not a (televised) date
story page | talk to me
wc: 8k+
PART 7
June brought Jason back to New York, a simultaneous sigh of relief and a quickened pulse with the new proximity.
You’d done it before, Mia reminded. One city, same place. But this felt different.
Weekly sleepovers, at least a night or two he’d be at yours and you’d spend the evening ordering take out or laughing over a glass of wine about the things that happened in your days.
The warm air brought a new version of the honeymoon stage, he snuck in and out of your apartment, avoiding photographers when you’d meet him for dinner in the East Village.
You danced around the harder things: the traces left behind by the children you’d only seen in pictures, the way he’d step out into the living room to call her and make sure they went to sleep okay.
But despite the fact that the rumor mill turned and strangers were as curious as ever, neither you nor Jason made any move to publicize the relationship that had once felt like it wouldn’t even be one.
Sunday afternoon, Brooklyn, you sat across from him at a bar in his neighborhood, your back towards the door and a hat on his head to hopefully fly under the radar, a few days since you’d seen him.
“So your cousin Natalie and your other cousin—different parents—Janelle, both slept with the same guy and that’s why you all stopped having Christmas together?”
You nodded dramatically, let out a sigh. “That and my grandfather’s political views have gotten more obnoxious as he’s aged, so--felt easier for everyone to just send a Merry Christmas text and accept that we might not see some of them until there’s a funeral or a wedding.”
“And your grandfather is how old?”
“Eighty-seven,” you stifled a laugh. “So it’ll probably be a funeral seeing as both Natalie and Janelle are currently single.”
“Jesus,” he made a face at you. “Give him a break, the guy might keep ’ for a while.”
“He drinks whiskey every night and smoked until he was 75, so--”
“Or not,” he tried to keep a serious face. “I take it you’re not very close with him?”
You shrugged, let your hands wrap around the cocktail in front of you. You hadn’t planned on divulging the details of your family dynamics, but something about the way his head tilted to the side when you talked pulled it out of you.
“Things kind of shifted when I broke into the industry,” you offered a vague explanation.
He nodded in understanding, a frustrated look on his face when he joked: “phone calls from relatives asking for money or tickets to shows?”
“Actually yeah,” you laughed. “I don’t know--one of my aunts wanted to put an addition on her house and got upset that my mom didn’t offer to help pay for it--whatever though, I don’t want to bore you with L/N family drama.”
“Bore me?” He smiled. “Family’s are fuckin’ weird, but, I don’t know, I could listen to you talk about yours all day.”
You blushed a little, looked down at the ice that melted in your drink and used the two black straws to stir the contents inside. He sensed your shyness, hesitancy when you looked back up and felt like you’d been talking too much.
He cleared his throat and held your gaze for a second, looked away when he admitted: “Family dynamics are a whole different ball game when you have kids with someone and then break up.”
You nodded, too nervous to say anything in response. He didn’t talk about it much, you’d gathered crumbs here and there: every other weekend, high-pitched laughter on FaceTime when he called to say goodnight, planned weeks when they’d stay at with him and you’d yet to figure out if it was something that you’d ever learn more about.
“S’just weird, you know? Obviously when you have a kid with someone you don’t think you’ll end up co-parenting via text message.”
Sarcasm when you didn’t know how to reply. “You don’t?”
He offered a small smile at your joke. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be too…deep about it.”
You shook your head, unsure how to tell him that you wanted to hear it. Maybe there were details that you didn’t need to know, but after a few months of just wanting to be around him, you realized you wanted to hear it--even if it felt awkward.
“You’re allowed to be deep about something that’s deep,” you reminded, a quick glance around the room. A bar might not have been the most private place for a conversation like that, but he let out a small laugh, a huff of air through his nose when he looked up at you.
“You’re something else,” he smiled.
“Why?”
“Because you never say or do what I expect,” he admitted.
You let your eyebrows crawl up your forehead, a challenging smirk when you shrugged. “Maybe you should stop thinking you have me figured out.”
“Maybe,” he laughed, a pause when he looked down at the almost-empty beer glass in front of him. “Maybe you should stay with me in LA when we’re both out there this fall.”
“Yeah?” a quickened pulse when his eyes met yours.
He shrugged, “if you want, I mean, I know there’s a lot going on for you.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, you’d sworn him to secrecy about the album you were putting out, now he glanced around the room to make sure he hadn’t blown your cover.
You smiled, had to bite your tongue to keep from saying yes, yes, yes. He reached his hand over, scooped yours into his before he said: “Cara just settled everything with my AirBnB, apparently there’s a hot tub and a pool.”
“I’m sold,” you giggled.
“You are?” He asked excitedly, playing it up to get a laugh from you when you shushed him in the dark bar. “You’ll come? You’ll have hot tub sex with me?”
You rolled your eyes and bit back another laugh. “Isn’t that how you get a yeast infection?”
He dropped your hand, a serious look on his face. “Well I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t have the same anatomy.”
“I’m aware,” you deadpanned.
“Right, right,” he let out a breath, a silly shrug as if to say how could I forget? “You’ve seen it.”
He convinced you to ride the subway home with him, handed over his hat and sunglasses to protect you from being recognized. He tugged you down the steps behind him and didn’t seem to mind the way you tugged his face down to yours, a kiss on the mouth when your train approached. He stood with you in the corner, a quiet car on the A Line, your hand in his when the computer voice nudged you, Next Stop: LaFayette Avenue.
