Page 87 of Changing the Play

West pulls back and cups my face, slamming his mouth down on mine. “My beautiful, brilliant overachiever. I am so fucking proud of you.”

I bury my face in his throat and force deep breaths into my lungs. “Thank you. And thank you for not letting me give up.”

“You would have never given up anyway, baby, but you’re welcome.”

For a few minutes, West just holds me, letting me soak in his warmth. I thought this would never be over, and occasionally, I even had my doubts I’d make it at all, but I did. Thank God.

Finally, West tugs me into the house and leads me to the kitchen, where there’s a cake on the counter and two champagne flutes. “Did you bake this?” I ask suspiciously, remembering the time I came home to a smoked out kitchen and charcoal cookies.

West laughs. “Fuck no. I bought it like this.”

He fills the two glasses, handing me one with a grin. “Congratulations, Dr. Sinclair. I am so fucking proud to be your husband. How would you like to spend the evening? It’s your show, baby.”

My cock thickens at the heated promise in his voice. “I think I’d quite like to spend the night buried in your body.”

West’s eyes widen and he takes the flute from my hand before I’ve even taken a sip, ushering me out of the kitchen and into our bedroom.

Weston—2 years later

Darcy’s feet are tucked under my thigh, his arm draped over the back of the couch, a red pen in his hand that he’s tapping against his cheek. “Someone confused about The Treaty of Versailles again?” I ask.

Darcy groans. “I wish. No, they’re confused about The Cold War. Why do they think The Cold War is called that because it ‘happened during winter’?”

He says the last part with air quotes. I can’t help but laugh. “To be fair, it sounds like something I would have thought before I met you.”

He pins me with a look that screamsbe serious.“No.”

I give him a pointed look. “Okay, fine. Maybe, but you wouldn’t have said it with so much conviction. You wouldn’t have written an entire research paper on it. Research being the key word there.”

He drops his head against the back of the couch with another irritated groan. “Is it too much to ask that they do just the smallest amount of research? Like a Google search. I’d kill for a Google search at this point.”

I can’t help but grin at his exasperated expression. “Living the dream, huh, baby?”

He turns to me with a soft smile. “Yes. Of course.”

We stare at each other for a couple of minutes, and like always, I’m lost in his eyes, in his smile, inhim.The years haven’t dimmed my feelings for him at all. If anything, they’re stronger.“What about you?” he asks. “Are you living the dream?”

“I have a kid who keeps calling Edgar Allan PoeEdwardAllan Poe in his poetry analysis, but other than that? Yes.”

Darcy grins and goes back to his grading, slashing things with his pen and making notes in the margins. I watch him for a second before going back to my own grading. Leaning forward, I pick up a cookie from the box Darcy brought home with him and break a small piece off before turning and holding it to his lips.

He eats it from my fingers without even glancing up from his paper, and a few seconds later opens his mouth again. I grin, picking up the cookie and feeding it to him bite by bite, trying not to laugh as he opens his mouth like a baby bird between each one.

“I like this,” Darcy says, laying his pen on the table.

“Oh? Being hand-fed cookies? I bet you do.”

He rolls his eyes. “No. Well, yes. Duh, but I mean this,” he says, waving a hand between us.

I draw him toward me, giving him a gentle kiss before sitting back. “Me too. You know, back in college, not long after we first met, we were standing in the bathroom brushing our teeth together, and I pictured this.”

Darcy’s lips tilt up. “Grading papers about The Cold War being because of winter and Edward Allan Poe?”

“No,” I laugh, shaking my head. “This. You and me, sitting together. Dim lighting. Grading papers. Just living our best lives together and happy and in love.”

The smile I get in return makes my heart jump into my throat. “Ugh. I love you, you big sap. I can’t read another word of this tonight or my brain’s going to explode. Wanna read to me for a bit before bed?”

“I love you too.” I stand, offering him my hand. “It would be my pleasure.”

THE END.

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