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“Maybe you’re just observant.”
He ponders that for a minute. “Could be. But you wanna dance. We’re gonna dance.”
“If you’re—”
He cuts me off. “Stop that shit.”
“Stop what?”
“Say what you want, love. Period. None of this, if you want bullshit. If I don’t wanna do somethin’, I won’t. We’re married. Man and wife. You are my old lady. My name is on your back. If you ever want or need somethin’, say it. I love you. You love me. It’s that simple.”
I stare at him in wonder. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“I’ll say it.” It won’t be easy, but I will. I still can’t believe he’s real.
“Then say it,” he challenges.
“I want to dance with you.”
“Good. I wanna dance with you, too. But it’s gotta be a slow one.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Pulling his phone from his back pocket and a Dum Dum from his vest, Gunz peels off the wrapper as he types away on the screen. I finish the delicious pile of food on my plate. Or most of it. It’s a lot of food. Not wanting to be bloated when I got hitched, I didn’t eat much this morning. More like toast and tea. That was hours ago. This is perfect. Crunchy, salty, fried pickles with ranch. Corn on the cob, though messy, it’s mouthwatering good. Whoever cooked for our wedding is wicked in the kitchen. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it was the sisters. All of them.
A song changes on the outside speaker.
It’s slow.
Looking over to Gunz, he’s staring right back at me, his lips split into the sweetest smiles as he hands me a red napkin. “Wipe up, love. We’ve got a song to dance to.”
Just like that, I’m done for.
Owned.
Blissfully happy.
Together, standing next to the picnic table, we dance. My head on his shoulder. Gunz’s strong heart beats against my ear—a soothing lub, lub, lub. Tom Petty serenades us, drowning out the boisterous brothers having the time of their lives. Once again, the world fades, and here we remain, safe, in our bubble.
One slow song turns into two, then three. By four, my eyes drift closed in the comfort of his warmth, in the strength, in our gentle sway.
Gunz whispers sweet nothings to the top of my head, and I melt. This is what I dreamed of as a child. A man like him. Not perfect, but perfectly imperfect for me. An amazing father and husband. An equal.
We don’t say thank yous or goodbyes to any of our guests when Gunz takes my hand in his, and we leave our own wedding.
Up the stairs of our home, we ascend side by side, his hand in mine. Gunz opens our front doors and places his back against the screen to keep it open. He waves me to come to him, and I do. He places my arm around his neck before sweeping me into his arms in a…
“Are you carrying me across the threshold?” I giggle.
“I sure as fuck am. We just got hitched.”
“We’re old, Erik. This isn’t necessary.” My stomach swoops in girlish ways. I laugh as he grumbles, maneuvering us through the doorway, careful not to bang my legs or head on the doorframe. He doesn’t stop there. Through our house, Gunz carries me as if I weigh nothing. Reaching our bedroom, he sets me on the edge of the mattress and kneels at my feet to remove my boots and socks. And I let him because this is sexy.
Placing one of my feet over his shoulder, Gunz kisses the inside of my calf. Kiss—inside of my knee. Kiss—inside of my thigh. Fisting the bed covers on either side of me, I squirm, watching the hottest man I’ve ever met reach the garter. With his teeth, he snags the black fabric and smiles like the devil. Those expressive blue eyes swirl with promises of filthy things to come. Ever so slowly, he drags the band down my leg, to the tip of my big toe, where it drapes.
“I’m gonna make good on what I promised, love.”