“Can I say something?” He asked you suddenly, eyes searching your face when you looked up at him.
You swallowed the fear that lingered overhead, a flicker of the subway lights when the train rounded a corner.
“I like you,” he nodded, a serious expression on his face that still took getting used to, not the same guy who cracked jokes or always had a comeback. “A lot.”
You felt your lips curl up, waited a second just to mess with him. He squirmed a bit, arched brows as if he knew what you were up to.
The train screeched to a halt--you didn’t really understand it, but you could have stayed right there, forever.
“Ditto.”
You followed him up the front steps, a big house near Fort Greene beneath a cloudy sky. You’d seen a few pictures on his phone, a living room with colorful throw pillows, his kids sprawled out on the floor with toys.
The foyer was big, stairs to the second floor and the door latched shut behind you. “Here,” he opened his arms to take your jacket, you did your best to hide your curiosity.
A tiny pink and yellow rain jacket on the hooks to your left, tiny shoes on the floor, pictures on the wall of blue-eyed babies, a few frames were empty, probably the ones of her.
“I can give you a tour,” he spoke quietly, a small smile in acknowledgment of the way your eyes wandered around the room.
“Yeah,” you nodded.
He extended his arm, took your hand in his and brought you around. A dining room, a renovated kitchen, a bay window that looked out over the street. You climbed the stairs behind him, imagined their Christmas mornings, birthdays, pancakes in the kitchen and the life with his family that still felt out of reach.
A smaller bedroom, pink walls, a doll house in the corner, you’d never guess how hard it was to put that thing together.
Farther down the hall, an office, past house plants and armchairs. “This is mine,” he flipped the light switch on. A dresser in the corner, a king-sized bed and light gray walls. “Just had a lot of the place redone, you know, after she left.”
You nodded, a tiny one, offered a small smile that somehow, he could read.
“She moved out at the end of last year--I got the house.”
A thousand questions when you looked up at him, but you didn’t know if it was okay to ask. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, waited for him to kiss you before he tugged you into the bedroom. Somehow the anxiety floated away with the rest of the world, the knot in your stomach untangled when he said: stay the night.
Mia’s take was pretty blunt, “you’re falling for him.”
“No I’m not,” you said to her in the backseat of an SUV in early July, the air conditioning tried it’s hardest to take the stickiness out of the air. Mid-town was a shit show, you sat in traffic and Mia offered an I don’t believe you look.
“It’s been like, a few months--just because we’re exclusive now doesn’t mean it’s--”
She waited, an expectant look on her face when you paused.
“You can’t even say it!”
“Say what?” Your shoulders lifted to your ears.
“Love,” she made an obnoxious face, scrunched her nose and mouth all tight like it was the cutest thing in the world.
“Because I don’t know if that’s what it is,” you confessed. A reiteration, as much for yourself as it was for Mia: “just because we’re dating doesn’t mean it’s love.”
“Right--but are you doing that thing where you try to convince yourself it’s not?”
You stared out the window, steam billowed from a manhole on 7th Avenue, you shuttered at the sight of a humid summer in New York. “No.”
“Well, just as a friendly reminder, your August is about to pick up. Album’s out in less than three weeks, you’ve got promotion here and in LA throughout the entire month. Might want to clue him in on all that.”
“Oh, right,” you turned back to her, remembering the conversation you’d had only a few days earlier. Little did Mia know, you were way ahead of her. “Jason said I could stay with him in an AirBnB he has out there--he’s out there for work at some point too, he leaves soon, I think.”
You picked up your phone to confirm the date with him, sent off a text before you looked back up to see Mia smiling.
“What?”
“You’re gonna stay with him?”
“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Should I not?”
“No, I totally support that if you’re into it.”
“That’s a non-answer,” you laughed a little.
“Am I not the one who has been supporting this the entire time?”
“You are,” a sigh, turning back to the window.
You couldn’t admit it to Mia, but the thought had crossed your mind: what’s the difference between love and infatuation? Was there such a thing as love between two people with an age gap wider than the Hudson?
But every time those thoughts cropped up you pushed them out, stay in the moment, don’t freak out. It wasn’t worth obsessing over what his kids might think of you if you ever met them, didn’t matter what would happen if you ever ended up in the same room as his ex.
Most days, all that mattered was the way you felt when he said your name or said he missed you.
A few nights later, your phone buzzed.
“Wanna come over?”
“To yours?”
“Yeah, to mine,” he laughed a little.
“Right now?”
“Right now,” he confirmed, you laid on your bed and stared up at the ceiling. Late already, past ten, but the sound of his voice through the phone had you feeling like you’d do anything he asked.
“It’s late,” you giggle a little, embarrassed by the butterflies that took flight at his invitation.
“I’m fully aware of the time,” he challenged. “But my bed’s a lot better when you’re in it.”
If you weren’t already pulling on shoes, now you were. You called a car and headed over, sipped the glass of wine he had waiting and followed him out to the roof deck.
Blinking lights that blurred together in the dark, sounds from the streets below floated up to the outdoor space off his bedroom when he asked: “New York feels so small sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“This summer especially.”
“What do you mean?”
