Slow dancing with Fizzy is the last moment of quiet we have for the next four hours, because what follows is the most luxurious and impeccably planned event I have ever attended. There is an opulent eight-course meal, surprisingly tender speeches, riotous dancing, cake cutting, and woven throughout are endless people wanting to see Fizzy, hug her, take photos with her. Fizzy has jokingly described herself as the family disappointment, but it always felt like there was a kernel of truth there, and tonight, the internalized disconnect astounds me. It is clear from watching her that everyone in this room adores her beyond measure, and even though it isn’t her wedding day, the attention she receives makes it seem that a soft beam of light follows her through the room.
Or maybe that’s just my gaze.
Truly, I cannot take my eyes off her. And when she approaches me later, holding an unopened bottle of champagne and gesturing with a tilt of her head that she wants to escape, my heart does an aching dive in my chest. I didn’t realize until the opportunity was before me how much I wanted to be alone with her again before the night ends.
“Do you have to head out or can you come up and watch tonight’s episode with me?”
I know the right answer is that I should head home. I know, too, that when it comes down to it with this woman, it’s always up to me to set boundaries, and my feelings for her are contained behind a very thin, very fragile wall. I should do a better job protecting my heart.
But with two glasses of wine in my blood and feeling drugged from her proximity on my arm all night, the wrong answer comes easily: “I don’t have anywhere I need to be. Stevie is with Nat.”
The crowd is still going strong in our wake, and the evening hush of the lobby wraps us in an echoing bubble. Fizzy reaches forward, pressing the call button for the lift, and we look up together, watching for the Up arrow to illuminate.
“Your family is amazing.”
She laughs. “The funny thing is I think you really mean that.”
“I do.”
“Well, if you’re looking for a wife, my auntie Cindy is here for you, in case the three hundred times she mentioned it wasn’t enough.”
Remembering, I pull from my pocket a cocktail napkin with a number I think is written in lip pencil and drop it into the bin. “I’m good.”
“Was that Ashley’s number?”
“It was.”
Fizzy beams at me as the lift arrives, and we step in. “You’re my favorite.”
“I’d better be.”
“Have you already seen tonight’s episode?” she asks.
I stare quizzically down at her. “I edited most of it.”
“Is it good?”
“Please.”
“I’m gonna need you to unbutton me,” she says, gesturing casually to her dress like she’s informed me she’ll need me to pluck a piece of lint away or pick up her dry cleaning.
My mouth goes dry. “I figured.”
“I’ll behave myself.”
“No, you won’t,” I say, laughing.
“I promise to try, how’s that sound?”
“Empty and foolish, but I appreciate the gesture.”
The doors open and, still smiling, she leads me down the hall to her room, swiping the card at the door. Silence swallows us up as she drops her clutch and key on the table, and I’m consumed with a flushing panic. I’m not an idiot; I know this is exactly how sex starts. I’ve had sex with her already, am half in love with her at this point, and we’re both high on party vibes and champagne. Coming up here was a bloody terrible idea.
Fizzy walks over, turning her back to me. “Get to work.”
Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you look at it—unbuttoning her gown goes infinitely faster than buttoning it did. But to my relief and true to her word, she does not immediately let it fall to the floor and face me in whatever complicated lacy underwear situation she’s hiding under there. She steps away with a hand holding it up at the front, smiling over her shoulder at me. “I’m gonna change in the bathroom; you get the episode pulled up.”
I find the remote, connect to the right app, and get it ready to play. With Fizzy still changing, I duck out onto the balcony to call Stevie. The cool sea air washes over my flushed skin, and I draw in a steadying breath before pulling my phone from my pocket.
When Nat answers, I can hear another breathless, adrenaline-fueled voice chattering in an excited stream in the background.
“Greetings from fangirl central,” Nat says.
“Again?” I ask, laughing. I wasn’t sure Stevie would still be awake but should have known better. The Wonderland concert DVD has been viewed no fewer than ten times in the week since Fizzy gave it to my kid.
