Page 98 of Pucking Billionaire

She shrugs, Socrates and Plato bobbing up and down so temptingly that Uber receives a fresh surge of blood. “You did telepathically communicate with a dolphin earlier that very day.”

Did I? Oh, shit. I guess I did. Like that one amazing idea I had that day, the dolphin telepathy totally slipped my mind. But not my declaration to Sophia.

That I would never forget.

“I was definitely talking to you,” I say as Spike loses interest in us in favor of sharpening his claws on my pillow. Chunks of memory foam fly my way, but I ignore them because Sophia’s eyes shine brighter at my words.

“So it wasn’t the pot talking?” she confirms.

“Definitely not.”

She bites her lip, tempting me again. “And now that the team is yours, do you feel the same way?”

I clasp her hands in mine. “Yes, Ladybug. I love you. I love you more with each passing day. I love you more than I could ever love a dolphin. Or a killer whale, which, according to a nature documentary I saw recently, is actually a type of dolphin.”

She grins. “Me too. I love you, that is. And no dolphin can compare to you either. Not even a dolphin who happens to be a philosopher. Or a Viking. But if I ever met a Viking philosopher dolphin, then?—”

I silence her with another kiss.

Epilogue

Sophia

Ilook toward Donatello and April as they step down from the ship onto what has recently been renamed TMNT Island, at least until a cease-and-decease letter makes its new owner rename it to something that isn’t trademarked.

“Do you think they know how momentous this occasion is?” I ask no one in particular.

April’s answer is to munch on some nearby dune grass, ignoring the rest of the gorgeous wild beach in front of her.

“Doubt it.” Mason slips on his backpack and strolls onto the beach like he owns the place—which as of recently, he does. The beach and the whole island.

“Of course, they know this is a big day,” Dr. Kelpcon counters. “They’re about to rejoin the offspring they’ve been diligently creating as saviors of their species.”

Ignoring the grass, Donatello gets into his all-too-familiar position behind April.

“Huh,” I say. “Doesn’t look like Don thinks the species has been sufficiently saved.”

As the humping commences, Dr. Kelpcon can’t resist giving the tortoises her usual pointers, and like at home, Mason and I leave her to it, in this case by going to explore the rest of the island.

“Want to check out Splinter’s Lagoon?” Mason asks. “Or the Gulf of Shredder?”

I sigh. “Whoever owns Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is going to make you rename all of those landmarks, you know that, right?”

He shrugs. “The lagoon is named for the splinters you get if you dare climb the palm trees, not after the wise rat sensei who trained certain turtles.”

I roll my eyes. “What about Shredder?”

“I’ve gone paperless recently, and this gulf celebrates the retirement of my favorite paper shredder.”

“Let me guess,” I say. “TMNT really stands for The Mighty Nighttime Troupe?”

“Yeah,” he says. “The best burlesque in the world.”

I shake my head. “Do you think it’s weird that I’m jealous of a fictional performance where you might see scantily clad women?”

He snorts. “I never said the burlesque show would feature women.”

“Ah, what was I thinking? It’s probably sexy tortoises all the way down.”

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