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“Those
are definitely problems.”

“He’s
going to invite his mom to Atlanta or Little Rock this week to watch our show.”

Trey’s
smile brightened his entire face and half the room. “So he’s coming back?”

“He
hopes to.”

“Awesome.”

Reagan
finished tying her boot and stood. “That doesn’t mean you’re allowed to come
out to the press.”

“You
worry too much,” he said, holding a hand out to her. “Let’s go cause a stir.”

Reagan
wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she slid her hand into his and followed
him out of the hotel suite. The lobby was blissfully empty of reporters, though
Reagan did spot a guest at the front desk who looked an awful lot like Jack
Nicholson.

“Are
you hungry?” Trey asked as soon as they stepped onto the sidewalk outside the
hotel.

Her
stomach answered with a rumble, and she laughed, covering her belly with one
hand.

“That
would be a yes,” Trey said. “What sounds good?”

Reagan
spotted someone with a camera across the street. She tried to convince herself
that it was only a tourist, but the giant lens was definitely pointed in their
direction. She fought the panic choking her as she turned away from their
spectator.

“Room
service,” Reagan said.

“Nope.
I’m not letting you hide today.”

Damn.

“What
are my options?” she asked, glancing down the street and noting a multitude of
banners, flags, signs, chalkboards, and flashing neon encouraging them to come in
for a meal.

“That’s
the thing about New York. If you want it, they’ve got it.”

“Let’s
go that way and stop at whatever catches our eye.” Spontaneity used to be
Reagan’s forte. It felt good to don it again, even if it was just choosing a
restaurant on a whim. Her fear of being in public had changed her and not for
the better. She hoped she’d soon get past the near-crippling fear. She didn’t
want to forever dread venturing out into public places.

Trey
gave her a sappy look and captured her lips for a heartfelt kiss. She wasn’t
sure what had him so affectionate today—hell, who was she kidding, the man was
always affectionate—but she clung to his shoulders and kissed him back. She
tried to ignore the excited clicking of the photographers across the street,
but decided it wasn’t possible and pulled away.

“There’s
one thing the tabloids love as much as a scandal,” Trey said, taking her hand
again and strolling down the sidewalk. “And that is a celebrity love story.”

“So
that kiss was just for show?” she asked.

He
chuckled and brought her knuckles to his lips for an additional kiss. “Nope.
That kiss was just for me. You might make me hide my feelings for Ethan in
public, but I don’t have to do the same when it comes to you, right?”

“I
suppose not.” Though it did seem highly unfair to Ethan. On the other hand, Ethan
wasn’t one for public displays of affection. Back when they’d been dating
exclusively, he’d felt uncomfortable holding her hand in public, forget kissing
her. She’d been okay with his reluctance at the time since he always made up
for it whenever they were alone together. He still did.

“Good.
Prepare to be lavished with attention.”

She’d
had far more than enough attention centered on her over the last week, but this
was different. This was attention she craved. Coveted. And she loved Trey all
the more for fulfilling that need, even if she hadn’t recognized it before he’d
mentioned it. This, she decided, was one of the many benefits of loving two men
who were so different from each other. She could have everything she needed
from this relationship, and she did. She had it all. The absurd pressure the
tabloids put on her had almost made her forget that.

“I
miss Ethan,” she said as they were seated at a table for two.

Reagan
was pretty sure that Trey had insisted on Greek food for brunch because the
restaurant had a small outdoor seating area, which kept them in the spotlight.

“Am
I not being charming enough? I’ll try harder.” He was smiling that ornery grin
of his, so she knew he was joking, but she was sorry if she made him feel as if
he wasn’t enough. That wasn’t how she felt at all. And she hoped it wasn’t how
he felt either.

“You’re
perfectly amazing,” she said.

“Perfect?”

“Obviously.
When I’m with you, I feel like I have everything,” she said, glancing over her
shoulder to see if anyone was listening. She leaned closer and lowered her
voice, just in case. “And when I’m with Ethan, I feel the same way. But when
the three of us are together . . .” She didn’t have the words to
describe it.

“Synergy,”
Trey said, picking up his menu and scanning the restaurant’s offerings.

“Exactly,”
she said. “I’m so glad you get it.”

“Of
course I get it,” he said. “I’m a part of it.”

So
maybe it didn’t matter that the world couldn’t understand what they had.
They
understood. “Do you think Ethan feels that way too?”

“What?
That three halves make infinity?” His eyes lifted from the menu, and their
gazes locked. “I know he does. Getting him to express it?” He shook his head,
and they both laughed.

“He’s
getting better,” Reagan said. “He’s much more open than he used to be.”

“Really?
Because I don’t feel like I’ve even got my shucking knife into that shell of
his, much less managed to pry it open.”

“You’re
approaching him all wrong, Trey. His shell is spiral shaped.” She made a
twisting motion with one finger, and they laughed at Ethan’s expense once
again.

“I
wonder if his ears are burning,” Trey said, flipping his menu over and
examining the reverse side.

“He
knows we love him.”

“Can
I get you something to drink?” a server asked, completely shutting down
Reagan’s ability to speak of Ethan.

After
they ordered, they sipped beer—before noon!—and dipped triangles of pita bread
into the most flavorful hummus Reagan had ever tasted.

“It
looks like baby shit, but it’s so good,” Trey said, helping himself to more of
the yellow-beige mush.

“If
Malcom’s poo is ever that color, please take him to the doctor. I think it
means liver failure.”

“It
is that color sometimes,” Trey insisted. “Maybe you should change the
occasional diaper and see for yourself.”

