“I have to admit, now that I can truly appreciate it, it’s kind of . . . hmmm,” I ventured.

“Kind of . . .”

“Sexy?”

“Sexy. Really?” His thumbs traced a tiny pattern along the skin just above my drawstring. Which he was now tugging on.

“Yes, yes, it’s true. Even with my butchering your hair, you’re still the sexiest man in America.” I sighed again, this time in a different way, as his thumbs fumbled apart the buttons on my shirt.

“Only America?” He laughed, his newly cropped fuzzy head tickling at the skin below my jaw as he nuzzled into my neck.

“You’re pushing it, George,” I warned, my stern voice giving way to giggles that broke free as he pushed me up against the bathroom door.

“Only America?” he insisted, raising my hands and holding them over my head.

“Okay, the Americas. North and South combined.” I bumped my hips into his as he pressed into me.

“Speaking of south,” he breathed into my ear, one hand slipping slowly beneath my . . .

Ding dong.

“Who the hell is that?” he muttered, keeping me pushed against the door, hand continuing its path toward my . . .

Ding dong. Ding dong.

“It might be Michael. He said he might stop by tonight.” I slid out from in between Jack’s body and the door and looked at myself in the mirror. Rumpled, flushed, happy.

“Bloody Michael,” he grumbled, grabbing for me as I made for the door.

“Bloody nothing. You two are friends now. Behave yourself.” I laughed, dancing away from his grab as I headed out into the hallway and toward the front door.

“Finishing this later!” he called after me, and my heart skipped a little.

“I’ll hold you to that,” I called back, thinking of all the ways he could and would finish this. And how I would most certainly let him. Since Jack and I had started seeing each other last year, the chemistry between us had been and remained off the charts. He’d finish it. He’d finish me right off a cliff.

I laughed as I heard him groan, knowing he was adjusting himself not so discreetly now. I straightened myself up a bit, then opened the door to see my friend Michael smiling back at me.

“Sure took you long enough,” he chided.

“I was detained.” I gestured for him to come in as he looked at my feet and laughed.

“You look like the missing link. Something you want to tell me?” He pointed down.

I looked and noticed I had clumps of Jack’s hair between my polished toes.

“Ah, well, haircut gone bad,” I explained, waving him inside as I went to the kitchen to get a broom. I had left a trail.

“Haircut gone great, you mean,” Jack corrected, coming into the kitchen and running his hand over his head.

“Wow, what happened to you?” Michael chuckled, brown eyes full of mischief.

Michael and I had gone to college with Holly and had been friends for years. Well, we had been friends, until a one-night stand clouded everything that had been good and made it ugly. We didn’t speak for years, and then through a series of coincidences, he ended up casting me in his new musical a few months ago. This time another near miss of a one-night stand had almost ruined everything, but we came to our senses and remained great friends.

And more. While the musical we had worked on together in New York didn’t go anywhere, there was enough interest in the project to keep it alive in a new way. Right after the holidays we found out that there was a production company interested in developing it into a TV show. In the vein of HBO and Showtime, Venue was the new cable channel everyone was watching. Edgy comedies, dark dramas—their TV lineup was making a lot of waves. We brought a few of the original cast in from New York, shot a quick pilot, and Venue bought it. And they were putting Michael’s new show right in the middle of their fall lineup.

Michael’s original concept was a traditional musical, with a modern twist. Staged workshop style, we had worked with a live band. Now the story of Mabel, an aging beauty queen going through a divorce and redefining her life on her own terms, was set against the backdrop of Los Angeles—a perfect town for reflecting back the warped way our culture views women and aging. The show was now a cross between Glee, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and Sex and the City. It was witty, it was sexy, and I was the star. Wait, I was the star?

Yes, Grace, you are the star.

I shook my head to clear it, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You got water in your ear, love?” Jack asked me, watching me shake my head.

“Shut it, you,” I warned as he gave my behind a pat on his way to the fridge. I settled on a bar stool and watched two of my favorite people in the world circle each other. It was true: they were friends now but tentatively. Jack knew Michael and I had almost, well, almost while I was in New York. And while Michael and I were friends and only friends, I knew it was tough for Jack. But true to form, he was more of a grown-up than I was, even nine years my junior. And they were now easing into this weird guy friendship.