You smiled over at him, brave enough with the help of your drink to admit the truth. “It feels small cause you’re the only person I’ve been hanging out with.”
“What?” He made a face that said you’re full of it. “That’s not true.”
“Yes it is,” you giggled, leaned back in the outdoor chaise lounge and tugged at the strings on the hoodie he offered you. “Mia doesn’t count.”
“I think that would hurt Mia’s feelings,” he chided, a tiny smirk on his face when he looked over to see you. “And you’ve seen Blake and Ryan, and Maddy and…Ava?”
“Ada,” you corrected, watching as you swirled the wine around in your glass. “Which is true, but I’ve only seen them all, like, twice now. Apparently I’m one of those girls who only hangs out with her boyfriend.”
He sipped his own glass and looked out over the streets below, eyed you quickly before he tugged his gaze away.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he smiled.
“What?” You pushed again, lips curled into a smile when he finally brought his eyes back to yours.
“It’s stupid…”
You lifted your brows, waited for him to say more when he let out a sigh like he was about to crack.
“You saying the word ‘boyfriend’ referring to me makes me…like…I feel tingly, or something.”
“Down there?” You wiggled your brows, borrowing his sexual humor when he let out a chuckle.
“No, like—” he motioned all around his torso: his chest, his stomach, his shoulders. “All over, I guess.”
You could tell he felt embarrassed to admit it, nodded a little before he chanced a look up in your direction.
“Good to know my power over you,” you smirked.
He blew a breath out between his lips, leaned back and finished off his glass. “Yeah—pretty frightening.”
“Fightening?!” You laughed.
“In a good way,” he backtracked, a beat before he admitted: “I haven’t been hanging out with anyone either. Weirdest part is that you’re kind of the only one I want to hang out with.”
You felt the warmth spread throughout, felt your cheeks blush and your heart beat pick up when a plane descended in the distance for JFK.
“Wow.”
He chuckled, thrown off by your short reply. “Wow?”
A shrug. “Just never expected…all of this, I guess.”
“Thought I was just gonna be a one night stand? An incredibly sexy hook up that had the allure of being an older man?”
You offered a challenging stare, aware of the implication of his words. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“Oh really?”
“Really,” you laughed, trying your best to stay serious.
He stood up, moved over to sit on the edge of your lounger. He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your lips when you giggled against him.
“Let’s go,” he stood again, reaching out a hand for yours.
“Why?”
“Cause I can’t have sex with you out here.”
So sure, being back in New York brought a new excitement, and most days it felt like it was just the two of you in all of the city. You floated above Manhattan, not sure if it was cloud nine or if dating him had you living in a bubble, but either way you feared the fall back down to earth.
Summer soon peaked and after brunch dates in Greenwich Village, he had to head to the West Coast for the premiere.
You watched the new episodes with Mia, wine and giggles in your apartment when she rolled her eyes, who’d have thought. Promotion for your album in August before you boarded a plane and then dropped bags in the hallway of a house in Encino.
The California breeze was a welcomed break from the smog of the city, green smoothies and lazy mornings in sun-soaked rooms before you had a busy week for the release.
A party put on by your label and talk-show appearances during the day, each night you got to find him in the kitchen or the living room, it almost felt like playing house. What do you want for dinner, what’s your day look like tomorrow?
Now, five months in, you sat on the couch in Ellen’s studio, ignored the bright lights and hoped for the best.
“I’ve known you for a while now, Y/N,” Ellen said, an unplanned tangent she hadn’t briefed you on before the taping. “But I never knew we had mutual friends.”
“I…didn’t either,” you laughed in uncertainty, the audience echoed.
A picture flashed on the screen behind you, a photo of you and Jason walking by the East River and the camera zoomed in when you felt heat rise to your cheeks.
“Jason and I go way back,” she smiled, the look in her eyes told you she knew just how much she was throwing you off. “I didn’t know you two were also friends.”
“Right,” you nodded. “Yeah--he’s great, he’s uh--we met in London.”
The picture disappeared, thank god, not a flattering one. “Of course, yeah, what were you doing over there?”
“I was working on my album, writing and recording and whatnot,” you smiled, unable to play it cool. “Which came out last week, by the way!”
“It did, and it’s phenomenal! I mean, really, you are so talented.”
“Thank you so much!”
She paused for a second and smirked, you lifted your brows.
“Are there songs about him on it?”
You let out a laugh, “Jason? No, no--he’s…a good friend. I was out in London to work on my album--”
“...And he was there working on his show,” Ellen filled in the blank, an excited look on her face as she watched you crack under pressure.
“Yes, yeah.”
A beat when she watched you, stray giggles from the crowd. “You’re smiling a lot.”
More blushing, “am I?”
“A bit,” Ellen smirked, “yeah. You seem excited.”
“No, I just--I didn’t know you have photographic evidence of your guests hanging out with your friends.”
“Well,” She shrugged, appreciative of your banter. “Based on that photo, he looks like he’s your friend, too.”
“Sure,” you nodded. “I can see why you’d think that.”
Rumblings of excitement from the audience, dark figures almost invisible beyond the studio lights.
“I’m glad you’re at the point where you can admit it.”
Another smile, “admit he’s my friend?”
