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His brave, strong-as-hell, sexually confident woman was blushing. It was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen.
Saying nothing, he scooped her up into his lap, making her squeal and laugh. And curl into him as if she was exactly where she belonged.
Finally.
He picked up the ring box and popped the top, tilting it toward her. The pink light of dawn hit the ruby and refracted the light, making it sparkle.
She let out a gasp. “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. Exactly what I would’ve chosen for myself. How did you know?”
“Hello, best fucking friend. Give me some credit here.” He caught a handful of her hair and tugged her head back, teasing a gasp out of her for an all new reason. “Will you marry me?” he asked hoarsely, not entirely sure his eyes weren’t wet all over again.
But look at that, so were hers.
Her smile glimmered even brighter than the ruby he slipped on her finger. Perfect fit—with a little room for an extra quesadilla after a late-night Taco Bell run. Or maybe two.
“Yes.” She threw her arms around his neck and let out an awestruck laugh. “God, yes.”
Grateful beyond belief, he slung his arms around her waist and covered her face with kisses while she responded in kind. She giggled and shifted restlessly in his lap, circling her tight little ass over his stiffening cock.
Time to celebrate. To fucking live.
Drawing back, he gripped her hair again, a little rougher this time. “Let’s go baptize that shower so I can practice calling you Mrs. Waters while I fuck you.”
“My inner feminist says I should squawk at the lack of discussion about this future name change, but…” She licked her lips and popped to her feet. “Let’s go get wet.”
Epilogue
Drums and a wild bout of laughter hammered into her lazy spin on the endless river. The water was a lovely, refreshing temperature. Not too cold, not too warm. In her perfect world, she had a large, cold glass of jasmine tea in one hand and Ryan’s hand bumping against hers as they both floated along on their oversized inner tubes.
Easy and soft and sweet.
No road, no stage, no squabbling band members.
With every rap above her head, the river got farther and farther away.
“Go away.” Denver rolled over and tried to get back into her dream.
Lauren tapped her drum sticks on her bedroom door. “Get up, sleepyhead.”
Warning Sign was currently off tour and the four of them—Lauren, West, Ryan, and herself—were living in the small two-bedroom apartment the guys had in Los Angeles.
She may have contemplated Lauren and West’s deaths approximately twenty-three times since they’d all started shacking up. Especially since Mal had given Lauren a practice pad and drumsticks after she’d badgered him to learn.
Of course, he didn’t have to hear her tap on everything with the damn sticks.
Denver sighed. If she couldn’t have her lazy river, then she freaking preferred the bus.
Lauren pushed open her door and Denver flipped her sheet over her head. She’d long since lost any semblance of privacy living on the bus with these animals. She was pretty sure the apartment was even worse.
Lauren bounced on the side of her bed. “Dressed under there?”
“And if I said I wasn’t? Does that mean you’d leave me alone?”
“Nope. I would turn around though.”
Denver pushed her sheet off her face. One, because it was too damn hot with the sun streaming in, and two, Lauren wouldn’t relent until Denver was sitting up and paying attention. With her damn eyes open. “What’s up?”
“Did you forget what today is?”
