to wait until Tuesday to film the I-Can’t-Remember-the-Boyfriend-Name Challenge video, but we’re on a roll. Maybe we should do it now.”
The glance she sends me tells me she’s pleasantly surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Even though it will open you up to public attention?”
The kind Amanda Lund has been dealing with is all negative and all dependent on what the press has said about her, almost all of which has been negative, too. But Masey controls her message. We’re not broadcasting via every major news and cable network. This will roll out to one platform with a smaller audience. Thankfully, it’s not the same.
“I’m not worried.”
“Great. When you’re done eating, I’ll film you picking out my makeup.” She bites her lip. “I was hoping you’d agree to do it now, rather than waiting, so I was already sorting everything.”
“You’re, um…going to give me pointers, right?”
She grins. “No.”
“C’mon. Hints, at least.”
Her grin widens. “No.”
I take a panoramic sweep of all the products around the room. “I have no idea what I would need to do your makeup.”
“Oh, I’m dividing all the product types up so that you’ll get one of everything you need. But once you’ve chosen those, I’m not saying a word. I hope you were paying attention earlier when I walked through my makeup. Remember what I said about the usual order of things? Today wasn’t it.”
I freeze. I must have some sort of surprised Pikachu face going on because Masey laughs. “Um…”
“This ought to be fun.” She sounds gleeful.
Damn. I’m going to fuck this up.
After we finish our pizza, Masey lifts her glass to me and toasts, “Here’s to adventure.”
“You could call it that,” I grumble.
She laughs again as she cleans up the box, dirty napkins, and plates. While she’s gone, I stare at all the crap around me and try to recall what she said as she filmed her last video. But it’s pretty fuzzy.
I’m doomed.
A few minutes later, she returns fresh-faced. All hint of her previous makeup is gone. She’s changed her shirt, and as she strolls back in, she’s gliding on some lip balm. She tosses a black shirt at me. “Put this on.”
It’s a tank top. There’s no writing and no graphic design. I can’t even remember the last time I wore it.
“Why this? It’s kind of boring.”
“There’s nothing on it that will violate anyone’s copyright.” She shrugs, then smiles my way. “Besides, you’ll look hot.”
She’s buttering me up, but I’m okay with it, so I jerk the tank on over my head, smooth my hair, then shrug. “All right. Let’s do this.”
“One second…” She’s writing on scraps of paper she’s cut up from my printer and labeling each of the little white plastic baskets she pulled out of some box or another. A minute later, she nods at her handiwork. “Can you read my writing?”
“Primer, foundation, concealer, powder…” I don’t really know what all of this does, but… “Yeah.”
“Fantastic!” She claps like an excited child.
I catch her by the shoulders. “Does this make you happy, honey? I want you to get your hashtag.”
Masey nods. “I know it shouldn’t be important, but it is.”
“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.” I kiss her forehead. “It always will be.”
Girlish excitement softens her face. “I don’t know how Caitlyn and Voldemort and all those women never saw the real, wonderful you, but I see.”
With my surprise pinging and my heart melting, she kisses me.
There’s no way I can hold back.
I grip Masey, bring her in tight, crush her against me, and slide into her mouth like I could stay here forever. I get lost in her sugary taste and her tropical scent. I swear the longer she’s in Maui, the more she smells like coconut and the beach. Like home. And the more I want to be with her, stay with her. Keep her.
I’m trying, man. Really trying. We can’t fuck this up.
Her kiss is everything I could want—sweet, open, accepting, passionate, tender…
God, is this what actual love feels like? If so, then I’ve never felt it.
Of course you didn’t love someone nicknamed Voldemort. That would be crazy.
My inner asshole is right…but at the time, I thought I would never feel as wild about a woman as I did about her.
Now I know I was an idiot. I’m much happier with Masey.
Until she plants her palms against my chest and gives me a gentle nudge. “Trace?”
She wants to stop kissing. I don’t. That’s a horrible idea. Worst ever. I think she should forget whatever exercise she has planned