“Well there’s this rule, in Hollywood--it’s like for the first three months you’re dating someone you can’t even admit you know them, right?” She paused a little to see if you’d fight her, when you didn’t, she laughed. “You get asked about them and you have to be like--oh, I don’t even know them.”
“Who is that?” You laughed in agreement, “Yeah, right, it’s total ignorance.”
She nodded. “Right, that’s phase one of a celebrity relationship.”
“It sounds like you’ve been doing research,” you teased.
“I’ve talked to a lot of people,” she laughed, motioning around the set. “So far, that’s the universal phase one, I think!”
You laughed at her joke, let your head tilt to the side to admit she was onto something. “It’s just ‘cause you don’t know where it’s going, you have to be so quiet about it.”
“Right,” she nodded. “I’m glad you’re in the phase where you can call Jason a friend, it’s got to be between three and six months, right?”
You giggled, brought your hands up to your face as if that would shield you from the cameras, she wasn’t going to get it out of you that easy. The audience cheered and you wondered what Kailyn would say once she met you backstage.
You couldn’t hide it forever, and in most ways, you didn’t want to. Ellen made it up to you with a mimosa after the show, you’d admitted the truth about your relationship before the taping and she’d joked that even her ten-year-old niece had heard the news.
A few nights later, you sat in the AirBnB kitchen and sipped a glass of wine, scrolled mindlessly on your phone and told him: “My friend invited me to the Emmys,” your thumbs typed out a reply, 🤣🤣🤣.
Her actual text: if he doesn’t ask you to be his date, you can be mine 🥰
There was no way he’d ask you to be his date, only two weeks away and it hadn’t even been mentioned. You didn’t expect it and you didn’t want it, really. You knew all too well how much of a stir it would cause to walk the red carpet or sit by him at a table draped in white.
Walking by his side down the street did enough in the headlines, you could only imagine sipping a cocktail in an evening gown with his arm on the back of your chair.
“Oh—is that the kind of thing you can go to?”
You made a funny face, a tiny laugh: “what’s that supposed to mean?”
He laughed, shrugged when he turned to see you, a spatula in hand. “I don't know the rules. Pop stars at TV awards shows? Is that allowed?”
“Yes it’s allowed,” you rolled your eyes. “I’ve never been though. She writes for a sitcom that’s nominated and has a plus one. I don’t know if you’d care if I was there--I don’t know if that would be…like, weird.”
He thought on that for a second, pushed his lips out in thought when his forehead wrinkled.
His nominations were huge, he was sure to be a hot topic of the night and the show was certain to get the praise it received. The last thing you wanted to do was overshadow that.
“Well,” he let out a breath, “just to be clear, if the internet wouldn’t explode, I’d love to bring you with me—”
“But—”
“How’d you know there’s a but?” He smirked, pretending to be surprised.
“I’ve known you for a few months now, I know your sense of humor.”
“Mmm, yeah,” he admitted. “It’s dumb.”
“It’s not dumb,” you dismissed him, redirecting: “but it is how you deflect from serious conversations.”
He quirked a smile at that, nodded in defeat when you waited for him to spit it out.
“It’s probably too soon for us to go together and it’s probably not the best venue for an F-P-A.”
“F-P-A?”
“First public appearance.”
You nodded once he explained, tried not to roll your eyes at another attempt of his to break the tension with a joke. “Got it. Yeah, no, I agree.”
He watched you for a second, obviously trying to gauge your reaction. “Are you upset?”
“No,” you said, a half-truth. You understood, and for the most part, you did agree. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a tiny part of your brain that wished he had said: fuck the media, fuck what people think, I’d love for you to come with me. Wishful thinking at best.
But all you said was: “I get it. Do you care if I go with her?”
He came closer, leaned on the granite beside you. “Do you want to?”
You shrugged, nervous to admit the truth. “I mean, it’d be nice to be there. I know it’s a big night for you.”
The corner of his mouth twisted, flattered. “You want to go because it’s a big night for me?”
“Don’t get gross about it,” you laughed, pulling away when he snaked an arm around your waist.
“Gross? It’s gross that you like me?” He had a good hold of you, pressed a kiss to the side of your face despite the way you wriggled in his arms.
“Yeah, disgusting,” you made a face, pushed him off when he let out a laugh.
“I would not hate it if you were there,” he watched you walk towards the living room. “But so help me God if I have to get on that stage and make a speech, don’t look at me.”
You bit back a laugh. “Don’t look at you?”
“No--don’t give me those sex eyes.”
“Sex eyes?” You couldn’t help it now, a giggle escaped and he pointed at you with two fingers.
“Yes, those, those ones right there,” he almost shouted, fighting a laugh. “Those ones that also look up at me when you’re sucking my--”
“You’re an idiot,” you nodded at him. “I’m telling Evie I’m coming with her.”
“Please do,” he went back to the stove. “Maybe we can meet in the bathroom for a quickie.”
“Right, like you’ll have time for that.”
“It’s a lot of sitting around at those shows,” he eyed you over his shoulder, building his case.
“Yeah, but you’re nominated for the biggest categories,” you dismissed him. “Something tells me you’ll be busy.”
He didn’t reply, laughed a little and tended to the food on the stove.
You stared at your phone now, I’m in, you told Evie, when he turned around and said: “I actually wanted to talk to you about something, though.”