“No seriously, man, what’s with the skin?” Michael asked again, catching the beer Jack threw at him. Without asking. Again, weird guy thing.

“Movie. I start shooting next week. Couldn’t put it off any longer,” Jack explained, taking a long pull on his beer.

“That’s right, the new Daniel Richards picture. Afghanistan? There’s some great buzz about that already. A writer friend of mine consulted on it. Looks like it’s gonna be intense. You’re shooting out in the Mojave, right?”

“Yeah, we’re doing some here, then out to the desert. Should be a good time.” Jack smiled, tipping back his bottle and draining it. Grabbing another from the fridge, he sat down on the bar stool across from me, still rubbing his head absently.

“What’s a good time?” I heard a new voice from the hall chime in, with heels clicking on the floor. My other favorite person in the world.

Holly came into the kitchen, appraised the crew assembled, and sighed dramatically. She nodded to me. “Asshead,”

“Dillweed.” I nodded back, pointing to the bottle of vodka I had removed from the freezer and raising an eyebrow in her direction.

“Yes. God, yes. You would not believe the day I had. I hate this town! Remind me never to work with anyone who used to be on the CW ever again,” she cried.

I busied myself making dirty martinis. Holly pulled herself onto the counter, kicked off her heels, and put her feet in Michael’s lap, pointing at them.

“Rub. And you, Buzzy, get behind me. Work on these shoulders,” she instructed, gesturing Jack over. With a grin he obliged, and Michael’s surprised face gave over to sheepish as he began working on Holly’s heels. Stacked like a porn star, Holly’s natural good looks tended to make all men a little gooey around her, present company included. I handed her the cocktail, grimacing as she sucked it back quickly, presenting me with an empty glass.

“Seriously, fruitcake, it was a dilly of a day. I’m gonna need a double. And harder, please, Michael.” She moaned as he hit a spot in the middle of her instep. I laughed as she began to tell us about her day, and I made her another cocktail. I caught Jack’s eye over Holly’s shoulder, and he winked at me.

Life was good.

* * *

An impromptu dinner party ensued, and after dinner was over, we all ended up on the cushiony chairs in the backyard. Winter in Los Angeles was chilly at nighttime, at least enough that the cashmere throws I brought out were necessary. Snuggled into a large love seat, Jack played with my hair as we laughed and chatted with our friends. Strings of white lights dotted the fig and plum trees out back, and the potted lemon trees that framed the patio threw off their fragrance into the night. I leaned into Jack’s warmth, his breath heady and thick with brandy as he and Holly went back and forth about his shooting schedule. He’d be leaving in a few weeks, but this was different from when we’d been apart in the past. This time I got to stay here, in my home that I’d worked so hard on and barely gotten to enjoy before heading off to New York. Now I was able to work where I lived, and I relished my surroundings.

I had created a space for myself exactly the way I wanted. Built into the hillsides of Los Angeles there were certainly bigger and grander homes, but my Laurel Canyon bungalow was exactly what I wanted. And having Jack move into it with me? Well, that made it all the more homey.

As Holly and Jack got louder and louder, trying to hammer down some interview she had planned for him, I leaned across to Michael.

“You still looking to rent a new place?”

“Yep, the corporate housing has been fine, but now that I’m setting down some roots I think I want something a bit more distinct. This agent I have, though, is showing me all these rentals on Wilshire—in the corridor, all those high-rises. They’re great, but I just left New York. I’d like something a little closer to the ground.”

“I can see that. Roots, hmm . . . Do you want to buy? Great time to buy,” I prodded.

“Not quite that rooty. I still want to rent. I want rental roots,” he answered, causing Holly to stop midstream in her conversation with Jack.

“I’ve got a great rental agent. I’ll have her send over some listings. You want a house? Pool? Standard L.A. bachelor pad?”

“House, yes. Pool, perhaps. Bachelor pad, no. No neon.” He grinned.

“I can totally find you that. I’ll go with you to look at houses next week if you want,” she offered, sipping at her brandy.