Mr Right Now: A Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Lila Monroe

  No such luck. As I walk up to the restaurant a couple hours later, I spot Charlie sitting at one of the patio tables with a young woman perched beside him. I might think he’s just brought along some of his regular arm candy, except she’s definitely not his usual type. She’s stick-thin and petite, with rectangular glasses positioned on a pointy nose that gives her a sparrow-like look. And she’s got a notepad out in front of her, a pen tucked over one ear.

  Apprehension clenches my gut. I have the impulse to turn around and stroll right on out of here. I don’t know what Charlie’s up to, but I’m immediately sure I don’t want to know.

  At that moment, Charlie glances over. A grin splits his face. “Drew, buddy, over here!”

  I raise my hand to him and amble the rest of the way over, bracing myself.

  “Hey, Charlie.” I take the seat across from him and nod to the woman. “And hello, Ms… . ?”

  She shifts in her chair as if she really is a sparrow ruffling her feathers. “Riva Collins. You can call me Riva. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Delaney. I’ve been a fan of your music for a long time.”

  From the looks of her, she wasn’t out of elementary school when Category 5 took off. And from the formal way she’s talking, she’s definitely not just arm candy.

  “That’s great to hear,” I say, and shoot a questioning look at Charlie.

  Riva pushes onward with her spiel before Charlie has a chance to speak up. “It’s really an honor that the Daily will get the first scoop on Category 5’s’s relaunch and reunion tour. I can’t wait to hear about the plans you have in place. So many of our readers will be excited to hear the news.”

  Relaunch? Reunion tour?

  What the hell has Charlie been saying?

  I tilt my head toward the patio. “I actually have some other business I need to discuss with Charlie before we get started. Charlie?”

  Charlie looks like he’s about to wave off my request, but then our eyes meet, and something in mine must convince him I mean business. “Right. Guy talk.” He winks at Riva and follows me outside.

  I grab his elbow the second we’re through the door.

  “What the hell, Charlie?” I snap, keeping my voice low. “What stories have you been feeding that poor reporter? There isn’t any relaunch happening.”

  “Who says there isn’t? You saw the crowd at the auction the other night,” Charlie argues. Somehow he’s got a sparkle in his eye even though he has to see how angry I am. “We’re not promising them anything. We’re just floating the idea to stir up some fresh interest in the band.”

  “And why would we want to do that?”

  “It never hurts to try to stay relevant, right? Everyone’s interested—it’s the perfect timing for a nostalgia piece. Just give her some stories from before on the road, say we’re having discussions, which we are, right now”—he motions his hand between the two of us—“that’s all you’d have to do.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. This is an awful lot of trouble to go just to “stay relevant.” “What are you angling for with this, Charlie?”

  He actually looks wounded for all of three seconds. As if I’m not right. Because the next second, he shrugs and gives me one of those rakish grins that seem to buy him endless forgiveness when he needs it. “What’s anyone angling for? Work, mate. A fresh start. My people tell me I’ve even got a shot at Dancing with the Stars, Drew. All I’m asking is that you don’t screw up my chance.”

  I sigh. The last thing I want is to get roped into his big plans, but now that reporter is waiting for us to come back, and Lord knows what kind of story she’ll decide to write if I got storming off now. “Alright,” I say reluctantly. “But I’m not going to lie about anything.”

  “Of course not,” Charlie says cheerfully, even though this entire interview is based on a lie. “Just … massaging the truth a little, right, bro? It’s all good publicity.”

  We head back to the table. “Is everything okay?” Riva asks with a prying look as we sit down.

  “Absolutely.” I give an even smile. “Just a little side issue we needed to discuss.” I signal the waiter. I have a hunch this lunch will be best endured with a couple of stiff drinks.

  My hunch turns out to be correct. I choke down some fries, and Charlie starts chatting a mile a minute—and there are definitely points when the only thing allowing me to answer all casual while noncommittal is the half a Jack & Coke I’ve already tipped down my throat.

