Epilogue #2
We hadn't been invited back to the casino again.
I hadn't expected us to. That said, it was often that Faye and Aero and Richard and Eamon made it into conversation.
Some people left impressions. And there was no denying that Savea had been a bit taken with the beautiful, cold, interesting madam...
and flattered by Faye's infatuation with her.
No one would call Savvy insecure, but she also always seemed surprised when someone was taken with her.
Maybe because she'd been friends with people who had a tendency to steal the spotlight in most situations, often leaving her in the shadows.
She always slow blinked at the brightness when it shined on her for a while.
"Well, seeing as I am not sharing my woman with anyone else, I think me paying is the best bet."
"I'd make a terrible escort," she told me as she often did when the topic came up.
"You'd be amazing. But I'm a selfish bastard."
"I like that about you," she told me, forgetting about the heat, wrapping her arms around the back of my neck.
She went up on her tiptoes, sealing her lips over mine, kissing me until she got her fill, nestling her face into my neck.
"Hey, King?" she asked, voice small. It was the voice she always had in bed right before sleep when her guards were down, when tiredness made her open and sweet, sometimes silly. It was her confession voice.
"Yeah, sweetheart?" I asked, squeezing her.
"I love you," she told me, voice barely more than a whisper.
"Yeah?" I asked, feeling a swelling in my chest I couldn't have anticipated.
I knew.
Of course I knew.
But knowing and hearing it were two completely different things.
I didn't expect for the words to have such an impact.
But there was no denying the way my chest tightened, my pulse skipped, my body warmed at her words.
"Yeah," she told me, pressing a kiss to my neck.
"Well, that's convenient. Because I love you too."
Kingston - 4 months
"How's the new case going?" I asked, watching as Nixon stalked into the office where Savvy and I were waiting for Peyton to show up so we could take all the dogs for a walk.
His response was something like a growl.
"What was that?" I asked, making him turn back, arm raised, pointing at me.
"That fucking woman..." he grumbled before storming off into his office, slamming the door, making me turn to Savea whose lips were pressed together to keep them from curving up into a grin.
"I think it's time we call Mark," she said. "It seems like we have something new to bet on..."
Savea - 10 months
"I mean it, Peyton," I told her, voice as stern as I could make it.
She was sitting across from me at the coffee shop, a notebook in front of her, tapping a pen shaped like a stocking-clad, high-heeled lady leg on the top page.
"I mean, but how am I supposed to know what would be considered 'freaky'?" she asked. "To some, having sex with the lights on is kinky as hell. To others, getting dressed up as animals, bouncing on giant balloons, then fucking in a giant doggy pile is a totally normal way to spend a Tuesday night."
Sorry, I mouthed to the teen girls sitting at the table to our side, their brows up, lips tipped up in confused amusement.
Peyton had that effect on people.
"Could you talk about furry fucking a little louder?" Jamie asked, coming back from the counter with three coffees, sitting down at the side of the table. "I could hear you at the counter."
"It is a perfectly legitimate kink," Peyton said, shrugging. "I mean, I think it is on par with the pony people, but who are we to judge?"
"And why are we talking about furries and pony play when we are supposed to be talking about Savvs bachelorette party?" Jamie demanded, mixing the caramel and whipped cream into her latte.
"Savvy doesn't want anything, and I quote, 'freaky' to happen," Peyton informed her, rolling her eyes.
"Savvs, honey, I think we both know that - at the bare minimum - you have to expect freaky if you are letting Peyt be in charge here."
"I didn't let her do anything!" I insisted, reaching for my coffee, my gaze going to the ring on the finger on my left hand.
It had been months since it was placed there, in our gutted kitchen in our headache of a farmhouse, but somehow, each time my hand moved around, I was surprised to find it settled there.
A permanent fixture, something I never took off, a physical representation of the love that had filled my life every day for almost a year.
Maybe the proposal shouldn't have taken me by surprise. Once Kingston knew what he wanted, he was steadfast in his determination to have it, to keep possession of it.
And, well, he wanted me.
That fact still managed to give me belly shivers when I thought about it.
Kingston Rivers, this man who I had this all-consuming girlish crush on for years, from afar, sure nothing would ever come of it, wanted me enough to give me his last name, to plan a future with me.
