Page 72 of The Book of Luke

He sighed before kissing me on the cheek. “Okay.”

“Also, not to pile on, but Troy’s steering his spotlight toward us and soon.”

“Damn… How do you want to handle it?”

I breathed him in, remembering myself at his age, the price of stolen glances, of hiding. “I think be honest. We’re two people who like each other… and we’re seeing where it goes.”

He blinked, an irrepressible smile breaking across his face. “That’s what we’re doing?”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“What about… you know, how it will look for the divorce, with me being a former—”

“Aspiringfilm and television actor,” I supplied. “Whom my kids really like? I think I can stand behind that.” And I genuinely believed I could. After all, when had suppressing my true feelings ever ended happily?

“Okay, then,” he replied, a little dazed. “Okay.”

I nodded, hugging him to me. “Well, good first fight.”

“You just like making up.”

“There are definite perks.”

“Well, go find me a bottle of water before you get any more perks. Zara said we shouldn’t brush our teeth without one.” He regarded the sink suspiciously. “This place is a fucking construction site.”

“It could beourfucking construction site,” I joked. “No cameras in the bedroom.”

“We are not having sex for the first time in this hellhole!” He swatted me with a washcloth, somehow even more adorable when scandalized.

“Fine, we’ll resist the temptations of the world’s most upscale staph infection,” I said, pecking him on the forehead before I dashed out the door.

My hunt for craft services led me to three Marco Polo representativessmoking on the rough-hewn lanai. The youngest handed me some crumpled bills and guided me through the labyrinthine compound to a generator and three incongruously cheerful vending machines, glowing with wide-eyed cartoon characters.

“Somebody get the munchies?”

I flinched, my mood souring as PB emerged under the work lights.

“You recovered from yesterday?” he asked, ignoring my silence.

“Have you? It’s not like you to put a target on your back. What if it wasn’t trivia?”

“This series is a subdivision. The architecture rarely changes if you pay attention,” he sighed. “Case in point, it doesn’t take a psychic to see what’s coming next. We’ve done Hell, now Purgatory… One destination left.” I shuddered to imagine Heaven through the filter ofEndeavor. “Moreover, I’m betting these partnerships get blown to smithereens in Act 3 to produce a single winner… and that’s you, my friend.”

“Don’t mock me. If that’s actually true, you’re not letting me near that final.”

“Luke, you winning this show is the best thing that could happen to me,” he said, looking to the ground. “This is my last season as a contestant onEndeavor.”

“After what you just did to Jiamin? I don’t believe for one second you’re quitting.”

“I said as acontestant… They’re firing Ecklund after this season.”

I scoffed. “Drew’s the show’s only constant. Even if he’s a buffoon.”

“Well, at $8 million a year, he’s an expensive buffoon, and the network’s done paying.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

“We all have our carrot to show up, right? If I make it to the finale, the hosting gig’s mine. $4 million a year, guaranteed three-year contract. Just two conditions.”