"Really? Why not?"
"Partly because I want to hold it close. Partly because there's this guy she was seeing who doesn't know yet, and partly because she doesn't want to be known as the girl I talked about on the radio."
"Go public now, and it's obvious she's the same girl," Amanda said, nodding with understanding.
"Exactly."
"Well, have fun with your covert sexcapades, and introduce me when you can."
"You got it. By the way, you're coming to the benefit, right? It's only a few weeks away."
"You know I am, idiot. For one thing, I'm on the committee. For another, my firm is buying a table. For a third, do you really think I'd miss it?"
He didn't. Not really. The benefit was for the Dyslexia Reading & Tutoring Room, and he was this year's keynote speaker. Considering he spoke for a living, he was remarkably nervous.
"I had to make sure," he told her. "Are Mom and Dad at your table?"
"Yup. Is your dad coming?"
He gaped at her, and after a moment, she cringed.
"Sorry. I should know better. I guess I thought--hoped--that maybe he'd.... Well, anyway, he's a rat bastard."
"Not arguing."
She took his hand. "But Nolan, it doesn't matter. When you're up on that podium, you need to remember just how much he doesn't matter."
He nodded, pushing down the memories of the dark days he'd been forced to spend with his birth father. Goddamn joint custody. The man was an ass. Not that he abused Nolan, but his sharp tongue sure could shame.
He reached for Amanda's hand and gave it a squeeze, remembering how much she'd been at his side during those years. Hell, she'd been his goddamn lifeline. "You'll be front and center, right?"
"You better believe it, big brother."
* * *
Between her deadlines and Nolan's crazy schedule of on-air performances and public appearances, it was days before they had the chance to go out again. But with her KIKX live-streaming app, at least she had Nolan in the morning--and so did all the other women in town.
The thought gave Shelby a little thrill. She'd have to be blind not to know how many women were interested in the man--or, for that matter, how many he'd slept with in the past. But he was with her now, and she believed him when he'd told her that there was no other woman in his life, with the non-relevant exception of his sister and mother, of course.
His radio banter certainly seemed to prove that point. Bawdy and funny as usual, there were no references to Nolan's own sex life, short of a couple of riffs on the title of the show and him waking up frustrated and alone the last few mornings.
She fully intended to give him grief about that--and offer to let him crash at her place if he wanted to take care of any mornings with wood before Mornings With Wood.
Any references to her--or to them--were thankfully completely absent from the airwaves.
At least, she told herself she was thankful.
The trouble was, she didn't entirely believe her rational, sane conclusion that she was pleased not to be the subject of his jokes. And the realization that maybe--just maybe--there'd been something a little titillating about being the impetus behind a wild blast of a song like George Michaels' I Want Your Sex was more than a little disconcerting.
Not that she had time to ponder any hidden ambition to be comedy fodder. On the contrary, Frank was keeping her crazy busy. And when the receptionist buzzed just before lunch on Wednesday to tell her that the lunch she ordered had arrived and could she send the delivery guy back, Shelby had almost bit the poor woman's head off with her reply that of course she could. The point of delivery was that Shelby didn't want to leave her desk--not even to schlep down to reception.
Only after she'd ended the call did she realize that she hadn't ordered any take-out. Great. Now she was going to have to waste time figuring out whose lunch she
was about to get.
"Come in," she called in response to the tap at her door. "Listen, there's been a mix-oh!"
It was Nolan.