Epilogue
OUR KIND OF RHYTHM
Maddox
The music pounds in my bones. The chorus thrums in my head. The lights swirl low and decadent around the club. And I feel so damn good. Maybe it’s the champagne. But it’s probably the man.
Zane spent the day meeting with Priyam and the team at Bespoke. I spent the time working. And we met here after dark at this dance club in the heart of London’s music scene. It’s hot, and loud, and stuffed with moving bodies.
Dancing, swaying, grinding.
Like us.
Zane’s behind me, his hard length pressed firmly against my ass, one arm looped around my waist. His mouth traveling over my neck. Kissing my sweat.
Once upon a time, we imagined this kind of night. This kind of time.
Him and me, out together but lost in each other.
He murmurs near my ear, and I can barely hear him above the seductive beat of the music, or concentrate on his words over the sway of his hips, but it sounds like you .
Then, louder, he says, “You grinding against me.”
I lean back against him. “Me wanting you.”
His arm wraps tighter. His mouth kisses harder. “Us, being together.”
And soon, we’re too caught up in each other to be in public a moment longer. We make our way out of the sweltering club and into the cold December night where we fall into each other’s arms for a hot, passionate kiss on the streets of London.
A few months later, before the start of the baseball season, we travel to Madrid. I research off-the-beaten-path eateries and take Zane out for decadent meals, picking for him, sampling new foods together. Then, when the moon rises and the stars wink on and off, we dress for a night out. Tight jeans for me, same for him. Shirts that show off arms, that hug chests. We go dancing, savoring each other in front of the crowds, our bodies and hearts intertwined.
Every time, I remember our phone call when he was in Miami and I was home in Los Angeles, when we painted this scene with longing. With wishes that felt out of reach.
Now, we make all our dirty dreams happen.
When we return to San Francisco and settle into the rhythm of the next baseball season and my work for clients, we make time to see friends — like Grant and Declan, as well as Jason and his guy Beck — and also find time to hit the clubs now and then. It’s our thing—making our fantasies become reality.
We go with friends who like to dance—like Ellie and her new guy. We go with Gunnar too, who meets an enigmatic Brit one night at a club. The rich-as-sin billionaire shows up at the ballpark a few days later with a wild proposal for Zane’s good friend.
Another time, Bryan visits town and he comes along.
One weekend, Braxton and his new beau join in. It’s a motley crew of men and some women. All friends, all part of this community embracing this beautiful life.
Over the season, we make new friends in the city, an ever-expanding group that joins us at the clubs.
But at the start of each day and the end of each night, it’s just Zane and me. After we dance, we go home, but we don’t go to sleep.
One night in the fall as the season wanes, we tumble out of our favorite club, breathless and hot, ready to be tangled up in each other. Before we catch a ride home, Zane tugs me closer, there on the streets of San Francisco. “You and me together. Always.”
“Always,” I echo.
With Zane, I’m home in every way. And I know we are a forever kind of thing.