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I didn’t know what would happen. It was that simple. But in the last five years, I’d learned that not knowing was the best policy.
I’d evolved from ghostwriting. Two years of working hard had finally established my name as an author, and I’d been able to give up writing for other people. Jay had been nothing but supportive the day I’d sat him down and told him I wanted to write for me. He’d picked up the slack in the apartment when I’d been on a deadline or I just couldn’t stop writing.
He’d loaded dishwashers and emptied vacuums and bleached toilets and polished tables.
All alongside his own job.
His dad was preparing to retire and hand the reins over to Jay. It meant he wouldn’t just manage one gym, but six. Across the state. Cutting down our time together.
The good thing about what I did was that I could do it anywhere. And the advance I’d been given—while meager—was enough to top up the money we’d saved in the past three years.
“Listen—actually, no, look!” I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and unlocked it before I shoved it in his face.
His eyes scanned the screen. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “I already calculated taxes based on what my agent said and our projected incomes.”
“You little nerd.”
“Shut your mouth. We can buy a house!”
He plucked the phone from my hands. Grinning, he slid his fingers into my hair and planted his lips on mine. “You sure?”
I nodded, never taking my mouth from his. “One hundred percent. We’re over-budget, actually. We saved a lot living together.”
“Mhmm. I was going for that all along.”
“Sure you were.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, laughing. “You were a poor little twenty-something ass who couldn’t do his own laundry and inadvertently starting a family betting pool about when we’d finally get together.”
“And if you’ll remember,” he said, circling his arms around my waist. “We were the eventual winners because everyone was wrong.”
I pressed my face against his chest. He was right. We’d found out the parameters of the bets were tighter than we’d been led to believe, so we’d demanded the eight hundred dollars in winnings and put that cash into a piggy bank until we’d figured out what to do with it.
It’d taken us a year, but we’d finally found the house we wanted. It was a few miles down the road on the coast and needed some serious TLC, but we were ready for whatever was thrown our way.
“You’re right. They were wrong.” I slipped my hands up his muscular body and wrapped my arms around his neck, taking a look at the ring on my left hand. “I mean, they thought we’d both be thirty by the time you finally got on one knee.”
Jay laughed, burying his nose in my hair. My freshly-washed hair, if you please. There was something to be said for secretly planning to marry your best friend.
“How much longer are we going to keep them guessing?” he said into my ear.
“Not sure.” I turned my face into his. “Who guessed that we’d keep it secret for six months?”
“Nobody.” He brushed his lips over mine. “You know they’ll take secret bets on the wedding?”
“I know.”
“Are we eloping, then?”
“Can you imagine the carnage if we disappeared for a weekend and came back married?”
He paused, tilting his head to the side. “Vegas, then?”
Laughing, I leaned right back. “The Bellagio does have rooms available this weekend.”
His green eyes captured mine, dancing with the laughter I’d come to love so much. “You book the hotel, and I’ll book the flights.”
I grinned and walked back. “I’m still taking photos of you with your little submarine.”
“That is how you show me you love me,” he replied, his expression mirroring mine. “And to show you how much I love you, I have a video of the pageant you auditioned for when you were eight.”
I gasped. “I’m rethinking how much I love you.”
“You can try.” He smacked his lips together in an air-kiss. “But I’ll always be the guy who picked up his socks and bought you unicorn stickers for when you hit your word count.”
I turned and walked backward. “You play dirty, Cooper.”
He grinned. “You want a sticker for that observation, the future Mrs. Cooper?”
“Watch your mouth,” I warned him. “I might love you, but I’m not above giving you a Post-It warning everyone that your ass belongs to me.”
“That’s one sticker I’ll wear with pride.” He smirked. “As long as there isn’t a smiley-face on it.”
My lips tugged up. “Nope. It’ll be a sad face.”
His laughter followed me into our room, and I managed to keep mine under wraps until I was alone.
Dear Past Shelby:
Falling for your best friend?
It’s not such a bad idea after all.
