“See? I know how LA works. Okay, dude, here’s what we’re gonna do. At the wedding, we’ll take a shit-ton of photos of you partying with Dax, Fish, and me, and then you’ll post those shots, along with whatever ones you have with C-Bomb. And voila. When you get to LA, you’ll interview with that agency and get yourself a kickass job.”
Amy squeals with excitement and thanks me effusively.
“Oh! Wait! I just realized something else I can do to help you. Duh.” I palm my forehead. “You can work for me!”
“What?” Amy shrieks.
“Only for a week,” I quickly clarify. “I’m gonna be shooting a small role in a movie for a week in LA, beginning a week from Monday, and my contract says I can have a personal assistant on-set on their dime. Someone they supply to me or someone of my own choosing. So, duh, why don’t I tell them I choose you?”
Amy hurls herself at me like a missile, shrieking hysterically. And the minute Amy is in my arms, I feel a tidal wave of affection for her—a rush of the same sort of adoration I always felt for her when we were kids. Except this time, of course, my affection is accompanied by something new—unmistakable arousal triggered by the crush of Amy’s perfect, bountiful tits against my chest.
I pull back sharply, taken aback by my body’s undeniable reaction to her ample curves. “Hopefully, you’ll land a permanent job while working for me,” I manage to say. “But if not, you’ll have a fun adventure and get to load up your Instagram with tons more photos to impress that employment agency.”
Amy palms her cheeks looking flushed and glorious. Again, she thanks me profusely. And to my shock, as she does, I feel the urge to lean in and kiss her.
I pivot slightly and place my clasped hands in front of me, in case the tingles zapping my dick turn into a hard-on. “No need to thank me,” I say, sounding remarkably calm. “I’m not the one who’s going to pay your salary, remember? Which, by the way, will almost certainly be total shit.”
“I’d do the job for free!” Amy sings out, before doing a little shimmy that makes my tingling dick begin to thicken. Shit.
“Why don’t you stay at my place that week?” I say, even though I probably shouldn’t. “I’ve got a guest room. Why not?” You know why not, my brain answers. Shut the fuck up, My hard-on replies.
Amy thanks me again, just as a car horn blares in passing.
“Oh, that was Logan!” Amy says, as Logan’s car turns into the nearby restaurant parking lot. We pick up our pace and arrive in the parking lot as Logan is parking his car in a spot.
“Logan’s always had the best parking karma,” Amy murmurs.
“It’s bigger than that. Logan’s got an uncanny knack for being at the right place at the right time.”
“So true.”
A moment later, Logan and his two passengers—his fiancée, Kennedy, and that annoying groomsman, Luke—are approaching Amy and me on foot.
“What the fuck, Colin?” Logan shouts, holding up his phone, as he walks—and as he gets closer, I make out the cast photo I posted earlier today on his screen. “When were you planning to tell me you’ve been cast in a fucking Seth Rockford flick?” Without waiting for my reply, Logan pulls me into an enthusiastic hug and congratulates me.
“Don’t be insulted I didn’t tell you,” I mutter. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
It’s a lie. I told Dax and Fish, pretty early on. Partly, because I tell them everything. But also in the context of our band talking about our then-upcoming tour schedule. Fish had revealed he wanted to take some time off from touring to produce his new girlfriend’s upcoming album, so Dax dropped the bomb he also wanted to take his foot off the gas for a bit to spend more time with his wife and young son. And so, in the context of that conversation, I told my fellow Goats about the movie role I’d been offered and was dying to accept.
Before that conversation, however, I’d already told my personal mentor, Ryan Morgan—Dax’s older brother—about the movie role. But only because I’ve always relied on Ryan, more than anyone else, to help me figure out my life’s biggest decisions.
After Logan releases me, the other people in the group congratulate me on the movie. Until, eventually, our group begins walking toward the restaurant again.
“Speaking of the movie . . .” I grin at Amy. “You want to tell everyone the exciting news?”
“Is it for sure, though?” she asks, her green eyes hopeful.
“One hundred percent. Tell the world, dude.”
Amy squeals and excitedly tells the group about her short-term job with me on the movie set, which prompts Kennedy to hug her and Logan to mouth to me, “Thank you.”