Epilogue
NICK
TWO YEARS LATER
JUNE
My shoes pound on the loose dirt, leaves and twigs crunching as I round the corner, tearing into the home stretch. The trees give way to the road at the edge of the woods, and I swivel my head from side to side, checking for traffic, before racing across and up the driveway.
I skid to a stop, bracing my knees and ending the workout tracker on my fitness watch, heaving in deep breaths while the summer sun beats down on me. In the corner of my eye, I spot movement in an upstairs window, and I jerk my head up in time to catch Dean ducking down.
“I know you’re there!” I yell up, grinning.
He always does this—pretending he isn’t checking me out every time I go for a run without a shirt. I thought he’d give up the act after last summer, but nope, he’s still faking it and convincing nobody.
Or maybe he likes it when I wrestle a sexy little confession out of him after I go inside.
Speaking of inside, I need a shower. I straighten up and lumber toward the front door, only to pass the new hose Dean got the other day.
Now there’s an idea.
Smiling to myself, I saunter over to the spigot and turn it all the way on, unraveling the hose and sticking a finger into the stream to check the temperature. Once it’s icy cold, I gulp a huge breath into my lungs and douse myself.
“Holy shit!” I scream when the frigid water washes over my body. I don’t know what else I was expecting, but hey, this is a great way to cool off.
And maybe this isn’t so bad. Why didn’t I think of this before?
“Babe, what are you doing?” Dean asks, stepping onto the porch and resting against a pillar. “We have running water inside, too.”
He’s in one of my team hats—backward how he likes me to wear them—and that makes my heart flip like hell.
With drops trailing down my face and my wet hair falling over my eyes, I simply grin back. “This is more fun. Wanna see?” I wave the nozzle at my cowering boyfriend and snicker, dropping the hose to the ground and walking over.
“You scare me,” he mutters, shutting the water off.
“Nah, I turn you on, especially when I’m shirtless. Gimme a hug.”
He shuts his eyes and smiles back, shaking his head and leaning into the wet hug I surround him with. “You’re lucky I love you.”
Aw. My heart squeezes as usual, and I nuzzle into Dean’s neck, which presses my mop of wet hair onto his face. “I am.”
“Yeah, you’re really, really lucky. Stop using me as a towel.” He can’t hold his laughter back as he shoves me, his hands wavering on my shoulders. I’ve been with him for long enough to know he’s feeling me up, and I close the distance between us, slipping my own hands underneath his loose shirt.
“Mmm. There’s a lot more I’m lucky for, too.
” The feeling of his core against my fingertips is nothing short of delicious, and I take a quick glance at the road to make sure nobody can see me getting frisky and boned-up.
“I’ve been slacking with workouts lately.
Wanna help me burn some more calories upstairs? ”
He plants a firm hand on my ass. “Always, but your work phone’s been ringing nonstop. You might want to check that first.”
Ugh. “It isn’t like it’s my day off,” I grumble. “I’ll deal with work, and then I’ll take the fastest shower of my life. Be ready and very naked.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” He dashes back inside, and I follow him, picking up my phone and admiring the way his butt stretches against his basketball shorts as he darts up the stairs, hanging my hat on a hook.
And when he pauses at the top and strips his shirt off, showing off his killer back muscles, I put my phone back down on the table. Maybe work can hold on for a bit. Half an hour won’t kill them, right? Besides, they’ve been waiting for—
I grab my phone again to check how long it’s been, and my eyes widen as soon as I see the five missed calls from the team manager.
He picks up on the first ring when I call him back.
“Hi, Jake. Sorry, I was on a run.”
He laughs once, putting me at ease. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get to the point. Detroit’s moving you up…”
What he says afterward blurs into nothing. My breathing slows, and it takes everything in me to not drop my phone to the floor.
I’m…going to the major league.
Holy motherfucking shit, I’m being promoted.
“...agent will handle the contract and related procedures. How does that sound?”
“Th-thank you. Holy sh—yeah. My god, that’s amazing!”
“It is. We’ll miss you, Russell, but you’re gonna kick ass in Detroit. I’m sure of it.”
