Page 37 of Make Me Laugh

Josette Daniels to work for money percentage, blah-blah-blah. West Parker to pay… “Does it matter if my last name isn’t Parker?” I pause, peeking at her through the corner of my eye.

“Oh,” Joey says. “Um.” She glances at the screen where my name’s listed. “What is it?”

“Isakson,” I say, thinking—man, this girl really hasn’t Googled me, huh?

Maybe she’s crazier than I thought… Who actually considers doing this with someone they had a one-night stand with but haven’t performed a single Google search on?

I find myself worrying about the decisions she makes… Which, obviously means I need her close to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid like go off on tour with three men who are total strangers.

Shit… Did she meet Kell last night?

Joey adjusts the document. “Should we wait for Enzo to look it over?” she asks.

My brow cocks. “You're not like, having me sell my soul to the devil or anything, right?” I’m still on the fence about whether she’s an actual witch or not.

Her brow raises too, but so does the opposite corner of her mouth, spreading into a smile men would go to war for. “What if I am the devil?”

I don’t need any time to think—I answer with the pencil tip to the screen. “Worth it.” My legal signature is a quick W. Isakson where my last name just looks like Ikson.

Joey’s still laughing when I pass the iPad back, watching as she signs Jo Daniels. It’s as pretty as I thought her signature would be. All round and swirly but still serious.

She looks up at me and says, “I guess this means I’m all yours for forty-eight hours…”

The smile on her face tells me more than any look ever has: I’m fucked, boys! Go on without me!

The front door opens, and Frankie pops around the corner milliseconds later. “Ah-ha!” She points to the couch with the hand not clutching her coffee. She obviously thought she was going to catch us mid-fuck.

I stand behind the couch, leaning over the back, and pretend to inspect the cushion Frankie’s pointing to. “That stain’s not from me. I don’t miss.”

Enzo snorts, holding a carrier of drinks.

Frankie huffs a disappointed sigh. “I thought for sure y’all’d be bumping uglies already.” She grabs an iced coffee out of the carrier and hands it to Joey. “They were out of real honey, only had the fake syrup, so that’s a hazelnut latte with a triple shot and oat.”

Enzo passes me a hot black americano. It’s either this or a purple Red Bull. I never switch it up, but there’s no telling what Enzo’s drinking. He changes his order every time we get coffee, which results in him hating more than half of every drink he gets.

Joey blows Frankie a kiss and takes a swig. Her happy dance makes me repeat the coffee order until I know I’ll never forget.

“No sex,” I say and everyone turns to stare at me.

It’s like one of those moments during a 90’s sitcom where the funny guy says something stupid and everyone has to pause for the live audience’s laughter. Except this isn’t a sitcom, no one’s laughing, and my brain malfunctioned, blurting my inside thoughts to the outside world where they don’t belong.

I attempt to save myself from my own stupidity. “No sex. She made me sign a No Sex Contract.”

“Oh, okay. That’s not what that was.” Joey holds her finger up like she’s about to scold the ever-loving hell out of me.

Do it, I think.

“We aren’t banging on the couch because you’re now paying me for a professional service, and I don’t fuck the people who pay me,” she corrects with an attitude, hip popping as her sass-meter skyrockets.

I love it. It makes me push harder. “So, what you’re saying is if you didn’t make me sign a No Sex Contract we would’ve gotten caught banging on the couch?”

“Sounds kinda like you made him sign a No Sex contract.” Frankie shrugs, her ponytail bouncing.

Enzo nods in silent agreement, and I'm feeling triumphant, my smile growing by the second until I can feel my dimples pull my cheeks taut. “Three against one. It’s a No⁠—”

“If you say No Sex Contract one more time…” Joey dares tightly. “I made him sign a payment agreement. I make 25 percent of the profit from last night’s viral ticket sales for forty-eight hours of work.”

Enzo butts in when numbers get involved. “Hold on a second. Why would you sign something serious without me? Jo, I like you and all, but respectfully, I don’t trust a girl who⁠—”