Page 88 of Perfect Boy

“Whatcha think, Tiny Dancer? Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” Watson says, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling my back to his chest. “And more importantly, are you happy?”

“It’s more than I ever imagined,” I whisper, letting my eyes roam up one building and down another. “It’s…beautiful.”

“I love you, baby,” he murmurs against my neck. “But the smell is not beautiful. Why does it smell like a dumpster?”

Spinning in his arms, I grin up at him. “I like the smell.”

“No one likes that smell,” Sutton mutters from behind us, and when I glance over my shoulder, shooting her a glare, she shrugs. “What? They don’t.” She points to her chest. “Visiting you when you live here is probably going to give me an asthma attack. You know what that means? You should probably stay in the South with me. Forever.”

“Babe, you’re my Southern girl. And I love it,” Hunter says, throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him. “But not everyone is like that, you know?”

“Y’all suck.” Sutton pouts.

When Watson releases me, I walk over to Sutton and pull her against me. “I love you. And I’ll be at Brooks until I graduate. So, you’re stuck with me for two more years, babe.” I inhale. “But, yeah…down the road…I am going to move here. And you’re going to have to pack your inhaler, get on the damn airplane, and come and smell the shitty air of the city. Because if you don’t, I’ll kick your ass.”

She sighs. “Fine. Two years is a long time. Maybe you’ll change your mind by then.” She gives me her big puppy-dog eyes. The one that Hunter literally loses his mind for. “One can hope, right?”

I press my forehead to hers. “Nothing will ever keep us apart, not even living states away from each other. You’re my sister. You’re my person.”

Tears form in her eyes, and she sniffles. Sutton’s a tough chick who rarely shows her emotions. A childhood like the one she had will do that to you. One where you dance and compete, even when your toes are bleeding and your entire foot is screaming in pain. She never got sympathy, and now, she spends her time trying to be tough.

“You’re my person too,” her voice squeaks, and we squeeze each other one last time before stepping back, both wiping our eyes. “And I’m so happy that everything worked out for you in court. Because if I had to hide you in a secret room just to keep you in the US, I would have done it.”

“I know,” I say, nodding slowly. “Now, let’s go see the school you dropped out of to go to Georgia, shall we? I need to check this place out for myself.”

Rolling her eyes to the sky, she huffs out a breath. “You’re never going to let me live it down that I left Juilliard for Brooks, are you?”

I shake my head quickly, my lips forming a line. “Not a chance, babe.”

I turn toward Watson, and his hand finds mine as we start to walk with Hunter and Sutton close behind us.

“I thought I was your person,” Hunter grumbles. “I feel lied to.”

I can’t help but giggle.

“You are my person.” She laughs. “You’re the person who I love. Who makes me smile—”

“Who gives you the best orgasms?” he mutters a little too loudly.

“Yes. That. And the one who makes me happy and so on and so on. So, yes, you are my person. But then there’s also my person. The type you can call if you just killed someone and you need some help to dispose of the body in a way that will not make you go to jail for the rest of your life.” She pauses. “And that is Ryann.”

Watson stops, spinning around, his eyes shifting from me to Hunter before finding Sutton’s. “Uh…got something to tell us, Savage?”

“Well, not literally killed someone, you weirdo.” She looks at me, smirking as she raises a brow. “But if I did, best believe my girl would help me bury the body. So, y’all better not piss us off.”

Hunter’s eyes grow huge, and Watson frowns.

“Uh…well then,” Watson utters, “remind me not to piss the pair of you off.”

As we all start to walk again, I hear Hunter ask, “Okay, but, like…Little Bird, am I still the main person? Like…your person, person. Right?”

“Yes, Hunter.” She giggles. “Don’t be jealous of Ryann.”

“I’m not. I’m … fine,” he grumbles.

“Good job, wifey,” Watson whispers. “You’ve made Thompson pout.”

I grin up at him as we stroll along the sidewalks of New York City. And it’s the most surreal thing in the world. I have friends. And a husband. I’m in the city of my dreams, and tomorrow, I get to go with Watson to check out the New York Rangers hockey arena, where he’ll be playing professional hockey after he graduates.

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