Uh oh. You looked up quickly and he let out a laugh. “It’s not a big deal.”
“What’s up?”
“I actually talked to Liv the other day and we talked about me taking the kids for a week, around my birthday.” Also two weeks away.
You nodded slowly, letting your eyes drift back down to the granite. “Here?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “She’s gonna go on a trip, I guess. Obviously wanted me to see them for my birthday, too, though.”
“Right.”
He couldn’t read you, confusion crossed his face. The scent of dinner wafted through the house that was starting to feel cozy. He’d only been there for two weeks or so before you came out, said it felt empty without you.
Was he kicking you out? First the Emmys and now this? Two blows in one night.
“I know you’re here, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable--”
“Yeah--”
“She kind of sprung it on me at the last minute, I figured I’d see them for the weekend or something, but she asked if I could take them for the week.”
“Of course.”
“I’m a dick,” he nodded quickly. “But I don’t know if I’m ready for--y’know--having those two…parts of my life, like, come together.”
You nodded, felt your mouth go dry and wished it didn’t sting so bad, a level of nonchalance when you replied. “Yeah--I can talk to Mia, I mean, I’ve got more work stuff next week.”
“Do you have somewhere to stay, though? I feel bad.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about me, I can get a place or stay with a friend--Ada has a place near Venice Beach, remember?”
“Ava?” He tried to joke, “the one from your birthday party?”
“Yeah,” you stood from the island and picked up your phone and your wine.
“Hey,” he called after you when you headed for the bedroom. You turned to see him, still masking the disappointment. “I’m sorry--it’s not that I don’t want you to meet them.”
“No, I get it, it would be a lot.”
You weren’t lying--it would be. Meet his kids and sleep in the same bed as their dad? You didn’t even know how serious this was or what type of future there was for the two of you. The summer had been fun, a nice surprise to keep things going beyond the London expiration date you once assumed would be the kiss of death.
And moments like these--ones that highlighted the disparity between you--had you questioning if there was a future at all. He looked like he didn’t believe you. You shifted on your feet.
“Does she know about me?”
His forehead wrinkled, a hand on his hip when he asked: “Olivia?”
“Yeah.”
He stammered, dropped your gaze. “Yeah--no, I mean, I told her that you were out here with me, I told her back in May about you, I think.”
“May?”
“Yeah, I mean--” he cracked a smile, “I kind of owed her an explanation for ditching our kids for your birthday party.”
You smiled a little. “How’d she take it?”
“I mean, she didn’t seem thrilled that I’m sleeping with someone 10 years younger than her,” he joked, more serious when you eyed him suspiciously. “But I’m not really worried about what she thinks.”
“Why not?”
He shook his head, let his eyes glance out the window. “She’s the one who wanted to end it.”
“Oh.”
He pushed his lips out in thought, turned back to the stove for a second. He hadn’t divulged that, you hadn’t asked. So far you only had a few puzzle pieces he’d revealed: November 2020, drifting apart, in a way he saw it coming.
“She’s moved on, so…” he trailed off.
You nodded, only half-reassured by the smile he offered when he turned to see you again.
So you planned on heading to Ada’s the morning they arrived, bags packed for the week and he kissed you at the door. “We’ll work out the details of that quickie,” he poked you in the side.
You talked to him on the phone, he sent a few pictures of bike rides and when Ada looked over your shoulder one night, she smiled. “Are you going to be a step-mom?”
“What? No,” you let out a quick laugh. “I don’t think that’s where this is going.”
“What do you mean?” She settled back into the couch and tucked her feet beneath her. The ocean waves were audible through the window, you sent him a picture of the sunset but didn’t reply when he said: miss you.
You shrugged, clicked your phone shut. “I don’t know.”
She looked at you expectantly. “Yeah?”
“I like him,” you admitted, more comfortable with saying it out loud now that you’d brushed your teeth beside him for a week. “A lot.”
“...But?”
“But we’re at really different places in our lives. He’s a dad, he practically has an ex-wife. Two, I mean, he was married before he was with Olivia! And I don’t think I’m step-mom material.”
“You’re good with kids!” She argued, albeit a bit taken back by the emotion in your voice.
“Yeah,” you made a face. “Seven year olds at meet-and-greets.”
She rolled her eyes and sipped her wine.
“They’re old, Ada. Old enough to have opinions and not like me.”
“You’re forgetting that you’re famous,” she eyed you.
“Just because they might like my songs doesn’t mean they’ll like me sleeping with their dad.”
She tried her best to keep a straight face. “Well they’re children, so I’d hope he hasn’t told them that part.”
You laughed at her joke but let out a sigh. “I don’t know. He didn’t want to bring me to the Emmys, now he’s not ready for those parts of his life to collide.”
“That doesn’t mean he’ll never be ready…”
“Yeah,” you agreed, though you didn’t know if you believed her. “I don’t want to fall harder than he is though.”
She reached over and squeezed your thigh, apparently deciding she wouldn’t push you on it. She poured another glass of wine and encouraged you to take him up on the bathroom quickie when she bid you farewell the next morning--you headed to Evie’s for hair and make up.
But awards shows always felt awkward. Fancy gowns, famous faces, free alcohol. A jacked-up, preposterously expensive prom for adults, popularity contests that weren’t frowned upon.