  “Have you always dreamed about getting the band back together?” Riva says at one point.

  I manage to turn my laugh of disbelief into a clearing of my throat. “It isn’t something I was expecting. My work as a producer has kept me pretty occupied.”

  “That’s right.” She flips through her pad to where I guess she’s taken some prep notes. “You’ve worked with some major acts in the last few years. But I guess it isn’t quite the same as getting to perform yourself.”

  “It’s different, that’s for sure,” I say honestly. “But I’ve found it very satisfying. There’s something to be said for getting to relax behind the scenes instead of having cameras on you 24-7.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie jumps in. “Even now, it can be tough getting out and about. Everywhere I go, I have to expect I’m going to be stopped for autographs and photos.”

  “So you find the fandom hasn’t died off, even though Category 5 hasn’t produced any new material in a while?” Riva says.

  Charlie chuckles. “If anything, they’re even more eager! The fans were crazy about us, you know. The stuff they’d throw up on stage during the concerts, the mail we’d get … When you’re that kind of sensation, people don’t just forget. Right, Drew?”

  I should get a medal for managing not to glare at him. My mind slips back to the charity auction. I can honestly say, “There do seem to be a lot of people who are still enthusiastic.”

  She starts asking about the details of our supposed reunion, and Charlie must realize that even alcohol isn’t going to keep me in line there, because he leaps on that thread. “Oh, we’re still working out the details,” he says. “With five guys, it takes a while to sort all that stuff out, you know. Paperwork, timing, details!”

  I’m just finishing my second drink and wondering whether a third would extend my buzz nicely or swing me too far into tongue-loosening territory when I get a text alert. I turn away from the table as I pull out my phone.

  It’s Maggie. I’m in the mood to celebrate. Wanna make out under the bleachers?

  A grin tugs at my mouth. Just like that, my frustration with Charlie and the interview falls away. This is stupid. I don’t want to be here. I want to be with her. And suddenly I don’t give a shit if leaving gives one reporter a not-one-hundred-percent-positive impression.

  “Hey,” I say, tossing a few bills on the table to cover my meal and beverages, “I’ve got to run. Charlie can walk you through anything else you need to know. Thanks for coming around.” I tip my head to Charlie, and he waves me off as if he never needed me here in the first place. Just like that, I’m free.

  I cruise over to the old high school and park in the lot, empty for the summer. A banner for the ten-year reunion hangs beside the main doors. I circle around back and find Maggie sitting on a blanket at the edge of the football field, a bottle of wine beside her.

  “You came fast,” she says, smiling. “I didn’t interrupt anything?”

  I hunker down beside her. “Hell no. Nothing I wasn’t glad to have interrupted.” I lean over to kiss her—it’s impossible to be this close to those delectable lips and not have a taste. She makes a pleased sound as she returns the kiss. Then she brandishes two plastic wine glasses.

  “Cheers.”

  We clink the glasses. I glance around the field. “What made you want to come out here?”

  Maggie’s smile turns crooked. “It was just a funny impulse. I guess I was feeling nostalgic. Like going out to The Point the other night. Missing the things I didn’t get to do when
I was actually a teenager.”

  “I don’t think most of us drank wine on the football field. I definitely didn’t.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “You were too busy going on international tours and avoiding being swarmed by adoring fans.”

  I put my arm around her waist, and she shifts to rest her head on my shoulder, exactly the way I was hoping. Apparently I’ve still got my high-school moves. “Do you really think you missed out on a lot back then?”

  She shrugs against me. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter anymore. But sometimes I do feel a bit sad. I mean, obviously not everyone has the kind of high-school glory days you did, but I wish I hadn’t spent so much of that time feeling awkward and alone.”

  “Are you nervous about the reunion? You know you’ve got nothing to feel awkward about now, right?” Anyone who can’t see what a goddess she is clearly needs to have their head examined.

  “I’m not really nervous …” Maggie says, sounding unsure. “But I’m not sure it’s going to be all that fun, either. There’s something about being around people you haven’t seen much since a certain time in your life—it kind of reverts you, you know? Like moving back with your parents ages after college.” She makes a face.