“Right. Definitely. Thank you so much again.”
We sign off, and the line clicks. I stay standing in the mudroom, hose water dripping onto the tiled floor, just processing everything.
In a totally cliché move, I pinch myself hard to see if this is all a dream, and when the sharp pain makes my arm throb, my fingers leaving a red mark behind, I get all the confirmation I need. Years and years of pushing forward and working hard, and I’m reaching the peak.
With Dean by my side. This is real life, but it’s a fucking dream. The metaphorical kind.
Slowly, I drag my feet upstairs, winded from the run and diverting most of my energy up to my brain.
Everything is still spinning around and happening so quickly, and it takes Dean shaking my shoulder to snap me back to lucidity.
There’s an unmistakable glint in his eyes, and when I instinctively pull away to avoid getting him wet again, he huffs and closes the distance between us to give me a kiss.
It’s slow and gentle, his soft lips molding to mine and sending a wave of fuzzy warmth throughout my body.
I savor the way he runs his tongue along my teeth, the way he knows I like it, and I return the favor by upping the intensity.
We explore the familiar comfort of each other’s mouths, basking in our heavy breathing and little moans that pipe up every so often.
This is beyond comfortable. It’s bliss, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I let out a sharp grunt when Dean’s hand lands on my bulge. After two years, I’m better at resisting—
Okay, who am I kidding? My boyfriend is still very hot and very disarming, but the difference now is that it isn’t urgent for me. We have all the time in the world, my attraction to him isn’t going anywhere, and I can stand to have a serious conversation before the rest of my clothes come off.
And I still need to shower. Jesus, doesn’t he care I’m sweating up a storm?
“Hey, babe, maybe hold back for a sec,” I say, pulling away. “I wanted to talk about something with you first.”
He blinks at me, pursing his kiss-bruised lips into a gentle smile. “Oh. Okay. Is it about the call?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. It’s good news.” I decide to be concise. “They’re moving me up to majors. In Detroit.”
His lips part, and his mouth stretches into the widest, most endearing smile I’ve seen on him yet. “Oh my god. This is—” He extends his arms and wraps them around me, grabbing on so tightly my back pops. “That’s amazing! I am so fucking proud of you.”
Through the vise-like grip around my ribcage, I manage to return the hug and plant a few strained pats on my boyfriend’s back, slipping my hands under his arms so I can breathe.
“And that means a few things are gonna change.” The two of us pull back, and I meet his reverent gaze.
“First off, should I ask the team lawyer to get started on a spousal immigration petition?”
He chuckles, running a warm hand down my bare shoulder. “You think we’re ready?”
“I don’t know—you love your independence and maybe you want to do a PhD and go on another student visa?”
“No fucking way,” he mutters. “I don’t wanna do another damn degree.”
Smirking back at him, I narrow my eyes. “That leaves you with one option: marry me and be my sexy trophy husband.”
“Oh, come on. I have more options than that,” he says, scoffing and shoving my chest. “We can do the sponsorship, and then fight over who’s the trophy.”
I step closer and kiss him, sealing the deal. We linger, slow and sensual for a while, simply enjoying each other the way we have for the past two years, and how we will going forward.
Yup, two years. It isn’t a long time, in the grand scheme of things, especially since it’s gone by in a flash. Two years of navigating road trips, practice schedules, and his rigorous master’s program, and now we’re taking the next step together.
And damn, Dean looks sexy as hell in red—giving him anything in Detroit crimson is gonna make my mind explode.
“Let me finally rinse off, and I’ll be right back.” I break the kiss with great reluctance and run my thumb along his jaw. “Sorry for making you wait so long.”
He chuckles, lifting his shirt off. “You spent the last five minutes smearing sweat all over me. Don’t think I’m not joining you.”
My chest swells, as does something else, when I’m pushed toward the ensuite by the hand gripping my ass. I spin around and press my mouth to his again while we wait for the water to warm up. This hasn’t gotten old, and at this point, it never will.
Dean’s a fucking gem, and I’m so fucking lucky he’s mine.