54. Meg
54
MEG
I t turned out I didn’t have to say goodbye to BB on the boat. He was always just a text away. Of course, he got curious about how I was dividing my feelings between him and Byron, and more than once, I had to explain it to him.
Me: I’ll say this only one more time. You are the yin to my yang, the coffee to my morning, the moon to my stars. Byron is the spark to my flame, the pulse to my desire, the lust in my very soul.
BB: How can I do better than just being the coffee to your morning?
Me: What, the moon to my stars doesn’t do it for you?
BB: No, I like that. A lot, to be honest. But Byron is the pulse to your desire, and I won’t
lie, I want to punch that guy for making you so hot for him.
Me: Oh, you want to fight him for me? Now you’re making me very hot for
you .
BB: Try this for size: I want to punch his face until it’s black and blue, maybe knock a
few teeth out for fun.
Me: Go on.
BB: Then I want to give him a bloody nose and a kick to the shin. And take back what’s mine. Which would be you.
Me: Bedroom. Now.
Despite all appearances, the weekend turned out to be wildly productive. Byron and I worked like a well-trained team, efficient and magically in sync, as if we had been working together for years.
By Sunday noon, we had a Castle Rock proposal so polished it could make even the most jaded executive have the feels. And if ever there was a jaded executive, it was Roman.
To celebrate, Byron pulled the yacht away from the marina so we could have lunch on the open water.
At first, everything was idyllic. There was the gentle hum of the engine, the quiet slap of water against the hull, seagulls screaming overhead, and a sexy man standing at the wheel, one hand steady on the helm, jaw set, azure eyes scanning the horizon.
But the minute we edged out of the harbor, the water started to shift, the breeze picked up, and the waves grew teeth. That’s the minute I learned about seasickness.
Patient like it was nothing new, Byron held my hair while I threw up. It then began to occur to me that this man might actually have my back.
“This must be such a turn-on,” I managed to croak out between dry heaves.
“Oh, absolutely,” he said. “I especially love the shade of green you’ve gone. Very sexy.”
“It happens to go nicely with the blue shade you were the other night in the cold.”
“See how we’re already building memories, one freezing, nauseating moment at a time,” he said, his lips brushing the top of my head. “You simply never know the real value of a moment until it becomes a memory… Let’s get back to the marina, I’ll get you comfortable on the couch and make you ginger tea.”
By the time the sun dipped low and painted everything gold, I was back to feeling mostly human again, so we finally had that lunch.
Then we entertained ourselves by reenacting The Princess Bride , but with a twist. I played the dashing Westley, complete with a mascara moustache, and Byron was our darling Buttercup. He wore blush, twin pigtails, and dash of pink gloss on his lips.
Of course, our version had a few... deleted scenes where Westley and Buttercup’s romance didn’t stop at poetic declarations and longing stares. But instead involved Buttercup bending Westley over the back of the couch, scandalizing the kingdom without a drop of remorse.
The moment I knew I was edging further toward saying yes to this insane marriage proposal was when Byron walked me to the Uber waiting to take me home, and it was impossible to say goodbye.
My Uber driver was extremely nice, probably because Byron slipped her a tidy roll of cash as a thank-you for enduring our endlessly drawn-out farewell.
We stood outside the car like I was leaving on a mission, I might not come back from.
“I should be the one taking you home,” he said to me, combing my hair away from my face with his fingers.
For once, I was the voice of reason. “That wouldn’t be very smart. That would be like announcing we spent the weekend together because we both pretty much went MIA.”
“Imagine the talk I’m going to get from Steven tomorrow. I can’t wait.”
I made a feeble attempt to sever myself from his hold. “So, thank you for a very nice weekend. I’ll be walking funny for a few days, but I’ll suffer with grace.”
He laughed softly and pulled me back to him. “Is it just me, or does it feel like we’ve known each other a hundred years?”
“Well, I saw you turn blue and your man bits shrink to miniature size in the cold, and you were there to watch me go green in the face and puke breakfast to the sharks. I’d say we packed a lot into a few days.”
“That we did,” he said before kissing me. It was a kiss that had no business being a farewell kiss.
“If I don’t go now,” I said, “we’re going to continue this debauchery and someone is going to end up in the Emergency Room.”
“There’s no one I’d rather end up with in what I assume is a cold, sterile room, on a steel slab with a stern nurse putting packs of ice between our legs.”
I snorted out a laugh and kissed him goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning in Roman’s office at 9 am sharp for the proposal. And remember, we hate each other’s guts.”
His fingers lingered at the open window until the Uber pulled away. And with that, my stupid heart stayed behind.
During the ride, I texted him.