots of pictures were being taken. Flashes filled the room.

Miles went to sit back down, but Jenna and Brad weren’t done with him or me.

“No, no, no,” Jenna stopped Miles. “Don’t be shy, grab your gorgeous girlfriend and come on up here.”

Several women in the audience sighed in disappointment to find out he was taken. That’s right, ladies, he was all mine.

Miles turned and offered me his hand. “Stage or the exit?” He left it up to me.

“Get on up here, Aspen,” Brad cheered me on.

All our friends began encouraging us, more like taunting us, to get up there.

My teenage self would have gone up in a second, but the mother in me was voting for the exit. My inner voice, however, reminded me that moms could have fun too. Fine. I took Miles’s hand.

He helped me to my feet, and we wended our way down the row and up to the stage. The spotlight and the crowd followed our every move. By the time we reached the stage, my cheeks were burning.

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