Page 52 of Not a Perfect Save

“So you’d get on your knees if I ordered?”

“You wouldn’t need to order.” But then his confident mask dissipates and uncertainty fills his eyes. “Did I screw things up completely? You have every right to tell me to fuck off. But I’m praying you don’t.”

I shake my head. I’m still having trouble believing that Connor is here, especially since I was the one who messed everything up. I open my mouth to tell him exactly that, but he speaks first. “I left you,” he says as he swallows. “Right when you didn’t need to be alone. After saying you could depend on people.” He grimaces in self-disgust. I can’t stand it.

“Yeah. You did. But I don’t blame you. Well, not much anyway.” I take a deep breath. “But I deserved it. Kinda needed it, really.” This is it. The moment of truth. I’m so scared, I almost want to throw up. “I kept telling myself that you were perfect, that you weren’t my type, that everything we had was temporary. I made up all sorts of excuses in my mind why we couldn’t be together. Because if I fell for you, there was no going back. And if I wasn’t going to be what you wanted, then it would be better to end things sooner rather than later. So I pushed you away.”

“I know you don’t need me. You’re entirely competent. For fuck’s sake, you faced down a guy with a gun to your head. No one needs to save you,” he says.

“That’s the thing. I kinda do need you. So, so very much. I was so full of myself. Figuring I knew everything. Had everyone pegged. But you were right. I was all about the labels. I needed—hell, I still need to sort myself out.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Connor grimaces. “I mean, shit, what do I know?”

I respond, “No more than me, apparently. I was dumb. Dumber than the dummy in my apartment. Cloth scraps between my ears because I haven’t wanted to let the truth in for a while.”

We exchange smiles, and the air between us thickens.

“You really meant it?”

“That I loved you? I did. I do.” He gives me a crooked grin. “I mean, look at me.” He pops his hip and I laugh, and joy suffuses me.

I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him hard. When he picks me up, I wind my legs around his waist. “I love you, too, you know?” My arms loop around his neck, and my eyes water, the tiniest bit.

Connor’s lips twist into a smirk, some of that familiar confidence returning. “I knew it.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Well, I didn’t know for sure… but I figured maybe you did. At least I hoped,” he says.

My mouth traces his jaw, his neck, anywhere I can reach. In front of everyone in the room, hell, I’m happy to give them a floorshow, just so thrilled to have Connor close.

Scratch that. I’m a jealous burbitch. I’m not sharing any more of him with anyone. Not even those sexy knees. “Well, I was just about to come find you and tell you. There was no way I was going to let you walk away. I’m going to turn into a stage three clinger,” I threaten, and demonstrate my sincerity by tightening my legs.

Connor brings his hands down to my butt, cupping me. “Cling away.”

Hoots follow us as he carries me out into the hallway. “Private performances only, remember?” he whispers, his voice husky. Once we lose our audience, he leans me against a wall and kisses my throat.

“How did you pick it, this costume?” I ask, when we come up for air.

Because he looks ridiculous. Adorably ridiculous.

He presses his forehead against mine, his shoulders shaking under me. “It was either this or your other asinine idea with the ballet skirt thing over my uniform pants, whatever it took,” he whispers, bringing his lips to my temple.

I grin. Connor Hall. My perfectly imperfect Boy Scout.

Epilogue

CONNOR

“I seriously can’t believeI let her pick these pumps for me.” Ella fumes as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other while clutching my arm for balance. I look down. There’s only a bit of silver visible from beneath the hem of her gown.

“I can always carry you off to a corner somewhere. Help you take the shoes off. And anything else you want to divest yourself of.” I give her an exaggerated leer.

“Stripping is your thing, not mine, Boy Scout,” she says, making me laugh. “And I don’t think there’s going to be any kind of sneaking away. Not with all the eyes on us.”

“Hmm.” People mill around the courtyard, having pre-dinner cocktails, congratulating Hannah and Ella’s mom on the beautiful ceremony. Hannah demurs, waving off their praises even though we both know she thrives on it. I don’t really give a fuck as long as Ella’s happy.

A couple approaches us to chat. I’m told they are old friends of Barry and Georgiana. The man’s a Titans fan but knows better than to ask me to sign an autograph or take a selfie today. Once they leave, Ella turns to me. “How much longer, you think?” she whispers. The crowd hasn’t thinned out much, and a few other guests head our way.

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