...

"Hi babe," she says, greeting me at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hi to you," I say, taking the cup and kissing her perfect lips. "How was the shoot?"

"So great," she says. "We finished early, and Miranda let me peek at the film roll. We got some perfect shots."

"Knowing you, I'm sure they're all perfect. I'd buy trash-scented fragrance from you." I tell her, slinking my free hand around her waist and pulling her into me. "I'd buy wheatgrass cologne if you were selling it," I add, taking a sip from the green cup.

"Let's hope that's not my next campaign," Cece jokes, nudging my rib cage, but leaning in for another kiss.

"Get a room." Miles groans, rolling his eyes, as he walks down the spiral stairs.

Miles is every single inch of 6'6" and with arms twice the size of mine, which makes it look extra silly to see him carrying an empty box of twinkling string lights in one hand and a carton of drink umbrellas in the other.

"Decking out the rooftop?" I ask.

"Sixteen boxes of lights later," Miles groans again.

I laugh off his annoyance. If there's one thing I've come to learn about Miles it's that everything is for show. He groans and moans and bitches until the cows tip over spontaneously in their field, but he really lives for this shit. I wouldn't be surprised if he picked out the drink umbrellas himself.

"Hey, you insisted on the rooftop bar," I say, throwing my arms up to defend myself.

"Yea, and you'll thank me for it in about 2 months when this place is the hottest bar in LA." Miles dumps the empty box into the large trashcan beside the stairs.

"You think?" I joke.

Truth is, I'm lightly dipping my feet into the hype and hysteria of Edge's grand opening. I don't want to get my hopes up, so I sort of pretend I'm not spending every waking second anxious and on (excuse the pun) on edge.

"Of course it will be, babe," Cece chimes in.

"And of course you're going to bring all your hot famous model singer friends?" Miles adds, grinning at Cece.

"As promised," she nods.

"Hopefully your hot famous model singer friends want to buy some work-out clothes," I say.

"Oh relax, you know I've already blackmailed them all into buying things," she says proudly.

"My girl."

"Quit worrying, B," Miles says, rolling his eyes again. "You're solid. I'm solid. This is all going to be solid."

"Whatever you say." I shrug, watching Miles reach for an unopened box, use the knife to slice open the top, and pull out mellow yellow wanna be Under Armour shirts.

"Hey did you finish the shower tile yet?" Miles asks, looking at me.

"I am about to finish it," I say guiltily, running my hand through my hair.

"Heard that yesterday," he scolds.

"And you'll hear it tomorrow," Cece jokes, spitting her tongue out before it finds her own smoothie straw.

"Roasted," I say, pretending to be hurt. "I'm headed up there right now."

I turn on the bottom stair and start climbing.

We spend the next two or three hours opening every single box, crate, and package in the storage room. Most of it is clothing ordered for the launch. And back-up clothing. And spare stock clothing. The face of the building is still waiting for final touches, and we don't have the pimped out backlit sign that Miles custom ordered yet, but at least the inside is 99% finished.

Miles has been setting up display tables and arranging sneaker pyramids for the past week. Cece's been hard at work laying out the furniture and picking the perfect flowers for the rooftop lounge. I've been mainly setting up the gym level, making sure everything is perfect. I spend a lot of the time on the roof with Cece. It's where we wind down with wine or seltzers and make out like sneaky seventh-graders.

It hasn't just been the three of us. We've had help here and there. Brody was visiting for a whole two weeks earlier this spring. He and Lauren helped with very superficial details, like which candles to put in the bathroom and what signature drink we should serve on opening night. Really, Lauren and Cece spent most time in the juice bar café.

Miles's ex NFL friends stop by here and there. He used them to help hang the beams that separate levels. Believe it or not he is the short one of his friend group. Even some of Cece's friends drop by now and then. Miranda, her best friend and often the photographer on her shoots, helped select stills of famous sports games over the last decade. They're now outlined in sleek black metal frames and hanging along the walls downstairs.

Miles likes when Cece's model friends are here most. I have to admit, it does up Edge's street-cred to have semi-famous and up-and-coming models and singers and actresses photographed leaving this place before it's even opened.

Fingers crossed it lures in everybody else. What did Miles promise? The hottest bar in LA?

Miles orders poke bowls for lunch around 1:30. We eat them on the rooftop and bask in the perfect April weather. Cece throws all of her pineapples into my bowl and fishes out my avocado. It's not that I don't like avocado, it's that I love her. And the pineapple.

As I spear a juicy yellow cube and toss it into my mouth, the dream yacht comes back. I can't help but associate all-things tropical with the Mobile Star and its doomed (way longer than three-hour) tour in the Caribbean.

I shake it all from my head as pop a piece of tuna in my mouth.

"Love poke," Cece says beside me.

"Same." Miles nods in agreement.

"Maybe we should serve it at Edge," I say, sarcasm alive and well.

"Don't give me any more ideas," he jokes.

"Hey looks like Miranda is going to stop by on her way back to the studio." Cece looks up from her phone after texting Miranda back.

"No prob," I say.

"Florence is with her. They're meeting up with Banko and Pez at that new bar in West Hollywood tonight. Want to go?" Cece asks, blinking her warm hazel eyes at me.

"What time?" I ask, thinking about my three hours of sleep last night and already regretting the fact that I'm going to say yes to her.

"10 PM."

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I see the guy's group chat, Original Gangster East Coasters, light up my screen.

I open OG ECs and read a quick back and forth between Travis and Alex, asking about which Hadid sister I'm dating again. I roll my eyes but laugh all the same before answering.

Neither idiots

"Come here," I say to Cece, motioning her to my side. "Help me win a battle."

She slides over to me and cozies up real close, flipping the sunnies onto her head, and sticks out her tongue for the selfie.

"Perfect." I grin before hitting send.

Oh Cece, right right

Still say looks like Gigi

It's NOT Gigi, dude

Said looks like

I can't even handle this right now. I toss my phone on the cushion and look up.

"10 PM, you said?" I ask Cece.

She nods.

"Miles can come too!" She claps her hands, already rapidly texting back.

"Boujee Hollywood bar with your friends? Talk me into it," Miles jokes.