"I literally just told her when the wedding date is. She took over from there," I insisted, watching Jamie send a smirk to Peyton who was pretending she was not guilty of doing just that.
"Well, who else would be able to throw you a kickass, memorable bridal party?" Peyton asked, brows raising. "Don't worry, I'll wait."
"Just... no male strippers. Or escorts."
"For the record - female strippers and escorts are okay then? And does 'no male strippers' mean only straight male strippers? Are gay male strippers out of the equation?"
"I want to be you when I grow up," one of the teen girls the table over declared, watching Peyton like she was some sort of god.
"Oh, babe, why would you want to do that?
Grow up, I mean," Peyton shot back. "I still haven't done that myself.
Pro tip," she said as the girls started gathering their things, getting ready to leave.
"Always, always use condoms, pay for the good ink, and learn how to diddle your own skittle, so you don't start thinking a guy is the end-all-be-all because he can make you come.
Oh, and read some good erotica!" she called across the packed coffee shop, making all heads turn.
My head dipped, cheeks going red. "Peyton, they were like... fifteen."
"So?"
"So maybe telling them about self-love and literary porn was slightly inappropriate."
"Why?" she asked, brows furrowing. "It's not like I'm some creepy ass old dude. I wish someone had given me that advice at their age. I mean, you guys have seen Matilda," she said, shaking her head.
Matilda was the name she gave to the tattoo on her left hip. It was supposed to be a flower, but looked suspiciously like a vagina. It had been her first tattoo when she was eighteen. She'd spent a total of fifty bucks on it. And it showed.
She had the money - and talented tattoo artist - to cover it up, but she had become fond of her 'Two-lipped Tulip' tattoo.
"So, where are we were on the gay strippers?" Peyton asked, tapping her pen on her lip.
A deep sigh escaped me.
I had lost the battle the second she pulled out her notebook.
There were going to be gay male strippers at my bachelorette party.
I never could have known they'd show up in furry costumes and bounce around on giant balloons in a room full of various giant art prints that depicted assorted flowers and mushrooms that looked more like genitalia than anything else while the music blasted songs about taking yourself to orgasm while everyone sipped drinks out of penis straws and vagina cups.
I didn't want to talk about the confetti poppers.
Or the honey.
Oh, God, the honey.
It was my own fault.
I never did remember to specify what I did - or didn't - find freaky.
There was one thing for sure, though, Peyton had certainly delivered on her promise to make it an unforgettable night.
Kingston - 1.5 years
The farmhouse had been a wreck when we'd left it.
It had been a wreck since we started work on it, to be perfectly honest.
There were some nights that we would pack the dogs in the back of the car and head back to my old apartment because we genuinely couldn't stand being in a perpetually unfinished construction zone every moment of the day.
Sometimes it was fun. Okay, well, maybe it was only really fun in the beginning. Back when we piled the old, hideous kitchen cabinets in the backyard, grabbed some sledgehammers, and destroyed them. Or when we would make out in the paint aisle in Home Depot.
Back before we had to spend hours poring over tile options and had to deal with the city and all their rules about adding on bedrooms and the current septic system.
Back before prices started to spiral out of control, filling the never-ending project with dread and weariness instead of excitement and hope.
We'd impulsively decided to stop things exactly where they were two months ago, making sure everything was livable and weather-resistant, choosing instead to focus on the wedding, the honeymoon, happier things.
Unlike Savvy's bachelorette party planned by Peyton and my bachelor party planned by Atlas, we'd decided to take the reins of the wedding over entirely, not trusting our family to not go overboard.
We wanted simple.
Family, close friends, an outdoor ceremony. Something on the casual side. So the kids didn't get antsy and miserable, stressing out their parents, making the day a chore for them instead of a celebration. And with a fenced area for all of the family dogs to run and play as well.
"Should we raise a barn too?" Nixon had asked, scoffing a bit at our unconventional plans.
"So we don't have to wear suits, right?" That was Rush.
It wasn't traditional, that was for sure.
The Mallick women had shown up early on the day of, transforming the park we had rented out into something straight out of a bridal magazine with white and yellow flowers, fabric tied chairs, candles.
They'd managed to make the picnic area into a beautiful dining space, had turned the gazebo into the spot we would stand and recite our vows in front of our family, friends, and a Justice of the Peace.