Attending one outside of your field felt like a breath of fresh air. You weren’t performing, presenting, accepting--you weren’t doing anything but keeping a low profile and, hopefully, nursing cocktails to distract you from the fact that Jason hadn’t mentioned anything about an afterparty.
Only this time it hurt more than when Brittany Devers didn’t invite you to her co-ed, post-senior prom sleepover.
You watched as Evie took both drinks from the bartender, handed one to you and smiled at the security detail that lingered close behind. A phenomenal teleplay writer for a nominated sitcom, her first big gig in Hollywood landed you at a party together two years back when she spilled a drink on your dress and then begged you to not write a song about her.
“Thank you,” you let out a sigh, brought it close to your lips when you fell into step with her back towards the ballroom.
“The goods have been secured, let the fun commence.”
“Hopefully,” you groaned.
“Oh knock it off,” she said, weaving past other celebrities. “We’ll go to that afterparty.”
“If he invites me.”
“He’d be the worst boyfriend ever if he didn’t and you should dump him if that’s the case.”
When you didn’t reply, she changed courses, arm linked with yours when she served a heaping dose of reassurance.
“He will, he’ll invite you. Or we’ll go get drunk somewhere and you can dance on a table and all the tabloids will cover that instead of however many Emmys his dumb show wins.”
“The show’s not dumb,” you looked at her, fully aware of how full of shit she was.
“It’s so good,” she admitted quickly, like it’d been hard to lie. “They’re gonna fucking clean up.”
“Y/N, hi, we wanted to come introduce ourselves,” a timid hand on your wrist, two familiar faces when you stopped in your tracks and offered a smile. Shit.
“Hi!” You greeted, suddenly embarrassed to have been talking about him so casually in public. Hannah, Juno, his castmates, you blinked a few times and hoped they hadn’t heard anything you’d said.
“Just wanted to say hi, we’re huge fans,” Juno smiled up at you.
“So nice to meet you,” you used your free hand to give them both a hug. “Sorry I missed you on set that day I visited, feels like a long time ago now!”
“We thought something was up back then,” Hannah wiggled her brows at you suggestively. “Very glad to know it still is.”
Evie smiled at that, cuing your manners.
“Right, this is my friend Evie, Evie Lydon,” you introduced them.
“Huge congrats on your nominations,” she greeted.
“Absolutely wild,” Hannah gushed, humility evident in her excited smile.
“Can’t believe people even know my name, truthfully,” Juno admitted.
“Are you kidding? Your show’s the best thing on television,” Evie nodded confidently. “Can’t believe you guys didn’t get more nominations.”
“Too bad we have to fight for one,” Hannah smiled down at her friend.
The lights in the lobby flashed twice, a reminder to get your ass back to your table before things really got started. You hugged them both again, thanked them for coming to say hi.
Juno offered a toothy grin, “we’ll see you later, yeah? You’ll be at the afterparty?”
Ouch.
“I might,” you forced a smile, “haven’t really chatted with him about that yet.”
“Nonsense,” Hannah said. “You have to come! I’ll find you and bring you myself if I have to, it’ll be fun!”
Evie was beside herself, the afterparty for writers probably sucks, then you made your way back to your seats.
A non-discriminate table, number fourteen. Not in the back, not in the front. A perfect place for you to spend the evening, your phone face up on the table when a text came through:
Jason (9:13pm): Juno said she’s obsessed with you. Hannah said you smelled like roses. Rave reviews up here at table 3
Y/N L/N (9:14pm): Table 3? Sounds like you’ve got easy access to the stage 👀
Jason (9:16pm): 😳
Evie leaned over to peek at your screen. Your eyes glanced over to meet hers, a smirk when she let out a laugh. “What’s he saying?”
You clicked your phone shut and set it down. “Just that Hannah and Juno said I was nice,” a shrug of your shoulders.
“You are nice.”
“I know,” you laughed, waving her off. The other inhabitants of your table were distracted, a few of Evie’s co-writers were chatting with an actress from the sitcom, the table over had the director and the producers.
The table to your other side had people you knew from Saturday Night Live, a few NBC execs and familiar faces decorated the three tables between yours and Jason’s.
People were distracted enough, you lowered your voice and leaned over to Evie.
“I was nervous as shit to meet them.”
“Why?”
“Cause--I dunno--look at them all up there,” you nudged your chin towards their posse. Jason, the producers, the rest of the cast. “They’re like a little club.”
“Oh my god,” Evie brought her eyes back to you, realization in her smile. “You feel left out.”
“No I don’t,” you said quickly, leaning back in your chair and reaching for your drink.
She didn’t buy it, her wide eyes and subtle smirk let you know she saw right through your faux-calm demeanor. “Little Miss Popstar isn’t used to not being the center of attention?”
“Okay, that’s not it,” you laughed and rolled your eyes. “I just--I’m out of my element. They all make a TV show and you write on one and here I am--no one would be impressed by me pulling out a guitar and singing a little song.”
“Well, you’re Y/N L/N, so, they’d actually lose their shit--but I do get what you’re saying.”
“What am I supposed to talk to them about if we go to this afterparty? I’m not one of them and this is his night. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”
You slurped your cocktail, ignoring the way she watched you.
“Have you ever thought that what makes him like you is that you aren’t an actor? Maybe he’s sick of dating people who have the same job.”