“She’s watching with Insu and giving him a blow-by-blow of the concert with you and Fizzy. You’re a shoo-in for parent of the year, you jackass. How’s the wedding?”
“Gorgeous.”
“How’s Fizzy?”
Ahh, the real question. “Equally gorgeous,” I say on a pained exhale.
“I see.”
“We’re in her hotel room to watch the show. She’s changing.”
I can almost hear Nat’s brows lift through the line. “I seeeeee.”
I push away the image of Fizzy’s bare back before she turned to grab her pajamas from the drawer and duck into the loo.
“It’s fine,” I tell her. What I don’t tell Nat is that I slipped a couple of condoms into my wallet this morning. I’m not having sex with Fizzy. I’m not. But my lesson in being unprepared for this kind of thing turns eleven in January. You don’t have to tell me twice.
I move to the railing on the balcony. During the day, Fizzy’s room would have a stunning view of the ocean. I can see it now, but only as a dark mass of churning movement in the distance. The proximity is underscored by the loud tumble of waves as they crash. The unremitting turbulence mirrors what’s happening in my chest. “Anyway, I called to tell Stevie good night, but if she’s busy, I’ll just catch her in the morning.”
“You sure? I can grab her.”
“No, let her educate Insu. He must learn exactly what he’s in for.” I turn at the sound of Fizzy moving around in the room behind me. “I should go anyway. Make sure you watch tonight. Give me those ratings.”
“Don’t I always?”
I smile because, yeah, she does. “Tell the squirt I love her, and have a good night, Nat.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I step inside and come to a stop with one foot in, one foot out. Fizzy said she was changing into something comfy. I foolishly hoped that meant long-sleeved flannel pajamas, not tiny shorts and a soft cropped sweatshirt. There’s just… so much skin.
“What the fuck ’ave you got on?” I ask, accent turning coarse.
“They’re my jammies. You want me sleeping in a snowsuit?”
“Yes.”
She lifts her chin to indicate the balcony. “Everything okay?”
I get my head back on straight. “Yeah. Just telling Stevie good night.”
“I bet she misses not getting her Saturday with you.”
“Not really.” I set my phone on the dresser, undo my tie, and unbutton my collar, hearing how that sounded. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we have a blast together, but she’s not suffering alone. She’s watching Wonderland with Insu tonight.”
“A girl’s dream.”
“Right.” Tossing the tie to the chair, I admit, “We’ve all had to learn how to roll with it when my schedule gets nuts. I’m lucky that Nat is so flexible about all of it, especially lately.”
Fizzy grabs the bottle of champagne, twists it open with a pressurized pop, and climbs onto the bed, sitting cross-legged. “You two are the most well-adjusted divorced people I’ve ever met.” She takes a swig. “I have a friend who only talks to her ex through her lawyer.”
“It’s something we’ve had to grow into.” I glance around the room. Other than a bed and a dresser, there’s only the fancy and very uninviting chair in the corner. I’m really going to have to sit on the bed with her. Fuck.
Fizzy must sense my hesitation because she pats the mattress. “Get over here,” she says. “Let’s watch this.”
I sit down, leaving as much distance as possible between us—which is not much, considering that she’s set herself in the direct center. With a playful gleam in her eyes, she hands me the champagne. I feel like I’m being hunted. I take a long drink.
The bubbles warm my stomach as Fizzy presses Play and the show opens. The theme music is catchy, an awful earworm if I’m being honest, but that works in our favor. It’s been added to countless videos and memes on social media—as far as Brenna tells me, that is. Fizzy bounces in place a little when Lanelle enters. “I fucking love her.”
“She’s great.” God, I love this energy. Just the two of us, watching this thing we created together.
Lanelle gives a brief recap of where we are in the show progression, and we get quick cuts of the previous, now-eliminated contestants. There’s a smooth transition to Fizzy and the remaining Heroes meeting in the industrial kitchen. Lanelle explains what the week’s activities will be, and the view closes in on Fizzy choosing which Hero will join her for which date. She’s playful and sexy and oozes charisma.
“You really were made for television.”
