Page 325 of End Game

When I look back, Cami is still watching me.

“I was thinking this is nice.”

Her face softens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Even though it’s technically our makeup Valentine’s date?”

I shake my head. “I told you. This isn't makeup anything.”

“Right. It's a date.”

“A revolutionary concept.”

She grins. “We should have tried this before getting married.”

“Would've ruined the surprise.”

Her laugh comes easily.

I love that sound.

I’ve heard it in our kitchen with Dex being an idiot, at the D&D table while Ronan looks like he regrets all of us, and even pressed against Micah on the couch.

None of that changes what it does to me when I’m the one who caused it.

Different doesn’t mean less.

Apparently that lesson has been beaten into all of us recently.

The server returns for the dessert order.

Cami orders the cake—obviously.

She gives herself insulin before it arrives, checks the number on her phone, then turns the screen toward me without me asking.

“Look. Responsible diabetic.”

“I wasn't going to say anything.”

“Liar.”

“I was giving you at least another thirty seconds.”

She laughs again, and it’s perfect.

The movie is exactly what we expected—explosions and car chases.

A lead actor in his forties who apparently heals from stab wounds in twelve minutes.

And a romantic subplot Cami becomes aggressively invested in halfway through.

“They're obviously going to kiss,” she whispers beside me.

I keep my eyes on the screen. “They've known each other for two days.”

“So?”