Second Epilogue
FIFI
My vision blurs and my hands shake as I hold his arms like I’d drown if I let go. His words ring true and real and I repeat them in my mind to keep them, to make them a permanent part of me.
Choking down a sob of pure joy, I gather myself while my heart beats a drumroll so loud and big I end up shouting my words to him.
“Oh my god, yes! Trick—Patrick Jennings, I want nothing more in life than to share your name and your life and to be with you forever.” My mouth is stretched impossibly wide in a grin, but I smash my mouth to his and kiss him with everything in me, feeling it bubble out, feeling him kiss me back, possessing me completely.
If two people could ever merge into one, I feel like this is how it’s done, how it would feel as we hold tight and strong together, breathing each other in, mixing our tongues and maybe even our tears of overwhelming bliss.
He finally lifts his head from mine and I let him, our eyes locked. His mouth trembles and I touch his face, knowing how hard it must have been for him to ask.
He kisses my fingers and says, “That was cinema.”
I burst out laugh, and simultaneously burst into tears, emotions catching up and overwhelming me.
He pulls me in tight, wrapping me like the most epic comforting blanket, whispering to me, “Don’t cry, Fifi. Please don’t cry. The only thing I’m more allergic to than fish is when you cry.”
His words make me laugh again and then I cough. And hiccup. I can’t get control of all my emotions and my entire body needs to respond like a runaway train, all systems on go.
He rubs my back again, muttering something about the dusty closet. “I’m sorry I dragged you in here. I should have proposed outside in the fresh air where you wouldn’t choke to death.”
Gathering back some semblance of control, I manage to say, “It’s not the dust, lover boy, it’s everything, and most especially it’s your sense of humor making me laugh.”
“Sorry, I promise to be serious now.” He looks at me perfectly sincerely and I manage to stifle another reflexive giggle.
Gripping his t-shirt in two hands I focus on his mirthful blue eyes, cherishing the idea that I get to stare at these eyes and this face every day for the rest of my life.
“I love that you dragged me into a closet to propose. I love that you make me JBOL constantly and I promise you I will never get enough.”
“Yeah? How about this?” He slips his hands in the back of my leggings and grips my ass, pulling me into his hips until I feel his hard-on, big, bold and unmistakable.
“Will you ever get enough of this, sugar lips? Speaking of lips, how wet are they right now—”
I squeal with surprise as he slips a hand between my thighs for a thorough stroke through my soaking pussy. I hang onto him before my knees buckle as he doesn’t stop there.
“Just as I thought.” His voice rumbles low in my ear, vibrating through me, turning me into jelly.
I ask, “Do you suppose there’s room in this closet—”
“Interesting question, you naughty girl. The answer is no.”
Before I can think my next thought, He lifts me over his shoulder, miraculously without banging my head on the wall, and carries me from the closet at a dead run to the bedroom. If he was trying to be inconspicuous it’s all lost because I can’t control my laughter.
But then, there’s no need to. I don’t mind the whole world knowing how happy I am, most of all my love, Trick.
He kicks the bedroom door closed behind me as the guys shout at us from the living room about being bad hosts, and tosses me on the bed.
I catch my breath as he lands next to me. “This tossing on the bed thing is getting to be a habit of yours.”
“Like it?”
“I like everything about you, Trick.”
“Coincidently. I like everything about you, too, Fifi.” He pauses and I recognize the wiseass in him rising up. “Except your clothes. I know you’re a designer and all, but I’d really prefer if you never wore clothes again.”
IJBOL while he grins at me, his eyes telling me everything, and his hands stripping me naked.
# THE END #