Page 204 of The Billionaires

Ah. Right. He actually told me about it at one point.

“Is that why you’ve come? To tell me that?” I realize some form of this should’ve been my first question, but I was too afraid to ask. If he says something like, “I’m here to get you to come back to work,” the geyser behind my eyes might burst forth, get him all wet, and then?—

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” Bruce declares solemnly. “To be with me. Be mine. Whatever terminology the kids are using these days.”

I gape at him, unsure I’ve heard correctly.

He steps closer. “You don’t have to answer now. I know a lot has happened and?—”

“Yes,” I say, a bit too loudly. I’m not sure if it’s the heat from his body, or his scent, but I start to grow dizzy. “I’ll be yours… I mean, your girlfriend. Or go steady, or whatever oldsters like you called it back in the days of yesteryear.”

“Good.” He steps closer, eyes gleaming. “There’s something else.”

I arch an eyebrow because his proximity is making my breathing too fast for coherent speech.

Bruce takes my hand and lifts it to his chest. “It’s something I probably should wait to tell you. At least until we go on a few more dates and more time has passed.”

“Tell me what?” I breathe.

“I love you.” He gently squeezes my hand. “I love how kindhearted you are—especially with Colossus. I love your zest for life—how in such a short time, you’ve managed to make me appreciate what I have and even start to enjoy it. I love?—”

“I do too,” I blurt. “Love you, that is. And sorry to interrupt, but you just kept going on and on and?—”

Our lips clash, and his kiss is as passionate as it is possessive.

The kiss tells me we’re official.

It tells me I’m his.

EPILOGUE

BRUCE

I sit in a theater I’ve rented, surrounded by family and friends—both mine and Lilly’s. Around us is a crowd of dog parents who are as proud as I am, their fluffy charges on a leash next to their chairs dressed in a custom-made graduation uniform. The dogs, that is. Although some parents are wearing a version of it too.

“Chewbacca Stevenson,” Lilly says from the stage, and I hear my sister chuckle. She and Lilly often try to one up each other when it comes to inventing silly names for dogs, and Star Wars references are staples for both of them.

I hope that dog doesn’t go by Chewie. For those with misophonia like me, that’s the equivalent of calling a dog Pukie. Or Poopie. Or Noodlie.

The lady on my left beams and urges her German Shepherd (who does look like his namesake) to head over to Lilly.

When they get to her, Lilly shakes the woman’s hand and asks Chewbacca to give her a paw, which he (I assume it’s a he) does. Finally, Lilly hands the lady a roll of official papers, while Chewbacca gets one of the edible trophies commissioned for this specific occasion.

We all laugh as Chewbacca devours his hard-won reward.

Lilly calls the next dog, and this time, the swell of pride I feel isn’t for my fur child, but for her. She’s done it. She’s actualized her dream, and here is the first graduating class of her new dog school—Barkshire Pawaway.

When I glance at the faces of Lilly’s parents, I can see them tearing up, and I bet they share the same sentiment. And hey, they have the right to be proud. Lilly accomplished this smoothly and swiftly, mere months after officially moving in with me (not that she stayed at her own place when we were “just dating”).

As Lilly calls the next graduate, she waves her toned arm, which makes me uncomfortable in the crotch area.

Not this again. I will Titan, as she calls him, to calm the fuck down by thinking of government-employed accountants eating soup.

Nope. Down is a difficult command for Titan to master when Lilly is around.

Figures. Colossus and I will get called to the stage any minute, and I’ll be sporting a hard-on.

What’s worse, the dogs might know that I’m aroused. I mean, if Lilly can teach them to soothe a person when stressed, or to indicate they need an insulin shot, this seems pretty easy in comparison.

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