Epilogue #3
“I want to see if we can do it.” He closes the gap between them and pries poor Fifi’s hands apart.
“I wanna know if we can even be in the same space for an hour and not kill each other. I wanna do this thing where we focus on us. On Seraphina and Charlie. Not on work stuff, not on dad stuff. Not on this fuckin’ economy that’s trying to sink me, or that weird-ass watch my daughter is wearing, ‘cos I know it cost a bomb and I sure as shit didn’t buy it for her.
But now she won’t give it up, and every time I ask about it, she says, ‘Cato said you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it. ’”
I peek across and snicker at Cato’s smug grin.
“I wanna get a meal and just be a guy, Sera. I want to be a normal, unattached, healthy man dating…” He releases her hand, only so he can gesture with his up and down in front of her body.
“You. I wanna turn off the work part of my brain for an hour.
I love my daughter more than I love oxygen, but I wanna turn off the parenting part of my brain, too.
I wanna take you out and see you in a date night dress, and I wanna be all arrogant and shit, ‘cos I know you selected that dress with me in mind.”
Her jaw trembles. Her eyes scream. Her entire body vibrates with nervous energy.
Jesus. Is she gonna say no?
“Let’s commit to just one date,” he begs. “One time. One evening where I get to obsess over you instead of, like…” He noisily harrumphs. “Everything else. Please, Sera.” He drops to one knee. “Please—”
“Woah! No.” Sprinting into no man’s land, Archer grabs his best friend under the arm and yanks him back to his feet. “The knee thing is just for the date. He’s asking you out for dinner. Not for a…” He chokes out a nervous giggle. “Just for dinner, I promise.”
Fletch bobs his head. “Just for dinner. No marriage. Fuck that shit. It burned me b—”
Archer slaps his hand over Fletch’s mouth. “Will you go out to dinner with him? He’s being weird ‘cos he’s never had to try so hard before in his whole life, but once you answer and his brain stops malfunctioning, he’ll be better.”
Again, Fletch bobs his head. “I used to be smooth. I used to be slick as fuck. But you broke me, Sera.”
“He just doesn’t shut up, does he?” Felix cackles. “Jaysus. This is embarrassing. Although, not nearly as embarrassing as Drake’s defeat is about to be.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Drake barks. “Stop trying to make this moment about you.”
“You shut up!” Cato counters. “You don’t tell him to shut up! You’re ruining Fletch’s smooth speech, asshole.”
“Can you all shut up and let her answer?” Archer snarls. “My boy needs you to take pity on him, Fifi. He needs you to say yes, and even if it all goes bad, that’s cool, because he’ll have worked this bugaboo outta his ass.”
“Say yes, Fifi!” Mia screeches happily. “Pleaaaaase say yes!”
“Please say yes,” Fletch mumbles. But because of Archer’s hand, it sounds more like pws syyes.
“Maybe she likes chicks,” Raquel decides.
As Fifi’s horrified eyes swing across to her, and Raquel scrunches her nose playfully. “Maybe she’s waiting for me to ask her out.”
“Say yes!” Felix booms. “Jesus. This is why asking is for idiots. It gives the woman way too much room to say no.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I told Christabelle what was up. Now look at us: happy as pigs in mud.”
“I’d stop speaking if I were you, Felix Malone.” Christabelle settles back in her chair and burns the back of his head with a glare. “You know what happens when you get too loud.”
Gritting his teeth, Felix leans closer and mock-whispers, “Say yes. Put us all out of our misery.”
“Please, Fifi!” Mia sniffles loudly, curling her lips into a sad frown. “I might cry if you say no.”
“McStinkerson!” Cato laughs. “That’s manipulation! I’ve taught you well.”
“Sera?” Fletch peels Archer’s hand off his face and steps closer. “Don’t act like you’re not curious, too. Please?”
“Fine. Sure.” Her breath bursts from her lungs on an explosive exhale. “Dinner. One time.”
“Yessssss!” Felix stalks forward and snatches the ball from Detective Banks’ hands.
Winding his arm back, he lobs the damn thing forward again until it pings noisily off the side of Drake’s head and flies twenty feet into the sky.
“Let’s play, bitch. The game ends when you’re on the ground in the fetal position and lying in your own piss.
” He points straight toward a wary Clay. “You shoulda sat this one out, kid.”