“And then you know what we’re going to do?” he says excitedly. “On your birthday itself, we’ll swing by Boston to see Alessandra.”
I shriek with joy and pepper his face with kisses and then, just because I know it’s his favorite thing, leap up and do a particularly jiggly happy dance that makes Reed hoot and guffaw and applaud. And, finally, I dive back into bed and assault my man with enthusiastic kisses.
“If it turns out Alessandra isn’t comfortable around me,” Reed says, “then no worries. I’ll give you two money to have a nice lunch or dinner without me.”
“Oh, honey, Alessandra will be thrilled to see you. You’re the reason she got that gig at the coffee house. I know she’s dying to thank you.”
Reed looks genuinely thrilled. “Well, in that case, why don’t you ask Alessandra if she can get onto the schedule to perform at the coffee house the night we’ll be in Boston. We’ll do lunch that day, and watch Alessandra that night.”
My heart lurches. Oh, man, this could be a huge opportunity for Alessandra! If she hits it out of the park, who knows what Reed might do? I take a deep breath and try not to sound like I’m totally freaking out. “Yeah, good idea. I’ll tell her. But only if you promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t give me any more gifts, okay? You’ve already given me too much, and I’ve given you nothing. This trip to New York and Boston—that’s my only birthday present, okay? Nothing else.”
“Okay, first off. You haven’t given me nothing. Every time you give me a happy dance, especially a naked one, it’s the best gift ever.”
I giggle.
“And, second off, nobody—not even you—is going to tell me what I can and can’t give the woman I love. So fuck off with that shit.”
I feign shock and flip him off. And he feigns outrage and lurches at me like a bear and then proceeds to eat my extended middle finger, and then my arm, making comical “nom, nom, nom!” noises, as he does.
Finally, when Reed is done devouring my arms and neck and breasts and ears, he pulls back from our silliness and looks down at me with twinkling brown eyes. “This is going to be so much fun,” he says. And I know he’s not talking about our trip to New York.
Chapter 20
Reed
“Georgina!” Owen says warmly, embracing her. “It’s great to see you!”
“It’s great to see you! You look dapper.”
Georgina and Owen are having this conversation in front of me in a backstage hallway at Madison Square Garden. Owen has been in New York the past few days, working as the point of contact for a documentary film crew shooting tonight’s RCR concert for a Netflix special. And, of course, the Intrepid Reporter is here to do a quick interview of RCR.
“And you’re perfection!” Owen coos to Georgina. “The lady in red. That ruby necklace is a show-stopper.”
Georgina touches the gems around her neck and looks at me. “It was a gift from my generous boyfriend.”
Owen already knows that, of course. He’s the point of contact for both my accountant and bookkeeper, so he’s well aware of any large purchase I might make. But Owen, smart man that he is, plays along. “That was quite a gift. Sounds like someone is smitten. And I can see why.”
“Sorry to interrupt this lovefest,’” I say dryly. “Is everything all set for filming? Did Andrew get my notes on those shots I want him to get?”
Owen nods. “Andrew’s got a skeleton crew in the guys’ dressing room now, capturing that behind-the-scenes idea you had.” He looks at Georgina. “The band is expecting you. I told them to allot forty-five minutes. Is that enough time?”
“Double what I need, probably. The special issue will be focusing a lot more on Dean, individually, than the full band, so we only need a quickie with all four.”
We head off toward the dressing room, at which point Owen leans into me and whispers, “Wow, boss, this is quite a ‘purely professional relationship’ you’re having.”
Inside the dressing room, we find all four guys of Red Card Riot, as expected, plus their usual entourage, plus, a skeleton crew for the documentary. And, last but not least, there are several PAs flitting around the room... including, to my delight, the little waif who walked in on Georgina and me backstage at the Rose Bowl, when I was camped between Georgina’s naked thighs.
“You remember Georgina?” I say to RCR. And all four of them—Dean, Clay, Emmitt, and C-Bomb—immediately come over to greet her. But nobody more enthusiastically than C-Bomb—Caleb Baumgarten—who strides over, hugs Georgina with fervor, like she’s his long-lost lover.
As small talk ensues, I steal a glance at the little PA from the Rose Bowl to find her looking at me like she’s a mutt at the pound who just took a crap in her food bowl. I smile at her reassuringly, but it’s no use. She’s terrified of me. Not at all happy to see me, to put it mildly.