Page 109 of Plays Well With Others

“Thank you so much,” she adds. “I know I just said Date Night made this happen, but really, you made it happen, Carter.”

“It was nothing,” I say, deflecting.

“It’s everything,” she says, like she wants me to truly hear her, to know she means it.

And I do.

I just wish everything also included her and me.

Instead, I take what I can get. These little chances to make her happy. Because after two more dates, I won’t be the one giving her girlfriend lessons.

* * *

The next night, I knock on Monroe’s door so we can head over to An Open Book on Fillmore. Along the way, he tells me more details about the podcast he’s launching and how the planning is going so far. He’s working with a married couple as his counterpoint. “They’re kind of disgustingly happy,” he says dryly.

“I guess that means you’re going to play the Eeyore?”

“If the shoe fits,” he says, then shudders. “Relationships. Am I right?”

I laugh as we near the bookstore. “The shrink who struggles with relationships,” I say, shaking my head in amusement.

“The best friend who struggles with very unfriendly feelings,” he says.

I flip him the bird. “Friends like you are such jackasses.”

“But I’m a necessary jackass,” he says.

“Yes, Monroe. Slap that on a name tag and wear it.”

“Gladly,” he says, chin up.

At An Open Book, I don’t have to help set up because the bookstore manager does that. But I am required to heckle my brother. When Axel finishes reading a passage from his newest romantic thriller, in which his former-lawyer-turned-avenging-bounty-hunter hero outsmarts the bad guys in Vienna, then saunters into a nightclub and asks the sexy owner to make it a double, I raise a hand.

From the podium, Axel clearly tries not to roll his eyes. Truly he does. But he’s terrible at veiling his sarcasm. “Yes, Carter?”

I smile, like a little dick. “Have you ever considered writing a hero who’s a football player turned bounty hunter? Might make him even more attractive and a little more believable, too, when he outruns all the bad guys.”

Axel smiles, the kind that saysI’ma necessary jackass. “Gee, I hadn’t,” he says.

Monroe clears his throat, then goes next. “Or he could be a brilliant doctor turned shrink who recovers stolen artwork, all while winning the hearts and minds of wonderful women around the world.”

Axel peers at the rest of the crowd here for the signing. “Does anyone else want to offer themselves up for a novel? Feel free.”

All arms go up in the air.

* * *

When Axel finishes signing books for a long line of customers—I’m so damn proud of him for living his dream—the three of us grab a drink at The Spotted Zebra several blocks away. At the bar, Axel lifts his scotch and toasts to Monroe and me. “To you two amateurs, for trying and failing to knock me off my game.”

Monroe clinks back with his tumbler of amber liquid. “To us continuing to try every single time.”

“We will never stop. We will never surrender,” I put in.

“I would expect nothing less,” Axel says, but then he sets down his glass, his expression serious for a rare moment. “Thanks again for coming. I really appreciate it.”

I slug his shoulder. “Thanks for writing books that don’t suck.”

He offers a smile. “I’m happy to entertain you.”

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