“It’s so hard not to get caught up in critiquing myself,” she says.
“I can see that.” Before I can offer further reassurance, Colby appears, tying on his apron for the cooking activity. It was clear from the start that whatever chemistry he and Fizzy had during their first date didn’t translate to their second, but we do a great job of making their time together look less painful than it was in person.
We cut to an ad, and Fizzy takes the bottle from me, swigging. “What do you think the reaction would be if I’d just punched Colby in his mansplainy face?”
“As your producer, I would advise against it.”
“And as my friend?”
I take the bottle back and smile as I bring it to my lips. “I’d tell you to go at him again.”
She laughs, shifting so that she’s lying on her stomach with her feet at the head of the bed. I stare down at the view of her completely bare legs. I am well and truly fucked if I have to watch her go on dates with other men on television with the perky curve of her ass cheek right in front of me, peeking out the bottom of her tiny shorts.
Shifting, I lie beside her, mimicking her posture. “Bet Colby doesn’t survive the week.”
“Or Jude.” She lifts her chin when he comes on-screen, walking toward her in the park where they’ll plant trees. “I’m honestly impressed with how good you are at your job.”
“How so?”
“This date,” she says, nodding to the television. “It looks so intimate, like we’re in this gorgeous park, completely alone. You’ve captured my expressions in a way that makes it seem like I’m swooning over him. And Jude—look at him. What is that filter? I need it in front of my face at all times. He looks so hot and not at all derpy here.” She laughs. “In reality, it was eighty-nine degrees, humid, and crowded.” She points. “Was I looking at him there or you? I swear that entire date I kept looking at you.”
“We might have to work on that a little,” I say with a nudge to her shoulder. “I appreciate the boost to my ego, but audiences need to imagine you falling in love with any one of them.”
Fizzy rolls her eyes at the TV. “Nobody will believe I’m into someone who unironically used the phrase legitimate vampire literature.”
“Any true vampire expert would have understood your Volterra joke.”
Fizzy sits up and turns to face me. “I knew you’d get that!”
“The movies alone made over three billion dollars worldwide. And Nat dragged our entire uni crew to see New Moon.”
Fizzy settles back as the show continues, and I can’t help but wonder what the audience is feeling after watching Jude fizzle out almost as much as Colby. But then Isaac is on-screen.
I’d missed most of their date in real time, so I was surprised when I sat in the editing booth and watched it unroll in front of me. Even unedited, the footage of them together is brimming with sexual tension. When Fizzy loses her shoe somewhere along the bike path, it turns hilariously slapstick as they try to retrieve it without getting off the tandem bike, laughing the entire way. In every shot of Isaac listening to her speak, he looks smitten. Fizzy, too, seems to be enjoying herself, and it didn’t take creative editing to do it. She’s fun and funny and looks like she’s genuinely trying to impress him. It hits me like a slap that I’ve never seen Fizzy try to impress anyone before.
“You two look good together,” I say.
“I like him.”
I bristle at the note of fondness in her voice. Of course she likes him, he’s objectively wonderful, interested in her, and available. I should be encouraging it, not wanting to yell, “Cut!” each time he makes her smile.
I startle when she jabs me in the side with an index finger. “You look a little broody over there.”
“Not at all. Just calmly watching this very well edited episode.”
“Uh-huh.”
My gaze snares on the way her lips come away wet from a drag of champagne and she swipes them clean with the back of her hand. I’m infatuated with the blast of her laugh when she does something newly embarrassing on-screen. Her complete lack of self-consciousness or pretense wrecks me. As does the absent way she kicks her feet behind us, her bare legs sliding against one another, so visibly soft and supple.
Fizzy does a double take when she glances at me. “You’re staring.”
“Because you’re hogging the champagne.” I know I should take it easy, but, truthfully, that ship has sailed. “Hand it over.”
She passes it to me with a smirk and then adjusts her position, flattening down to rest her chin on her folded hands as she watches Isaac’s confessional moment with me toward the end of the show where he admits that Fizzy intimidates him, but he thinks that’s a good thing for a man to feel when he really likes a woman. “He’s a good guy.”
