“You know, if you’re trying to mark your territory, you could’ve just peed on me before I came over here and saved us both a lot of time!”

On the other end, Jason burst out laughing. “I always suspected you were into kinky shit.”

Despite herself, Taylor laughed, too. He somehow always managed to do that—completely infuriate her one moment, then make her smile the next. It was actually quite sneaky.

“Good-bye, Jason. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, amused. Then she hung up the phone and stared at it for a long moment, until she heard someone clear his throat behind her. Taylor glanced up and saw Scott watching her from the doorway.

Looking very displeased.

OVER AT REILLY’S Tavern, Jeremy watched as Jason tucked his cell phone into his pocket.

“Not jealous of Scott Casey, huh?” He glanced pointedly at the dartboard, where Jason had taped Scott Casey’s “Other Contenders” photograph to the bull’s eye. Three darts jutted out prominently from the young actor’s forehead.

Jason ignored the question. He walked over and yanked his darts out of the board.

“He’s cooking for her,” he said disgustedly, as if this were a felony. “Like she’s going to fall for that. It’s so . . . amateur.”

“I cook for my dates,” Jeremy volunteered.

“You have to. You can’t afford to take them anywhere.”

“This is true,” Jeremy conceded good-naturedly. “Although I have also discovered that women really seem to like the taste of macaroni and cheese.”

Not even bothering with a token sarcastic response, Jason stared intensely at the picture of Scott Casey on the dartboard before him.

Suddenly, he vehemently rapid-fired all three darts.

He turned and took a swig of his beer as Jeremy nodded, impressed. Over at the board, a dart pierced right through each of Scott Casey’s eyes. The third jutted out prominently from his throat.

“Not bad,” Jeremy said. “But perhaps this is a good time to discuss your anger management issues.”

Jason sat down at their bar table as Jeremy lined up for his turn at the board. “You don’t think Taylor really likes this guy, do you?”

Jeremy shrugged, about to throw. “I don’t know. I haven’t met too many women who wouldn’t be impressed by Scott Casey.” He pointed the darts at Jason, thinking. “Then again, I haven’t met any other woman who has been so wholly unimpressed by you, so maybe there’s hope yet.”

Jason didn’t even crack a smile. In fact, he looked utterly miserable. Jeremy gave up his position at the dartboard and took a seat.

“Come on, Jason—what’s going on with you and this girl? This isn’t like you.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

“Then what is it?”

Jason sighed. “I don’t know . . .” He looked over at Jeremy, suddenly serious. “All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Now it was Jeremy’s turn to sigh. “Ahh . . . the friend zone. Have I been there.”

The two of them sat in dejected silence. Then Jeremy thought of something.

“Hey—you know what you need? You need a real guy’s night out. None of this pansy-ass Hollywood nightclub shit. I heard about this poker game going on tonight. Just a few writers I know, nothing high stakes. We can smoke cigars, drink some Macallan, talk about—”

“Poker?” Jason’s eyes lit up feverishly. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure you’d be interested, given your track record.”

“So I’ve been dealt a few bad hands,” Jason said dismissively. “Who hasn’t?”

Jeremy fought back his grin. The poor guy really had no idea. Any poker player worth his salt picked up on the whole watch thing in two hands or less. That was why he had subtly steered Jason toward craps a few years ago, when they had started going to Vegas and Jason had begun gambling serious money.

Of course, Jeremy supposed, a better man would’ve simply told his friend about his little tell. But as long as Jason never got into any serious trouble—hey, as long as he was still driving friggin’ Aston Martins and living in twenty-five-million-dollar houses—Jeremy saw no harm in keeping quiet. Every once in a while, it came in quite handy to be able to tell when Jason was lying. Like that time, years ago, when he had insisted he’d lost Speed to Keanu because the director had said he was “too tall” for the shots on the bus.

So Jeremy remained quiet this time as well. “Yes, that’s right, Jason,” he said reassuringly. “You’ve been dealt some bad hands. That’s all.”

Jason eagerly rubbed his hands together. “And that means I’m due—I can feel the gods of luck smiling down on me.” He pointed at Jeremy, highly confident. “You better be careful tonight. I’d hate for you to lose all your mac-and-cheese money.”

To keep his mouth shut, Jeremy took a long swig of his beer. After polishing it off, he set the bottle down on the table and gestured to the door. “Should we go then?”

Jason nodded, and Jeremy followed him out the bar.

He had the funniest feeling steak dinners were about to be back on the week’s menu.

LATER THAT NIGHT, Taylor let herself into her apartment. Not in the mood for a sudden flood of light, she turned on just one lamp in the living room. She kicked off her heels and sunk into the couch.