  “I know it’s going to be fun,” I say confidently. “We’ll make it fun.” I hadn’t given it that much thought before now, but in that moment I determine that I’m going to make reunion night fucking spectacular for the woman beside me.

  “We?” Maggie says teasingly. “Are you coming, too?”

  “Well, I assumed I’d be your date.” I bump my shoulder against hers. “Unless you’ve got some other guy lined up, too embarrassed to be seen with me now that you’ve completely outshone me.”

  She snorts in that gorgeously cute way of hers, and damn do I like every single thing this woman does.

  “You hadn’t mentioned it before,” she says. It occurs to me that maybe she felt it was too strange to outright ask. That’s fine. We can clear the matter up right now.

  “It’s settled, then. I’d be pleased to escort the woman who’s going to be the envy of every other person there.”

  She sighs. “I don’t know about that. My life is still pretty much a mess.”

  “Hey.” I cup her jaw, turning her face toward mine so I can gaze into those beautiful brown eyes. “What the hell are you talking about? You just pulled off an amazing job on the TV shoot; your baking is incredible. So what if you hit a few bumps in the road? You’re talking to the guy who went from a number-one album to barely selling five hundred copies of his solo effort.”

  “That’s different,” Maggie protests. “You didn’t have anything to prove by then.”

  “It sure didn’t feel that way,” I note darkly. “Look, I know you think the bakery failing was some kind of judgment, but shit happens all the time. It just means your brightest days are still ahead of you.”

  “What, did you read that on a cereal box?” Maggie teases, but her expression has softened.

  “Hush, you.” I kiss her, and she melts against me. I don’t remember ever feeling this protective of a woman before, not that Maggie really needs it. But I hate seeing her doubt herself and her talent. “Showbiz taught me it’s all about luck and timing,” I tell her. “You’ll be ready for your break, whenever it comes.”

  “Thanks,” Maggie sighs. “I need to hear that. I know it seems like I’ve got it together, but it’s hard sometimes, keeping the faith when you feel like a failure.”

  “You’re not a failure, Maggie,” I tell her, determined. “You’re just a star waiting to happen.”

  She laughs. “What’s that? A Cat-5 album cut?”

  “Hush, you.” I guide her lips to mine again.

  She tastes fucking amazing, tart from the wine but sweet, too. Her lips part under mine, her tongue teasing out, and a current of electricity shivers through me.

  “Come here,” I say, grabbing her hand and the blanket. “You promised me a make-out under the bleachers.”

  I love the eager spark that lights in her eyes. She enjoys playing with fire every bit as much as I do. At least, the fire that’s blazing between us.

  We hustle under the shelter of the bleachers. I drop the blanket by one of the posts, and then Maggie is pushing me down after it. She kneels over me, kissing me hard. I lean against the post and pull her flush against me.

  Her breasts press against my chest through her dress. Far too much fabric in the way there. I slide my hand under the neckline, drinking in her gasp as my fingers graze her pert nipple. She rocks against me. The brush of contact, her panties against the bulge in my jeans, takes me from half-hard to rock-solid in an instant.

  My body aches to grind into her, but that competitive instinct is still humming through me. I don’t just want to fuck her. I want it to be the best she’s ever had, every time topping the last.

  Let it never be said that I don’t believe in challenging myself.

  Of course, Maggie has her own ideas. She grinds into me, and all I can do is groan. My hand drops to grip her thigh. I slip it up under the skirt of her dress and stroke her through her panties. She moans, rocking harder. Fuck me, she’s already so wet I could plunge right inside her. I have never been so glad in my life for the spare condom I always keep on me.

  Maggie must have similar thoughts, because she lifts herself just long enough to wrench off those panties. Then she’s kissing me again, fumbling with the zipper of my jeans at the same time. I help her, dying for what she’s aiming to give. She dips her hand inside my boxers and my cock springs free into her hot, steady, perfect grasp. I give another groan as she pumps her fingers up and down me.