The fire reignites in my rib cage. “He is.”
She looks over her shoulder at me. “Wow, you really choked on that admission, didn’t you?”
I point to my throat. “Champagne. I was swallowing a sip.”
“Why is it so hot when you lie?”
I ignore this and she rolls to her back, staring up at me with the light from the television illuminating her face. “Who do you think will win?”
“No idea.”
“You must have some idea. We’ll be down to four next week.”
“I think Isaac has a pretty good shot. Brenna tells me the Internet loves him.”
“Brenna tells you? Don’t you go online at all?”
“I’m online frequently. But I don’t go on social media if it can be helped.”
“This tracks.” She takes the bottle again. “I stalked your Insta. You have a picture of Stevie’s tiny feet on bike pedals and then a picture of a dog from, like, four years ago. That’s it.”
I laugh. “I don’t need the world to know what I’m doing every second.”
“Hot.” She studies me. “But as the producer, don’t you need to know what’s trending?”
“We need some of us to watch the show as its own thing, in isolation, so the story arc about finding you an actual soulmate stays consistent and true.” Her brows go up like I’ve just confessed to being a principled vegan. “Fizzy, I’m not altruistic. Others on the team track the voting. I just get the final numbers. It’s really a giant mess until the window closes and I don’t relish watching it in real time.”
She rolls up to her side facing me. “So you want Isaac to win?”
There’s no good way to reply to this honestly without sounding possessive or jealous or delusional. “I think he’s the best remaining contestant.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“Too bad, because it’s the only one I’m going to give.”
“Are there any you wish hadn’t been eliminated?”
“Jude—assuming he’s ousted this week—and purely for the comedic factor.” I tap her nose. “Colby because I like it when you’re scrappy.”
“Jude wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do with me.”
“Sweet, none of these poor sods have the slightest idea what to do with you, and that includes the bloke who’s already had a shot at it.”
She laughs at this. “But you do.”
“Course I do.” I grab the champagne back and take a long, draining pull of it. “Take you as you are by day and fuck you till you’re wrecked by night.” I pass the back of my hand over my mouth and reach over to set the empty bottle down on the nightstand.
Beside me, Fizzy’s gone silent. It’s my turn for a double take; her eyes are soft, lips slack. “What’s with you? Did I get that wrong?”
“No.”
She looks like she wants to devour me, and I laugh. “I can’t be the first to see through all the hilarity and impassioned lectures, Fizzy. You’d enjoy a man who understands that you just want a hot best friend who makes you laugh and come in equal measure. Honestly, it’s not that hard.”
She falls onto her back again, staring up at the ceiling.
“What?” I loom over her. “Is that offensive? Have I disrespected your hidden depths?”
“Enjoy,” she says.
“What’s that?”
She turns her eyes to me. “You said enjoy. ‘You’d enjoy a man.’ Not want or need or even deserve.” She turns her attention back to the ceiling and smiles. “You’re right. I’d really fucking enjoy a man like that. I just love that phrasing.”
“Why do you think you’re so complicated?”
“Because everyone else does.”
I shake my head, rolling to my side to face her and propping my head on a hand. “Not me. You’re a Rubik’s Cube with four blocks.”
She laughs, reaching across her body to smack my chest. “Hey.”
“A maze with a straight line through the middle. It’s just that most men are quite stupid.”
I can tell she wants to be mad but the delight in her eyes burns bright. She reaches up, brushing my hair off my forehead. “Careful,” she says.
“Careful what?” Her lips are soft and wet, her neck bare and stretching endlessly, soft for my mouth. I can see her pulse beating just beneath her jaw and want to press my face there and absorb the feeling of her fire thrumming under my touch. “You gonna rough me up for being straight with you that you’re just a big, messy softie?”
She drags her fingers along my temple and down my jaw. “Are you trying to make me want you?”
“I think that’s the problem,” I say, adjusting my head in my hand. “I don’t really have to try.”
Fizzy smiles distractedly. “Because you’re so sexy?”
