A Wild Card Night (Happy Endings 0.60)

“I don’t envy you, pal,” I tell Jones as the driver swings onto Steiner Street.

“I don’t envy me either. What am I supposed to do?”

“You could—just a thought—sort this shit out and have a relationship,” I offer with a smile. I’m encouraging like that. But seriously, sometimes you just have to man up and do the hard things in life.

“I’m working on it, Harlan. And I think I’ve got a plan for telling the team and my new sponsor. But it’ll have to wait until this weekend. Tonight, I just need a wingman so I can spend some time with Jillian.”

I tap my sternum. “One fantastic, grade-A, top-choice wingman at your service.” It’s not my place to pressure him to come clean. He knows what he needs to do, and he’s got to do it in his own damn time.

Plus, I know my role at this wedding.

I’m Jones’s cover, and that’s fine.

When the car stops on her block, Jones bounds up the steps and returns with Jillian a few minutes later. She greets me as they slide into the car, but mostly they make I want to bang you backward, forward, and six ways to Sunday eyes at each other as she snuggles up against him.

“Would you like me to just get in the front seat with the driver?” I offer, gesturing to the partition. “You can have a wham-bam while I chat with Darien. He seemed chill.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jillian says, ducking her head as a smile plays across her face. “We’ll behave.”

I scoff. “No need to behave on my account. I’m happy to shoot the breeze with the guy.” I point to the speakers. “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” pipes through the limo. “He’s got good taste in music.”

Jones runs a hand along Jillian’s bare arm, and she shivers. “Can’t help myself,” Jones says, “Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“I can tell. The sexual tension between you two would fill an ice cream tub. I could scoop it up and serve it in a cone. Sexual Tension Swirl, I’d call it.”

Jones arches a brow. “Seriously?”

“What? I love sexual tension,” I say with a grin.

“Everyone does, Harlan,” Jones deadpans.

“Exactly. Marketing gold. I’ll make millions. This idea is going to fund my retirement someday,” I tease.

Jillian narrows her eyes and shakes a warning finger. “You better not retire anytime soon. You’re only twenty-nine.”

“You never know. That’s why I’m always thinking ahead,” I say, tapping my temple. “Plan for the unexpected.”

Like how, a minute later, the car pulls over a few blocks from Jillian’s place.

“We’re just picking up my friend Katie,” she explains.

I turn my head, glancing toward the sidewalk and—whoa.

Wait a hot, sexy, beautiful second.

I stare at the vision in pink heading straight for this car—a knockout with a smile that has me waving a white flag. Her dress clings to her curves in all the right places and swishes around her knees. Silver heels complete that take me away to cloud nine look she has going on.

Her lush blonde hair falls in waves over her bare shoulders, which shimmer enticingly.

I whip around to glare accusingly at Jones, then Jillian. “Excuse me. Why did no one tell me that Jillian’s friend is an angel dressed in pink, and the answer to my prayers?”

Jillian laughs. “Presumptuous much, Harlan?”

“Presumptuous a lot.”

I hit the intercom. “Darien. I’ll get the door.”

“As you wish.”

I push open the door, step onto the street, and sweep out an arm for the bombshell. “Your chariot,” I say, gesturing to the car.

The stunning blonde, with eyes as blue as the sea, flashes me a grin, with just a hint of naughty on her lips.

Mmm. Yes.

“What do you know? I was hoping for a chariot, and here you are.” Her confident voice holds a touch of sarcasm as she slides into the car. I follow, sitting next to our newest passenger.

Jillian clears her throat and makes the introductions. “Jones, Harlan. This is my friend Katie.”

Let’s see if I can pave a path to her dance card tonight. “You’re a goddess, Jillian, for inviting your beautiful friend.”

“You know, she also has a good personality,” Jillian says drily.

I narrow my eyes at the publicist. “Oh, hush. I already figured that no friend of yours would be a wet blanket.” I turn to the blonde, shooting her a big grin. “I bet you’re a firecracker, Katie.”

Her blue eyes go all kinds of flirty. “I’m the aerial fireworks, Harlan—the finale at the end of the show.”

And I do believe I am officially in love.

“See? I knew that your sparkly personality would be perfect. But let me give you a proper greeting.” I reach for Katie’s hand, clasping it to press a kiss to her knuckles. “How do you do, tonight?” I ask, all refined, a hint of my Atlanta roots coming through.