Page 180 of Finance Bros

“Well, I’m not cooking.”

We’re gonna need to hire a chef. We only get home-cooked food when Deacon drops some off for us, which is about once a week if not twice. It’s the way he pays us for managing his finances. Plus, he’s a good friend in general.

“Should I dress up?” I ask.

“I have something picked out for you to wear,” he says, and if it’s possible, my heart races even faster.

“Sounds like an occasion.”

“Depends on you,” he tells me, grabbing me by the face and bringing me in for a kiss.

“Oh, I’m a sure thing, baby. You should know that by now.”

“Maybe I need to lock this supposedly sure thing down.”

I kiss him for that, knowing what’s coming and barely able to wait to shout myyesfrom the rooftop or wherever he proposes. I had a terrible thought that he was going to wait eleven years—one year longer than I was with Kaylin just to be sure I wasn’t going anywhere, but I guess signing a lease, being in business together, co-authoring a book, and in general sharing every part of our lives has proven I can be trusted to stick around.

“Should I stop?” I ask, about to hit the point where my need to come will overwhelm my ability to quit dry humping him.

“Why would you ever want to stop?”

Lube for one thing, I think, but kiss him again anyway, my grind against him more purposeful. We’re both wearing sweats, so the chafing won’t be that bad, but, as always, the idea of having him inside me is infinitely more appealing.

“If we’re going out, I could use a shower,” I tell him.

“A shower sounds fucking great.”

We make it there in record time after a mad scramble from the floor and a short chase. Soon enough, we’re chest to chest, my heart still pounding madly against my ribs while he uses my entire body as friction. His mouth seals to mine, and our tongues engage in their familiar but never boring dance. Kissing him always excites me, and it’s not just the mechanics of it—which are technically outstanding—it’s the feeling and intention behind it. He’slike—completely in love with me, and there’s no way I ever feel his love better than in his kiss.

But I am one horny motherfucker, and the need to get him somewhere inside me has me whining and begging.

He takes me against the shower wall, my back to the tile and my ass gripped in his strong arms. With my legs around him andmy mouth never far from his, he fucks me until I’m coming untouched, shooting onto my chest and whimpering down his throat.

When my aftershocks start contracting through me, he shoves in deep and spills with a sharp cry. Cradling me in his arms, he kisses me breathless while we both come down from the high of quick, hot shower sex.

“Mal, I love you so fucking much.”

He’s rarely the first to say it—even now—so when he does, I reward him by saying something like, “I’m all yours,” which is what I say now because if he’s planning what I think he’s planning, I don’t want him going into it with any doubt.

“I hope so,” he whispers with a light kiss on my cheek as he helps me lower my feet to the floor.

His proposal at the rooftop restaurant with a view of the bay and the Golden Gate bridge is met with a resounding yes from me. In his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his hair blowing softly across his face in the breeze, and his expression all vulnerable and open wide, it’s the easiest commitment I’ll ever make.

“Did it go the way you wanted?” I ask after the waiter drops off a bottle of champagne.

“You said yes, so…”

“I mean—did it go to plan? Was it everything you pictured?”

“Not gonna lie, I was waiting for a clear night. I had to pay extra to get a table when I saw the weather would stay nice.”

He still hasn’t answered my question. “And was it worth it?”

We’re holding hands across the table, a thin platinum band on my ring finger gleaming in the real candlelight from the hurricane lamp to the left of our arms. “As long as you weren’t agreeing to be agreeable in public, then yes. Totally worth it.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

He gives my hand a squeeze. “Sure.”

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