“Do you need a minute?” I ask him.
“I might need several.” Letting go of me, he walks over to Bailey, frowns down at her, and says unequivocally, “Glitter looks fucking great on you.”
EPILOGUE TWO
EVAN
One Year Later—Fall
I wake up to Deacon rocking my shoulder back and forth. “Look alive, baby boy. You’ve got a call in fifteen.”
“Fuck, was I asleep?”
I get it’s a stupid question, but I’m not firing on all cylinders. The color of the afternoon light makes it quite clear that the time has changed significantly since I decided to lie down and rest my eyes for a few minutes.
Deacon wipes the drool from the corner of my mouth as he smiles down at me. He looks like a goddamn angel in the white room.Ourroom. Baz is next to him, breathing noisily and staring up at Deacon, too.
“I might need some coffee.”
“I’ve got you. It’s in the office, but it’s getting cold, so get this luscious ass up and get moving.”
He gives said ass a squeeze and then a light slap before standing and snapping his fingers for Baz to get off the bed.
I don’t know how he’s so alert after how late we were up last night. It was stupid for a Sunday with as much work as Deacon and I had to do today, but we got into one of those treacherous cycles where we took turns and never got off together. One orgasm led to someone else’s boner and on and on until we finally got our shit coordinated and finished together. Terrible timing for it to be on a work night, but it was fun while it lasted.
It's been a nearly a year since I left LA and came home to Deacon and Isaac. Four Points Freight was the ultimate beta test for my workforce software. Once every last bug was worked out, and I’d made a significant update that didn’t crash the entire system, Isaac convinced me I was ready to take it to the wider market.
Hunter was my angel investor and gave me his blessing to promote someone into my position, leaving me free to pursue my entrepreneurship and my relationship with Deacon and Isaac up close and personal.
Without a doubt, it’s been the most challenging and most incredible year of my life. The challenge is running a business. The incredible part is doing it with my boyfriend. My partner now in business and in life, Deacon is everything I ever wanted and more. He’s a sounding board, a best friend, a brilliant programmer, a workout buddy, and a feeder. He’s also a fun distraction and, incidentally, the love of my life.
One of them.
He props me up at my desk in our upstairs office with coffee and a kiss before I get on a call with a healthcare system in Arizona who’s inquiring about my software. Apollo is snoozing quietly at my feet, but Baz, who can’t breathe properly through his short snout, is in the hall making all his sleeping noises.
The call goes long, but my pitch is pretty flawless by now, and while we’re a little more expensive than some of the other workforce schedulers on the market, we know we’re worth the investment.
Polytech handles our customer support, but they forward all relevant issues to Deacon who can tweak anything, usually with a twenty-four hour turnaround.
As the call ends, I lean back in my chair and wait for him to look up from his monitor.
Sensing me, he mumbles, “Five minutes.”
“I think they liked me.”
“Everyone likes you. You’re likable.”
“I didn’t even have to show them my ass.”
“It’s the eyes,” he says without missing a single keystroke. “Those little crinkles you’re starting to get. Fucking adorable.”
I blush and consider how I might reward him for that unguarded statement.
“How are my sexy tech bros?”
I glance at the doorway to see Isaac breezing in wearing pale gray slacks and a crisp white button down. Baz charges him and he takes a minute to greet the eager little thing. Baz has Apollo’s coloring, but none of his size. He’s bigger than Manon, but not by a lot.
I’m still not entirely convinced Apollo sired him. The black and white spots are one thing, but a terrier mix makes more sense. Lessons were learned, however. No male in this household is capable of impregnating a female anymore. Some based on preference, others based on good old-fashioned castration.
