All It Takes (Romancing Manhattan 2)

“Fiancée now,” I reply with a smile. “They got engaged today.”

“Of course,” Rich says with a nod. “What happened after the show?”

I smile slowly, and both Lou and Rich start to clap and woot in excitement.

“You banged the hot lawyer!” Louise exclaims.

“His name is Quinn,” I reply and take another sip of wine, then fill my glass again. “And yes, I totally banged him. A few times.”

“Holy shit,” she says with a sigh. “That’s awesome.”

“There’s more.”

I tell them about breaking my heel, and needing new shoes. The Louboutins. Dinner. His condo with my painting hanging in it.

“Fucking hell, I’m in love with him,” Rich says, fanning his face as he chews his pizza. “Seriously, if you don’t claim him, I’ll take him.”

“I don’t think he bats for your team,” I reply with a laugh. “And no one said anything about love. But he is sexy, and he’s really . . . swoony.”

“I like that word,” Lou says with a happy sigh. “And if he ever starts to be not swoony, I’m gonna kick him in the balls.”

“That seems extreme.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “I’m serious. You’re the nicest person in the universe.”

“That’s totally not true,” I reply.

We’ve moved into the living room, with pizza and wine, and for the next hour, we giggle and drink, just like the old days.

It’s not long before I realize that I can see two of each of them.

“This wine is potent.”

“Damn right,” Lou says. “I have more in the car. Hold, please.”

She jumps up and runs out the door before I can say anything. We hear a door slam, and then she’s back, carrying two more bottles.

“Jesus, I’m already drunk, Lou.”

“Good, we’re well on our way to shitfaced.”

“Is that the goal?” I ask.

“Of course it is,” Rich says and opens another bottle. “Now, we’ve talked about jobs and boys, let’s talk about boys.”

We snort laugh, and I watch as he fills my glass again.

“I don’t have anything else to say. But I kind of miss him. Maybe I should text him.”

“Don’t be that girl,” Lou says while shaking her head. “Don’t say I love you in a text.”

“That’s definitely not what I was going to say,” I reply. “I know, I’ll take a selfie and send him that.”

I open his last text, and then the little camera icon. I hit the circle, but instead of taking a photo, it starts ringing.

“Shit, I’m facetiming him.”

“Even better,” Rich says as Quinn picks up.

“Hey,” he says with a smile.

“Sorry, this isn’t what I meant to do.”

I hang up on him, and try again for a photo, but it just calls him again.

“Are you okay?” he asks when he picks up.

“Oh, I’m fine, I just think my phone is against me. I’m trying to send you a photo. Not a naked one.”

“How many glasses of wine have you had?”

“I dunno.” I look down at him and grin. “You’re so handsome. What are you wearing?”

A smile slides over his lips, and I wish he was here. I want to kiss him.

“I’m just in my usual.”

“I want to see his usual,” Rich whispers to Lou, and I shush him.

Quinn pans down so I can see his cargo shorts and his T-shirt.

Yum.

“We should make pancakes,” Lou says, getting my attention, and my focus immediately shifts.

“Pancakes! Sorry, Quinn, I gotta go.”

I hang up on him, and toss my phone away, immediately craving soft, fluffy pancakes.

“I should stop drinking,” I announce and stand, holding my hands out to get my balance. “And eat pancakes because they’ll soak up the drunk.”

“Do you have the stuff?” Lou asks, joining me in the kitchen.

“Of course. Hold on.” I open the pantry and pull out my electric skillet and a box of pancake mix, and get to work. “This is gonna be awesome.”

“I’m still going to drink,” Rich says, pouring himself more wine. “Because I’m not a quitter.”

Louise and I blow raspberries as we giggle at Rich’s joke.

“Good one.”

It takes about an hour to make the pancakes because we keep messing up. They’re too burnt, they’re not cooked enough. They fall apart because I forgot eggs.

It’s a mess and a riot, all at the same time.

Finally, I’m not as fuzzy as I was, and I’m able to pull off six perfect pancakes.

“So good,” I mumble around a mouthful of maple goodness.

“The best,” Lou agrees.

My doorbell rings, and I frown as I hurry across the living room and swing the door open.

“Quinn.”

He’s grinning, standing there in his cargo shorts and T-shirt, and I instinctively lick my lips.

Because he’s damn hot.

“I thought I wasn’t going to see you until tomorrow.”

He checks his watch. “It’s 12:22. It is tomorrow.”

I take his hand and pull him into my house. “So it is. Good thinking. I’m warning you, I’ve been drinking, and although I’ve sobered up a little thanks to the pancakes, we’re silly.”