Page 139 of The Tryst

A few weeks and a signed deal later, I head to Gin Joint, feeling a little like a rock star.

Geeta’s already found a live-in aide for her dad, so she feels like a rock star too. Storm sent me a “Welcome to Mia Jane” bouquet of daisies earlier this week, with a note saying,I’m guessing they’re your fave because of that gorgeous ink! Can’t wait to work with you.

I can’t wait to work with him too. He nabbed a promotion, and he’s now a director on the corporate side instead of a store manager.

But tonight is for friends.

I find my crew draped over velvet couches, looking frothy and fabulous. Or maybe everything feels that way tonight.

“My pets!” I call out, then I join Harlow, Ethan, and Camden. “Where’s Jules?”

“In the ladies,” Camden answers.

I hear the click of stilettos over the sound of the piano. “I take it mojitos are on you tonight?” Jules asks from behind me.

I turn to answer Jules, only, she’s…blonde.

“Your hair,” I say stupidly, pointing.

She smiles like a cat. “Oh this? It’s a wig,” she says, then waggles a brow as she sits next to me. “I think I’m into wigs now.”

“Is this more of After-Dark Jules?” I ask, dying for details.

Camden jumps in with, “Take her to a club and you’ll see what After-Dark Jules is like.”

“I’ve been to dance clubs with you,” I tell Jules, and I’m holy hell intrigued. The more I get to know her, the more layers I find.

Ethan stretches across the table and taps my knee. “I don’t think she means dance clubs,” he stage-whispers.

Jules just smiles and says, “Oh, hush.”

I stare at my now-blonde friend, agape. “Mojitos are on me, but stories are on you, evidently. I want to hear more about your clubs.”

She bobs a shoulder. “I’m not sure there’s much to tell.” She takes a beat, then adds, “Yet.”

I laugh, surveying the faces of my friends, my found family. They’re bright and sparkly, eyes twinkling, mouths lifting. I say to the group, “I feel like thatyetis doing a lot of work in that sentence.”

“It sure is,” Harlow says.

Jules just gives another secretive smile.

Soon I suspect she’ll share more of thatyet. I’ll be ready when she does. For now, we order drinks, and then toast.

“To Layla Mayweather,” Ethan offers, holding up his cocktail. “AKA Lola Jones.”

“May she continue to be fire,” Harlow seconds, lifting her iced tea.

I chime in with, “And to new friends and old.”

“And dirty little secrets,” Camden adds, staring pointedly at Jules.

Who turns to me. “And to winning the heart of an Adams man,” she says.

I clink, but that comment—an Adams man—plays a couple of times in my head.

But I put it out of my mind when I go to a gorgeous building in Gramercy Park to see my Adams man. Who’s in bed. Listening to a podcast.

I strip out of my clothes and join him. He’s wearing boxer briefs and a T-shirt, but that’ll change soon if I have my way.

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