Huck:
Fuck you. You’re lying. You always came with me.
Me:
Never, not once, so I had to use my little vibrating friend once you fell asleep. But good luck screwing around.
Huck:
I hope you two end up making each other unhappy.
Me:
That’s a childish response, and I guess that’s why I could never go through with the wedding. Leon’s a man, and he’s the one who never forgets my birthday and treats me like a queen, unlike you. Good luck with your record deal.
Huck:
You’ll be running back to me when I get it.
Not even if hell freezes over.
I tuck the comforter under my arms and turn my phone face down on my chest before running my hands down my face.
“I hate him,” I huff, feeling like the weight of the world is on my shoulders when I should be celebrating the fact that I had the best sex of my life last night with a man I love and who loves me back. But the photo that appeared online this morning was abittersweet moment, because while Leon has received numerous press inquiries asking for confirmation of our relationship status, trying to get the scoop, the pair of us also spent our time replying to texts and calls from friends and family who are giddy with excitement about us finally being together.
It’s both weird and incredible.
After my interaction with Huck, I feel sick to my stomach. “I’m not a cheater,” I mumble under my breath just as Leon walks into his bedroom wearing nothing but his boxers, looking scrummy, carrying a tray loaded with snacks and two steaming mugs of coffee.
“Screw him. Let him believe what he wants. And block him.”
Shit, Leon heard me grumbling.
“That’s a great idea.” I’m clearly not thinking straight.
Within seconds, I block Huck’s number and feel slightly better.
Leon stands motionless at the foot of his bed, just staring at me.
“What’s up?” I ask, concern ringing inside me.
Tilting his head slightly to the side, paired with a lazy half-smile, he says, “You look good in my bed.”
It’s where we ended up after showering together.
He surveys me before adding, “This is where you belong.”
My chest swells with joy. “Now I’m here, I’m not leaving.” I playfully bite my lip.
“Those are bold words.”
“Only because I know you’re mine, you’re stuck with every inch of me.”
“And you have all nine inches of me,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
“Felt more like ten,” I tease. “Maybe eleven. I’m happy to check again, though, so whenever you’re ready, I am.”
He laughs low, a rumble that shakes the air. “I thought you were sore.”