“I’ve
never changed a diaper in my life.” It wasn’t like she’d had younger siblings.
And while the other teenage girls in her class had time for babysitting, her
father had insisted she spend all of her free time practicing the cello. She
told Trey as much.

“He
was tough on you, wasn’t he?” Trey said.

She
shrugged. “I was supposed to live the dreams he never made happen.”

“One
of these days, you need to play the cello for me. I know Ethan has heard you
play it. I feel left out.”

“I’ll
play for you if you promise I won’t ever have to change a smelly diaper.”

“Deal.”

They
shook on it, and Reagan figured she got the better end of the bargain.

They’d
both ordered a gyro and were digging into their delicious meal when a shadow
crossed their table. Expecting to find a camera in her face, Reagan was surprised
to find Eric standing next to them.

“Trey!”
he said, excessively exuberant, even for Eric. He leaned down and gave Trey a
mighty hug with one arm. With his free hand, he slipped something into Trey’s
hand, and Trey shoved it into his pocket.

“Eric!”
Trey returned, his greeting equally obnoxious. And suspicious.

Eric
stood straight and saluted Trey with one finger. “Later.”

Reagan
watched him march away with a decided spring in his step and shook her head to
clear her confusion.

“What
was that all about?” she asked Trey, who was pouring more tzatziki sauce on his
gyro.

“What
was what about?” He licked a drop of sauce from the side of his finger, and
Reagan’s center clenched with instant arousal.

Uh,
what had she been saying? “Eric just now. He seemed uncommonly excited to see
you, even for Eric.”

“He’s
always excited to see me,” Trey said.

“He
gave you something, and you slipped it into your pocket.” Reagan nodded toward
the small lump in his pocket.

Trey
paused with his half-eaten gyro near his mouth. “You’re mistaken,” he said.

“I
saw it happen,” Reagan insisted, leaning far out of her chair to reach for his
hip.

Trey
dropped his gyro and slapped a hand over his pocket. “You don’t want to pull
that out in public.”

“What
is it?”

“Honestly?”
When she nodded, he said, “It’s a ring.”

“A
ring?”

“Uh,
yeah. A cock ring. We’ll put it to good use later.”

He
leveled his most sultry gaze on her, but she wasn’t so easily distracted. “Why
would Eric go out of his way to bring you a cock ring?”

“I
asked him to.”

Okay,
yeah, that made perfect sense. In some alternate universe maybe.

“He
had a spare,” Trey added. He cautiously removed his hand from his pocket to
reach for his gyro again.

Reagan
couldn’t help but be totally fixated on his pocket. If he really had a cock ring
in there, she was sure he wouldn’t have any problem showing it to her.

“I
want to see it,” Reagan said.

“I’m
just supposed to whip it out here at the table? That ought to make for an
interesting tabloid cover.” He nodded to the table behind her, and she
stiffened.

Was
there a reporter sitting behind her? A photographer? Both? Suddenly queasy, she
shoved the remains of her gyro to the center of the table.

“Don’t
let them ruin your meal,” Trey said, pushing her food back toward her.

Them
? Just how many of them were sitting
behind her?

“Pretend
like they aren’t even there.”

Okay,
yeah, that was possible. Again only in some alternate universe.

“So,”
Trey said, before taking a sip of his beer. “How do we get our hands on a cello?”

She
wasn’t sure if he was diverting the conversation to safe topics for her benefit
or for the likely eavesdropping paparazzi nearby.

“I’m
sure you’re as good at playing cello as you are at playing electric guitar.” He
was talking louder than usual. Leading the reporters, maybe? “When did you
first start playing stringed instruments?”

“I
first started playing stringed instruments when I was three years old,” she
said loudly, letting him know she knew why he was acting so odd. Interview by
eavesdropping—she could play that game.

“So
would you say you’re an expert at the cello?” Trey asked, his words well
enunciated.

“I
don’t know. Maybe you should ask the judges of all the contests I won.”

“So
the Exodus End Guitarist for a Year contest wasn’t the first instrumental
contest you won?”

Reagan
rolled her eyes, and Trey laughed. God, this was annoying. “No, the Exodus End
Guitarist for a Year contest was not my first victory.”

“Was
it the first you won by sleeping with all the judges?”

Reagan’s
jaw dropped, and she spun around to find the table behind her empty. She
slapped at Trey for tricking her, and he was too busy laughing to fend off her
half-hearted attack.

No
longer worried about phantom reporters, Reagan finished as much of her gyro as
her stomach could hold. After she declared herself full, Trey paid their ticket
and they continued on their journey to explore all of New York City in fewer
than six hours.

They
didn’t stay around Times Square for long. Too busy. Too touristy. They headed
toward Central Park, walking hand in hand. After a few antsy minutes of
checking over her shoulder and scanning potential hiding places they passed,
Reagan began to forget that reporters might be watching their every move.

“I’m
surprised Ethan hasn’t called yet,” Trey said. “He must be having a rough time
telling his mom.”

“Pretty
sure he’s using his self-assigned detective work as an excuse to put it off.”

“Do
you think he misses the police force?” Trey asked.

“I
know he does. Maybe I should fire him and encourage him to apply for a real
job.”

“I’m
sure he loves watching you for a living. I wouldn’t be in any hurry to give up
that gig, and I’m sure he’s not either.”

“Well,
I’m sure he’s bored out of his mind.”

“I
honestly don’t want him working such a dangerous job,” Trey said, his brow
crumpled with worry.

Reagan
squeezed his hand. “I won’t fire him, but I won’t stand in his way if he wants
to quit.”