Page 67 of Take 2
“Probably.” I accept my dick mug. “We might need a new rule. No dating actors.”
“I am deeply offended.”
“I’m not saying no one should date actors. I’m saying you and I should not date actors. There are plenty of hot non-actors around here who would love to get in your pants.”
“Okay, fair. Back to the dark shadow you cast on this, the most glorious of days for my people.”
I stare him down past the dick mug. “I am a fucking delight for Pride.”
“My acting people, not my gay people.”
I arch an eyebrow.
“There’s an overlap, I know. Anyway, I can live with you not getting laid tonight.”
“Your strength never fails to amaze me.”
“But can we reintroduce champagne?”
I sigh. “I guess so. You and Lisa will be bubbly anyway, so I suppose it’s time.”
“The Oscars can’t be about your ex-husband for the rest of your life.”
“This party will be a big step for me. The last time I attended an Oscars party, I got engaged at it.”
“I wish I had known you earlier to correct all this terrible timing. You’ve been alive for twenty-five Academy Awards. How many was he with you for?”
“Five. But I don’t remember all the other twenty.”
“Doesn’t matter. The point is, five years can’t ruin the whole institution for you. Especially since you’re totally going to attend it many times.”
“I agree; hence, going to a party and champagne can come back.” Caffeine works its way through me, and I sigh. “At least I’m having sex again, even if not today. Baby steps.”
“You’re having sex again because I am an amazing wingman.”
“Perhaps. Your timing could improve, though.” Because, seriously, I did not need to break my dry streak at Morgan’s wedding. I blame Florida. Florida makes people do stupid things. As made evident by literally any headline including the word “Florida.”
“Carpe diem, Mira. The door was open.”
“So you shoved me through it.”
“You’re welcome.”
Not like it was bad—awkward after so much time. But it was kind of something I had to just do to get it over with.
“The party starts at two.” I lean over the counter to set the mug in the sink.
“And we’re leaving at one-fifteen. I remember.”
I’ve repeated the lie multiple times a day for the last three weeks, so he should.
We leave at two, as I predicted.
“We’re actually on time, right?” James asks from my passenger seat. “I assume you were lying to me about the schedule.”
“We arebarelyon time. I’m going to have to shift my lies to being even earlier.”
He pats my hand where I’ve got a death grip on the steering wheel. “You find it endearing.”
