Page 177 of Bad for Me

I roll my eyes. "Against my better judgment. Yeah."

His lips quirk, his signature devilish grin wobbly. His nose twitches, and I think he's trying to hold back tears, too.

I don't notice that either of us has moved until we're chest to chest. One hand balls in his rumpled t-shirt, and the fingers of my other hand thread into the hair at his nape, pulling his forehead against mine. He smells like coconut oil and a disaster waiting to happen. One of his hands digs into my waist, right on my so-called "love-handles" that he embarrassingly loves so much. The other cups my jaw, caressing the scruff with his thumb.

Our lips meet in the gentlest kiss I think we've ever shared. Our lips move together, slowly and confidently. At the slightest touch of his tongue against mine, a shiver starts in my chest and sends gooseflesh up the back of my neck. I pull him closer with a deep rumble, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, tasting salt from our combined tears.

Michael clears his throat, and we stop kissing abruptly, but I keep my hold on Ian. Michael stands. "Look, no offense, but I've seen quite enough." He turns to walk back up the stairs, shaking his head. By the way his shoulders are moving, I think he's laughing.

My own shoulders relax a little, and I look up at Ian.

"Stay," I say, my voice raspy with emotion. "I don't know how to do this, how to make this work. But I'm not ready to let you go."

He nods, and all the tension in my body releases. Pulling him against me roughly, I kiss him with everything I’ve got.

EPILOGUE

IAN

"Dude,"Mike groans.

"What?"

"Seriously?"

I look over at my best friend and lift my shoulders to my ears, giving him an incredulous look. "I don't see what the problem is."

"I'm not going to propose to my girlfriend while 'balls deep with her bent over the edge of the rooftop bar'."

"Why not? It's romantic as fuck up here."

He rolls his eyes and ignores me. "I was thinking something more along the lines of recreating our first date. But I'm worried it'll be too obvious."

"Hate to break it to you, Mike, but everyone already sees it coming. It's been two years, and you're codependent as hell."

"We are not codependent."

"You've literally spent every moment together since that first summer. I'm surprised you don't pack her into your briefcase to take to work with you."

He returns my raised eyebrow. "I had to move in with her. That house wasn't safe anymore." His face contorts into a hilarious expression of disgust.

"You're welcome."

The deadpan glare he gives me would make an onlooker think he wants to murder me. But I know better. I point at him with my beer bottle. "If you hadn't spent so much time with her that first summer, you wouldn't have had the balls to ask her to move in with you when you moved to the city to start your internship. She wouldn't have charmed your new boss at the company holiday party, and he might not have given you the time of day to notice your work and give you a real, big boy job. Now look at you, living your best life with your own fancy ad campaign, holding a diamond ring in your pocket."

"That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? Your mind works in terrifying ways."

"Yeah, well, that's why people pay me the big bucks."

He scoffs and shakes his head. "The new mural downtown is nice, by the way," he says, changing the subject.

"Oh, you saw?! Did you find my surprise?"

"I did," he says, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he's tearing up a little. "It was a nice touch. I bet he loved it."

"Bawled like a baby," I say, remembering Henry's surprisingly emotional reaction to seeing the recent commission I did for the town Arts Association. The mural covers the entire side of a building. It's just a painting of the town and all its landmarks, with a few nondescript pedestrians walking around the streets or children running around the playground at the school. It's not as creative as some of the work I have on display in the gallery downtown, or as erotically titillating as the work I show on my website, but it's my largest and most visible commission by far. And in the bottom corner of the mural, right in front of the wildly popular Sunrise Bar and Grille, is the smiling figure of a man with dark hair and wide, muscular shoulders, with his young son sitting on his shoulders.

Michael laughs and takes a sip of his beer, eyes gazing out over the view from the rooftop bar. It's unusually quiet up here in the few moments before the door opens for the dinner rush and the live band that's setting up now.

"I like the idea of recreating the date," I say more seriously. "Even if she sees it coming, it'll be really special."

"Yeah?" Michael perks up, his eyes lighting up.

"Yeah, man. The rooftop idea was a joke. You can't use that?—"

"Thanks, man," he says with a chuckle. He's relaxed until I finish my sentence, and then beer comes shooting out of his nose.

"Because that's how I'm going to propose to your dad."

---