A shrug, unsure. In your vulnerable state and with all of the beautiful actresses in the room he’d probably had sex scenes with, Evie’s words landed right below your ribs and only made your stomach twist more: you didn’t know why he liked you in the first place.
Young, immature, anxious, not as funny as him, you’d never really acted besides a few guest appearances here and there. The evidence piled up, Evie got tugged away by one of her bosses and you were forced to be pleasant with an actress who’s name escaped you.
After your second drink and seven awards:
Y/N L/N (9:41pm): Are you shitting yourself?
Jason (9:45pm): My stylist would kill me, so no.
Y/N L/N (9:46pm): Honest answer?
Jason (9:47pm): May or may not be nervous sweating.
Jason (9:47pm): It’s already a good night, we already won a few.
Y/N L/N (9:47pm): True!
Jason (9:48pm): I’d rather everyone else win than me.
Y/N L/N (9:48pm): You’re going to win.
Jason (9:48pm): 😬😬
Jason (9:48pm): You’re gonna give me a big ego
Y/N L/N (9:49pm): How so?
Jason (9:49pm): Let’s see…somehow I managed to land someone incredibly hot, incredibly talented, incredibly awesome
Jason (9:50pm): it also doesn’t hurt that every other guy between the ages of 18-60 would hands down, 100% have sex with you
Y/N L/N (9:50pm): Is that your kink? Other people wanting to have sex with me?
Jason (9:50pm): 🤷🏼♂️
You leaned to your left, put your face close to Evie’s when you watched him from afar. Was it stupid to think he wanted you here? Was it stupid to believe what he said instead of the anxiety that gnawed at your core?
It only rose, an uneasy feeling when you watched him accept the biggest award of the night, a speech and applause that made your pulse rise as the seconds ticked.
Your heart soared for him, proud--but you felt like you didn’t have the right to be. Your phone started to flood with texts--friends congratulating him through you--but you made a break for it, wove through a back hallway until you found the bathroom and hoped for a moment of quiet.
Instead, you stared in the mirror and felt sorry for yourself.
The adult in you understood the fragile nature of something like this. What did you expect? Had you really thought dating someone so much older--someone with his own life and his own family and his own career--would be easy? Were you really silly enough to be hiding in a bathroom because you didn’t know what to do?
This was his job, just like it was yours. Smile for the cameras, be grateful, prop yourself up and perform. And now your stupid emotions were getting in the way.
When you emerged to find your security detail waiting, you headed back towards the event space, only a few steps until you looked up to see him walking beside Cara down the same hall, a trail of crew members behind them.
His face lit up, Cara smiled when they slowed.
“Were you in the bathroom?” He offered a playful smirk, clunky award in hand. No one else was in on the joke, you rolled your eyes but smiled up at him.
“Congratulations,” you looked down at it.
“Heavier than I thought,” he held it up to give you both a closer look.
You smiled, didn’t say anything when Cara excused herself. The security detail followed her lead and stepped away, Jason smiled at them in gratitude.
“I should go back to my table,” you said.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, forcing a smile. It didn’t seem fair to bring it all up tonight. “All good, you’ve got celebrating to do.”
Another headset approached, started talking to Cara. Jason tried to stay focused despite the buzzing in the hallway. “Yeah--I’ll text you. Are you guys going to an afterparty?”
“Dunno.”
“Come to ours,” his brow furrowed, the look on his face told you he knew something was up, but now wasn’t the time or place to address it. “I’ve got a hotel.”
“I don’t have to--I know it’s a cast thing.”
He took a step closer to you, his voice lowered despite the fact that now it was clear Cara and the headset woman needed to pull him away from you. “I want you to come.”
“Okay,” you nodded, turned to Cara and offered a smile. Evie was still at her table when you got back, disappointed her show wasn’t awarded Outstanding Writing for a Comedy Series, but happy to find you and brag to her friend: this is Y/N, she’s dating Jason Sudeikis, but shh!
A few more drinks helped you relax, eventually you were herded into a party bus by Hannah, she’d found you just as she promised and Evie happily took a glass of champagne that someone was passing around.
The bus lurched into motion, next stop: afterparty, but everyone fell quiet when Jason stood and cleared his throat. “Sorry to break up the party,” he held up a hand, someone shoved a bottle of champagne into it and he laughed, gripping it and holding it up. “I just want to say how proud I am of everyone here--we’ve worked really fucking hard and I did a shitty job thanking everyone I needed to thank, but we’ve made a fucking awesome show and--yeah, I’m just glad to share tonight with all of you.”
You were towards the back, giggled with Evie when her glass fizzed and the rest of them cheered. Maybe you didn’t belong like they did, but a text made you feel a bit more at ease.
Jason (10:45pm): There’s an empty seat up here with your name on it
You peered over Hannah and Juno to find him in the front of the bus, another one of the writers beside him as they laughed.
Y/N L/N (10:45pm): Hmm, from back here it looks like you’re sitting with someone
Jason (10:45pm): He can move!
You caught him eyeing you when you looked up, waved him off but couldn’t help but blush at the smirk on his face.
“Alright,” Juno said, turning in her seat and adjusting her dress. “I’ve never seen the man so glued to his phone. Spill it.”
