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I follow him into the room and change into a pair of sweats.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks.
“Oh!” Suddenly embarrassed, I point at the door. “I’ll just go in the other bed, sorry I’m confused—”
He bursts out laughing. “Um, no, you’re not going anywhere, I’m just curious why you’re putting on clothes when I’m just going to be taking them off? That’s a whole lot of work for someone to do at midnight. Take it easy on me, I’m fragile.”
I roll my eyes. “My ass.”
“Yes.” He points. “That ass is mine, so take off those sweats and hop into bed so I can make you forget about being sad, I know at least in this moment I can do that.”
My heart feels lighter. “With your dick?”
“See! You can already make jokes.” He sobers. “It’s okay to have moments of sadness with happiness in between, remember, we just go with what we know and what I know right now is I really want to hold you even if I can’t have sex with you, and I really, love you.”
I start taking off my clothes, and crawl into the massive bed and immediately straddle him, then lean down, grip his hands pressing them against the pillow, our tongues meet in a mash up of tenderness and desire, he tastes like the red wine we were drinking.
His body’s warm and hard beneath me. I rock my hips after settling on him, and it’s all over so fast, maybe because we’re both exhausted, but when I collapse next to him, he pulls me into his arms and just keeps me there.
I smile and rest against him, then whisper, “PS, I love you too.”
Epilogue
Quinn
One Month Later
“This was a horrible idea.” I look around the busy living room and wince when two more small children whose names are lost on me try to convince yet another adult, Drew this time, to play the floor is lava.
Pillows are everywhere.
It’s chaos.
Ambrose took one look at all the famous singers and actors with all their kids, wives, and food, oh and well the absolute mess after one hour, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and just drank it straight.
I’d snickered and said, “Look, your future!”
MB chose that moment to slap the back of my head, followed by a punch in the arm from Chloe.
Now I’m walking around ready to put up a freaking shield wall with pillows so the girls don’t attack me.
Zane walks up to me and gives me an elbow, why is everyone so violent tonight? We’re just celebrating MB’s pregnancy with a little joint party, well it was supposed to be little, then Zane told Drew, and Drew told Jaymeson and Demetri, then it just piled up from there so basically every actor or singer that was currently in Seaside recording or filming—was at the house.
Oh, and two football players, that Ambrose nearly shit his pants over, Wes Michels and Sanchez, apparently they’re on the same team now that Quinton Miller decided to retire to be with his triplets.
Kids. Everywhere.
The doorbell rings.
What the hell? Is the entire town coming?
I rush over to open it and now it’s my turn to shit my pants in the most terrifying way possible. “Nixon.” Am I supposed to like salute him? What are the rules? My family never told me the rules, fucking Zane! “H-hello.”
The guy just grows muscles and tattoos like a garden, has a lip piercing, scary blue eyes, dark hair, and he’s probably packing.
And I do not mean a dick.
Though he has one of those too.
