Page 193 of The Wright Man

I chuckled, resting my chin on top of her headwrap. "She sure is."

"Good. I missed you sooooo much," she mumbled, her voice syrupy and full of those lazy vowels she only dragged out when she was tipsy. "Like... so much. Like a lot a lot."

"I can tell." I reached up and plucked the tilted tiara from her head, shaking out a puff of glitter that rained down onto her curls and shoulders like fairy dust from hell. Then I slipped the "Ex-Wife To Be" sash over her head and tossed it onto the coffee table, which was already buried in penis confetti and empty solo cups.

Angelica just grinned, giggling as she looked up at me with starry eyes and smudged eyeliner. "Did you miss me too?"

"Always." I leaned down to kiss her forehead, then her nose, then her lips—soft, warm, and tasting of wine and ChapStick.

She kissed me back like she hadn't seen me in years, like I was air and water and whatever else made life livable. Her hands were everywhere—my shoulders, my jaw, my chest. Clumsy but affectionate, like her body couldn't decide what part of me it wanted to claim first.

"You have fun today?" I asked against her mouth, trying to keep it light.

She nodded, then giggled again. "Too much fun. Bella had this confetti cannon, right? But it wasn't just a confetti cannon—it was shaped like a dick. And when she pulled the trigger, it shot out a bunch of teeny tiny glitter dicks!" She threw her hands up like she was demonstrating fireworks.

I glanced around the room, where the floor looked like it had been carpet-bombed with sparkle penises. "Yeah. I can see that."

She snorted, full of unfiltered joy. "And then we watched Diary of a Mad Black Woman, Waiting to Exhale, Set It Off—that one was Tina's idea. She said it's the holy trifecta of 'fuck that man' cinema."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Sounds accurate."

"And..." she dropped her voice like she was letting me in on classified intel, "...before she got off FaceTime, Tina ordered me a new vibrator."

Jesus.

"Did she now?" I asked, forcing my face into neutral while my mind did its own x-rated thing.

"Mmhmm," she hummed, then leaned in close to murmur in my ear. "But I told her I don't need it... 'cause I got this." Her hand slid down my chest and lingered just above my waistband, her fingers brushing lower—

"Okay," I cut in, catching her wrist with a chuckle and gently pulling her back. "Let's get you some water before you do something I'll have to stop for moral reasons."

Before she could protest, I scooped her up and tossed her over my shoulder like a sack of drunk potatoes. She squealed, legs kicking as she giggled and smacked my ass like she was playing the bongos.

"MINE," she shouted, gripping two handfuls of me like she had paid a fee.

I shook my head, laughing all the way to the kitchen.

"I've wanted to do that since high school!" she said gleefully, still gripping my ass as I set her on the island.

I turned to grab a water bottle from the fridge. "I'm sure you have, baby."

She gave me a ridiculous, happy little smile as I cracked the cap and stepped between her legs. She wrapped her arms around my neck again, pressing her cheek against mine like we were in high school, slow-dancing in someone's basement.

"Drink this for me, Ang," I said, lifting the bottle to her lips.

She sipped obediently, moaning dramatically like I'd just given her a gourmet milkshake. "Mmm. I love the way you say that."

"Say what?"

"Ain-juh." She dragged it out, humming against the rim of the bottle. "Everyone else says Ann-juh. But you don't. You say it like I'm yours."

I smiled, brushing a curl off her forehead. "’Cause you are."

She blinked, like she hadn't expected that, then leaned in to whisper, "And nobody else calls me Angel."

"I always have," I said softly, letting the weight of that truth settle between us. "Always will."

She finished her water with a pout, like she wasn't ready for the moment to end. I set the bottle down, slid my hands off her thighs, and turned around so she could climb onto my back.