Page 1 of Puck Yes

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A PINOT GRANDE

Ivy

Things I didn’t have on my bucket list till right now—watching a hot guy strip naked on a rooftop while watering his eggplant.

It must be my lucky night, though, because my bestie just nudged me and handed over his birdwatching binoculars, whispering: “Free dick.”

Jackson and I are across the street from the show, hanging out on the rooftop patio of our new favorite neighborhood bar, The Great Dane. Usually when I’m here, I enjoy a glass of white and a view of San Francisco. Tonight? I’m enjoying an eyeful of peen with my pinot gris.

Oh, excuse me. Let me revise that drink. “Did I actually order aPinot Grandetonight?”

“Full-bodied, no less,” Jackson says as I peer at the sight unfolding on the top of thebuilding at the end of the block, where Jackson and I share an apartment. And where, on the penthouse roof, the gardening stud of my dreams has whisked off his gym shorts.

Hello, new neighbor.

The side view leaves little to the imagination. The strapping man is dressed in nothing but big-ass headphones, sunglasses, and slides, and he’s sporting a very nice hose to go with his hose. “Gotta love his commitment to gardening,” I say approvingly, getting a kick out of the show.

Then, the naked gardener turns our way, and all the air escapes my lungs.

He’s going full-frontal fiesta in the sunset, strumming an epic chord using the green hose as his guitar. “This is not a drill.Thisis a sign that tomorrow I’m getting that promotion,” I whisper. Since I’m nothing if not a good friend, I thrust the binoculars back at Jackson. “Don’t ever say I don’t love you.”

“You love me madly.” Jackson jams them against his eyes while whistling a happy tune. After a few seconds, he lowers the binoculars with a satisfied sigh. “Show’s over. He went inside. Aubrey is so going to curse her bladder for having missed this,” he says, nodding at the hallway leading to the restroom.

“She is.” I lean against the stone railing, gazing at the pink and lavender sky. “Also, I apologize for ever mocking you for carrying pocket binoculars.”

Jackson gives a stately nod, conferring his royal pardon. “You’re forgiven. It’s your night.” He sips his mocktail. “I can practically taste the promotion you’re getting in the morning. That gardening striptease was like yourpre-wardfor it.”

No one celebrates things that haven’t yet happened better than Jackson, and I’m all in with this pre-ward evening out. After three shitty post-break-up months—cheating exes who insult you can suck it—and late nights busting my ass for Simone, my fashion influencer boss, I have a good feeling about tomorrow morning’s meeting. I’ve been angling for my own channel under her online fashion umbrella, and she’s been dropping hints that she has something big to share with me tomorrow.

My fingers are crossed.

I’m lifting my glass when the quick click of heels on the concrete heralds Aubrey’s return. She charges at us, waggling her phone, nostrils flared, auburn hair flying.

“Your ex,” she hisses when she reaches us.

Prickles of worry slide down my spine. What the hell could that philanderer have done while Aubrey was in the little girls’ room?

“What about Xander?” I ask, not quite alarmed but definitely concerned.

Aubrey shoves the phone at me, her face a cocktail of anger and empathy. It’s open to a pic on her social feed. Grabbing the phone, I squint at the picture, hold it close, hold it far, and then show it to Jackson for a second opinion on everything wrong with this picture. My heart pounds and races, and my blood goes from a simmer to a boil.

He recoils. “Why is your boss blowing your ex?”

“That’s a very good question.” I’m shaking with…is this shock? Rage? Betrayal? Actually, it’sallof the above.

“Well, at least it’s a mock BJ,” Aubrey points out. The photo is clearly staged. My ex—also a fashion influencer, The (self-proclaimed) Dapper Man—is decked out in a pastel blue ruffled suit and posing against a redwood tree as he gets his knob polished. The woman in the punk rock bridal dress, kneeling on the mossy floor, is the same one I’m meeting for breakfast tomorrow morning.

The same one who consoled me and took me out for mojitos the night Xander broke it off. He’d told me he’d fallen for someone who was more popular online, thusbetter future-wife material.

I guess better future wives suck dick in the forest.

Fine, Xander’s dick isn’t technically in Simone’s mouth in this shot. You can’t even see his schlong, since he’s wearing pastel blue briefs with that pastel tux jacket. But—and I can’t believe I have to say this, even in my head—faux fellatio is hardly better than real fellatio.

I grip the phone until my thumb cramps, reading the caption.Xander Arlo and Simone Vega have been blown away with a whirlwind courtship and will be tying the knot in two months. Hold the date—our wedding is going to be a blowout bash.

I nearly blow a fuse. “My ex cheated on me with…” I stop, take a deep breath, then hiss, “my boss, and he’s marrying her.”

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