Evie smiled like she respected the way you’d been called out, Hannah turned to see you and they all waited for an answer.
“There’s nothing to spill,” you stifled a giggle.
“Oh please,” Hannah waved you off. “He stares at that phone with a stupid grin on his face and you should absolutely take credit for it.”
“Maybe he’s texting his children,” you shrugged, downplaying their enthusiasm.
Evie sipped her champagne and fluttered her eyelashes at you, “didn’t know there was an award tonight for best liar…”
A sigh before you gave in, “he just said he wanted me to go up there and sit with him.”
They all let out coos of excitement when Hannah questioned:
“And you’re not because…?”
“I don’t want to intrude,” you said honestly.
“Intrude?” Juno made a face. “You’re Y/N L/N.”
“And I had nothing to do with this show,” you reminded, gesturing around the bus.
“Except for sleeping with the guy who created it, wrote it, produced it, starred in it…” Hannah’s bluntness elicited a laugh from all of you. “Sorry, not to be crass, but--people talk.”
“Did he tell you guys about her?” Evie leaned forward, kept her voice low enough to avoid being overhead.
“Tell us about you?” Hannah repeated for good measure. “He was basically blushing on set after you met.”
“Took him a few weeks to tell us who he was seeing,” Juno shrugged, “but, learning it was you was the excitement of a century.”
“I told you,” Evie elbowed you in the ribs.
“Told me what?”
“She’s been imploding tonight,” Evie informed your new friends. “The age difference, the career difference, blah, blah, blah.”
“You’re, like, way more famous than him, no offense,” Juno commented.
You bit back a laugh, reached for Evie’s champagne and took a sip. “Tonight’s about you guys all and your amazing work,” you lifted the glass to clink it against Hannah’s. “Cheers to you!”
More laughter, more excited chatter when you ignored another text:
Jason (10:56pm): I won an Emmy and if you think I won’t use that to guilt you, you’re wrong
A hotel in West Hollywood, the bus slowed in front of the entrance and people started to file off towards hors d'oeuvres and celebratory drinks. Jason was off first, you and Evie trailed behind Hannah and Juno in the dark evening.
“Not for nothing,” Juno held onto your wrist for a second once you hit asphalt, a timid smile when she looked up at you. “But he’s been the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Own your power.”
You felt yourself soften, anxiety melting when she looked over her shoulder and watched Evie link arms with Hannah as they headed for the party, the energy still buzzing from the group. Juno looked back to you, then off to where Jason stood with someone you didn’t recognize.
They shook hands, he locked eyes with you and excused himself when Juno gave your arm a squeeze. “See you inside, yeah?”
“Thank you,” you smiled down at her, waved when she hurried in her heels to catch up with the rest of them.
His hands were in his suit pockets as he approached in the quiet night, the mustache you’d grown used to had been shaved for the formal event. Music floated from the hotel when the doors parted to allow the rest of them inside.
“All the girls in the back of the bus,” he sighed. “Kind of feels like a middle school field trip.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Kind of felt like one with all of the giggling we did.”
“Are you okay?” He asked seriously. “Are we good?”
“Yes, yeah--we’re fine. I don’t want you to worry about me. This is your night.”
“Yeah, but,” he shook his head. “If something’s up I want to know.”
You inhaled, contemplated lying some more but figured that would only create more tension. “I just don’t want to intrude on your night, or your life.”
His lips curled up, he let out a tiny laugh but kept his eyes on you for a moment in the now empty parking lot.
“I want you to intrude,” he nodded.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged, looked around before his eye settled on yours again. “If you being here is intruding, or if you sleeping in my bed is intruding,” a step back when he laughed again. “I want that.”
You nodded, sheepish and embarrassed.
“I have some people I want to introduce you to in there,” he pushed his chin towards the hotel.
“Yeah?”
“I know it’s been a weird week, but, yeah--I’d like to introduce my girlfriend to some people.”
Butterflies, he knew it when he reached for your hand. He brought it up to his mouth and kissed it, tugged you towards the entrance.
“Oh,” you said, stopping in your tracks, pulling him into you by the suit jacket. You kissed him quickly, felt him lean into you before you pulled away.
“What’s that for?”
“Happy birthday, a day late.”
He smiled, slung an arm around your shoulders and walked you inside.
So you stayed by his side most of the night, met his friends and his colleagues, thanked the people who said they loved your music and even posed for a few selfies. You watched him work the crowd, hopeful that the rush of adrenaline you felt when he smiled at you across the room would never fade.
He unzipped your dress that night in a hotel room and the way he kissed you made any insecurities fade, even if just for a moment.
The next morning he flipped his phone around, a text from Cara that he’d already replied to:
Cara (8:23am): Some photos from the afterparty have Y/N in them--talked with Danielle, we can ask them to not publish if you want.
Jason (8:34am): Publish them. I win an Emmy and I have a hot girlfriend?
Cara (8:36am): Lol, you’re definitely a winner.
____
story page | talk to me
AN: OKAY GUYS! I cannot believe there are now 7 parts of this wine fueled idea I had. I seriously had so much fun writing this part and wanted to ramp it up/go a littler deeper than we have so far with these two. Things are getting more INTENSE and I hope you're here for it like I am!
🎄 MERRY CHRISTMAS HERES MORE JASON FIC FOR YOU 🎄