“Obviously.”
She rolls back to her side, tracing her thumb along my bottom lip, and not even an oncoming train could get me to evade her touch. I can see in her eyes, too, that she understood my true meaning. I don’t have to try with her because everything between us is too easy. Too obvious. Too good. The idea that she’d end up with a Jude or even a Nick seems laughable now.
But so is the idea that she’d end up with me.
Trying to clear the fog of alcohol and desire, I pull away from her touch. Her eyes refocus and she blinks away from my lips.
“Uh-oh,” she whispers. “The spell is broken.”
“Nah, it’s late. I’m sure you’ve got more wedding celebrations early tomorrow. I should head home.”
Fizzy frowns. “Let’s put on a movie or something. You’ve been drinking.”
“I’ll cab it.” I move to climb from bed, but she cups a hand over my forearm, stilling me.
“Connor. You should stay here. I can behave myself. I promise.”
I laugh. “You’re not the only one who needs to behave, sweet. Historically I just have more self-control. I don’t think I do tonight.”
She sucks in a sharp breath and exhales it shakily. “I’ll have it for us, then. I know we can’t fool around.”
“For about a hundred reasons,” I say. “The most obvious one being the show. A second, equally important one being that for you it can be just sex, and for me it’s something more sincere. I don’t want one without the other, and unfortunately, sincerity seems to be off the table.”
“Does it?” she asks quietly.
I stare at her, at her thoughtful pout and lashes fanned on her cheeks as she closes her eyes and exhales again. “What does that mean?” I ask.
“I don’t think this is just about my sexual reawakening.”
“No?”
She shakes her head. “I think I have capital F feelings for you.”
My wine and champagne buzz comes slamming back into my skull, making my thoughts blur, my blood thicken. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
“That right?” I ask.
Fizzy nods. “On the beach, when I talked about the way I felt reconnected to the part of me I missed?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s you. The person my heroines choose is always the person who makes them feel like the best version of themselves. You make me feel that way.”
“But that doesn’t have to be romantic, Fizzy,” I tell her, throat tight. “I do want to be your friend when all of this is said and done.”
“What if I wanted you to be my best friend? The kind who also kisses me?” she quietly asks.
Maybe the champagne has disengaged my filter, but otherwise I’ve never felt more sober. This all suddenly feels inevitable. I can’t even remember wanting to resist her. “You’d only have to ask.”
Her gaze drops to my lips, and her mouth goes soft and hungry. “Kiss me.”
With her hand cupping my face, she gently guides me to press my mouth to the full sweetness of hers for a single, lingering touch. I pull away.
“More,” she whines sweetly, and her smile turns wicked. “With tongue.”
I laugh at this. “Is that a good idea?”
“No, it’s a terrible idea, but that’s my brand.” Fizzy stretches, dragging her lips up the column of my neck. “Holy shit you taste good.” Her teeth graze the straining muscle there, and she scoots closer, pressing into me. “I want you, Connor, all the time.”
Fire sears through my bloodstream and an ache pierces my groin. Surrendering, I let my hand do what it wants—gliding up that warm, honeyed thigh, over the curve of her hip, under the hem of those unbelievably soft sleep shorts to find even softer skin just beneath. The kind of sex we could have in here makes my imagination dissolve into white noise.
“How’s this for a plan,” she says, gently biting my neck. “What happens in this room stays in this room.”
“I feel like I’ve heard this before.” My voice is thick with desire. My fingers find the lush curve of her ass.
“We start with kissing,” she continues, using her leg to coax one of mine forward. She rocks into me, clamping my thigh between hers. “If it feels good, we maybe take some clothes off. If you don’t want to have sex with me, that’s fine.” Pulling back, Fizzy smiles up at me. “You can just eat my pussy and head home, and everyone is happy.”
Laughter rises up out of me and I couldn’t resist her even if I was shackled to the wall by my wrists and ankles. I am so fucked for this woman. So I do the only thing I can imagine: I give in, turning my face down to hers, and let the night dissolve between us.
