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I waited until I heard the garage close after he drove away to get up.
My body wasn’t sore—my new werewolf healing took care of that, I guess. But I was exhausted.
The horniness did fade mostly, though, with Rocco gone. That was good. At least, I tried to convince myself it was good.
The sexathon that the climax was had been a damned blast, even without having actual penetrative sex.
I crashed to the couch, and winced when I realized I’d landed on two different hard, lumpy items.
Pulling Rocco’s new glasses out from beneath my lower back, I didn’t fight a smile as I looked at them. They were cheesy, and silly, and maybe even stupid, but he’d loved them. And that made me feel good.
The next thing I pulled out from beneath my shoulder, was the ring.
I stared at the box for a long moment before opening it again. There was no question what Rocco had been trying to say when he gave it to me.
He didn’t want us to be friends; he wanted us to be mates.
Husband and wife.
Or at least engaged.
I swallowed roughly as I stared at the gorgeous, sparkly gemstone. I’d never seen myself as a traditional diamond ring kind of girl, assuming that if I ever got married, I’d get a colored gemstone or something.
But looking at the intricate silver ring, which didn’t look traditional at all, my throat swelled.
It was absolutely perfect.
I still didn’t put it on, though.
When I put the ring on, things would change between us. Permanently.
We wouldn’t be platonic mates—we’d be mates, with a solid connection, completely committed to each other, and completely in love.
And engaged.
I brushed my finger over the bumpy side of the ring.
Did I want to be in a committed relationship?
The goosebumps that traveled down my bare arms, legs, and tits told me that the answer to that question was a solid, definite yes.
So what was I afraid of?
That Rocco would change his mind when I stopped putting the platonic wall between us?
Why the hell would he do that?
It wasn’t like we’d been playing a game, or flirting a lot. We’d been friends; really, really good friends.
Having actual sex and wearing rings wouldn’t change that.
We’d still have to put in effort to put each other first. We’d still have to focus on spending time together, and making our relationship a priority.
And we’d still have to have fun together—an assload of fun.
What was so bad about that?
Nothing, I realized.