  Somewhere in the haze of bliss we get the condom on. Then Maggie is sinking after it, riding me like there’s nothing in the world she’s ever wanted more. In that moment, there’s sure as hell nothing I’ve wanted more than her bucking over me with little pants and whimpers that set me even more on fire. My balls are already tightening, my cock enveloped in the tight heat of her.

  I can’t give in yet. Not until she’s fully satisfied.

  I yank her mouth back to mine. Our lips crash together in a frantic kiss. My hips jerk under hers as I match her stroke for stroke. I flick my thumb over her clit, deepening the pressure when her whimpers turn into moans.

  “God,” I choke out. “You. Are. Fucking. Amazing. Give it to me, Maggie. Give me everything you’ve got.”

  “Yes,” she murmurs. “Yes!” Her muscles clench around me. With one last thrust, we come together. Then we collapse into a sweaty mess of heaving chests against the post. But the grin stretched across my face has got to be at least as big as the one beaming on hers. I brush her bangs back from her forehead and kiss her there for good measure.

  “So what do you think?” I say. “Made up for lost time and then some?”

  She laughs, a little breathlessly, and rolls over to pull me down beside her. And as I hold her to me, it’s hard to imagine there’s a single thing in the world that’s not right.

  21

  Maggie

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I say, staring at the sprawl of taffeta, sequins, and embroidery before me.

  McKenna laughs and drags me into the boutique. “I can’t believe you were going to show up at a prom-themed reunion in a regular old dress. If we’re going, we’ve got to do this right.”

  Lulu ambles in behind us, smirking at the racks of pastel gowns. If I remember right, she went dark and sleek for her senior prom, but that obviously isn’t stopping her from finding our shopping excursion highly entertaining.

  “Since you insisted on coming along, you’d better be more than a spectator,” I tell her. “Help me find something that’ll look halfway decent.”

  The stretch of her smirk gives me a bad feeling. She claps her hands. “I can definitely find you some possibilities.”

  I paw through one of the racks, already feeling ready to suffocate from tackiness, and my phone dings.


  Hey gorgeous. How’s “prom” prep going?

  I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling, too. Your sister is insisting on stuffing me into a full-out gown. Still sure you want to escort me to this thing?

  Are you kidding me? I’m not missing Maggie Hayes in a gown. Especially when I’ll get to be the one taking it off of you too.

  I guess I’d better find one with an easy access zipper then.

  “Hey!” McKenna says, nudging me. “Save the flirting for tonight. We’ve got serious work to do here.”

  My cheeks warm. Is it that obvious who I’m talking to? “Yeah, yeah,” I say.

  Lulu shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “You are too cute over that guy. It’s a good thing he seems just as hung up on you. Here.”

  I stuff my phone into my purse to accept the frilly lilac number she thrusts at me. I eye it skeptically. “This would make me look like a layer cake.”

  “Try it on anyway. You’ve got to get some laughs in too. That’s part of the fun, right?”

  McKenna pulls a rose-pink gown off the rack and holds it to her slim frame. The frothy monstrosity looks like it’s about to swallow her whole. “Too much?”

  “Take off half the gauze and all the rhinestones, and maybe it’d be okay,” I laugh.

  “Hmm.” She hangs it back up and moves to a row of black-and-white strapless options, which might have been more sedate if they weren’t all gleaming with crystals and glitter. Did an eight-year-old run through here with a Bedazzler? I’m not at all against dressing up, but I prefer not to blind anyone in the process.

  Lulu drops another couple dresses into my arms. I’m afraid to look at them too closely, but one is neon pink—Lord help me—and the other has so many sequins they hiss against each other as I shift the load in my arms.

  “Let me help you with that!” The shop attendant hustles over, her voice perky and bright enough to rival the store’s wares. “I’ll start a change room for you.”

  I guess I should be glad she isn’t looking at us as if it’s insane for a couple of thirty-or-nearly women to be shopping in this place at all.