Page 68 of Lace 'em Up

My cock stirs and I draw her even closer, burying my face in her hair, knowing I’m not being the least bit sly when I inhale deeply, bringing the intoxicating scent of her into my lungs.

Holding it as close as she is to me.

Thankfully, she doesn’t comment, just melts against me, just lets me hold her.

But eventually, the ballad fades out, transitions into an upbeat pop number and we slow our movements, pull apart. “Speaking of rings,” I say as I reach into my pocket, pull out the box I’d picked up on the way home.

Her mouth drops open. “What?—?”

“My mom won’t believe it without a ring,” I tell her, though my heart is beating strangely fast. Probably because that feels like a prevarication, a convenient excuse to have bought her something nice for no reason except…that I wanted to. “And I figured you wouldn’t want to wear your old one.”

That makes her shudder and I know I made the right call.

Know that it wasn’t the bullshit that’s been swirling in my head that made me pull over, made me stop and look in the window of the jewelry shop.

Made me buy the ring.

It was her.

I place the box in her hand and she holds it for a long moment before opening the lid.

Then stills, plump pink lips parting in surprise.

“Okay?” I ask softly.

She doesn’t move—except for her eyes. Those flick up and meet mine. “Yeah,” she whispers. “It’s more than okay.”

“Good,” I say, knowing I should come up with something better, something more meaningful.

But it’s all I can do to keep my hands steady as I slip the ring from the black velvet interior of the box, as I settle it on her finger.

It catches slightly on her knuckle before I manage to slip it over, not stopping until it sits at the base of her ring finger.

“Perfect fit,” she whispers.

Every thought in my mind shatters, scattering this way and that, panic whipping through me, all calm sent spinning by a miniature tornado.

But then I catch sight of that ring glittering in the overhead lights…

And everything settles.

Perfect fit.

Twenty

Rory

The ring feels heavy.

It shouldn’t, considering it’s just a ring of metal and stone, albeit the diamond ringed by pale blue gems is large—ridiculously large under any circumstance, but also ridiculously large for a fake engagement ring.

This is pretend.

And I’ve got two carets sitting on my finger.

My charm bracelet looks silly next to the glamorous piece of jewelry, and I fight the urge to take it off.

That drags me to my senses more rapidly than a bucket of icy water over my head.

---