Page 681 of End Game

Then pictures ended up everywhere.

People noticed.

Questions started.

For the first time, being seen together became something we had to actually think about.

Tonight I look at Cami's phone while she takes another picture.

At the black ring catching light on my hand.

A year ago, being seen felt like something that might cost us.

Tonight, I want the pictures.

I want people to see.

That's my fiancé.

And fuck, I really like how that sounds.

Chapter fifty

Natural Twenty

Dex

This starts because I have a mouth.

Which, historically, is how most of my problems start.

About a week after Halloween, we're cleaning up after campaign night when I find one of my d20s under the table. As I straighten, Ronan is standing across from me, stacking books into one of his absurdly organized campaign boxes.

I look at the die.

I look at him.

And because apparently getting engaged did not cure me of poor impulse control, I say, “You know, once upon a time, you said you weren't opposed to bringing dice into the bedroom.”

Micah stops stacking plates.

Cami turns around slowly.

Griffin mutters, “Jesus Christ.”

Ronan doesn't even pause. “I remember.”

That's it.

Two words.

No smile.

No lecture.

No threat.

Which means, naturally, I point at him with the die.