Page 78 of Hot Doggin'
“You know, we could make a killing if we move to a private platform and take our pants off and…”
“Mac,” Stiles interrupts, giving me a stern look.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t make me hit you. Not right before we film this video.”
“Fine,” I huff, grabbing up my ball of black glittery yarn. “If you make a mistake, just keep going. I can edit it out later.”
“So what are we doing? Just talking about our project? I don’t really think they want to know about this shawl I’m making for Margaret Anne’s Christmas present.”
“No, no no. You have to talk about it a certain way. They don’t give a fuck about your shawl. It’s the words you use. Sexy words. Innuendo. You watched my videos, you know what I mean.”
Stiles gives me a what-the-fuck look. “It’s a shame about that black eye you’re gonna have in a second.”
“Come on, Stiles. I can get way more viewers doing this with you rather than without. You agreed to help me.”
He sighs heavily like he’s being put out. “You owe me so bad.”
I love owing him, but I try and swallow my grin so he takes me seriously. “Yeah, yeah, I know. For this and all the other countless shit. I owe you for life, which means you’ll have to stick around for a really long time so I can pay you back.”
Instead of complaining, Stiles smiles and pops a kiss on my lips. “Sounds like a plan.”
He loves me. He knows he loves me. No matter what outrageous shit I ask him to do or how annoying I get. “You know, if you wanted to make it official, we could plan something. Something nice, but not too big,” I add, before he starts to panic.
I can’t decipher the look he shoots me, but I don’t see any panic in his expression.
“What do you mean? Like, get married?”
“I’m just saying, it’s an idea. Something to think about.” I shrug, trying to keep it casual.
Stiles’s grin starts off slowly and grows wider the longer he stares at me. “Is that what you want, Mac?” He slides his hand over my thigh and squeezes. “Do you want to marry me? Change your name to Ernest Stiles?”
“Christ no,” I laugh. “One Stiles is enough. I’ll always be McCormick. But think of it. We could have a pool party at BALLS for the reception. Brandt could play his Top Gunsoundtrack, or maybe we could have karaoke, and we could walk down the long hallway together like it’s an aisle while they play ‘Islands In The Stream’. And for the bachelor party, we’ll hit up the Tavern!”
He’s laughing at me, but I expected that. It’s fine. I know it sounds silly.
“Maybe Nacho could park his truck out front and serve tacos to the guests.”
Oh, he wants to play along? He’s interested! “Yeah, but we’re going to have hotdogs, right?”
“Of course, we’re gonna have hotdogs, babe. What kind of wedding is this? We could even make a topping bar for the hotdogs. Chili, relish, sauerkraut, onions, mac and cheese. The possibilities are endless.”
I love where this is going. “Yeah! And the flowers could be knitted from yarn. Josh, our mascot, will be there, of course. We can tie our rings around his horn. And instead of getting dressed up fancy, we could wear those T-shirts that look like tuxedos!”
“That sounds perfect. I’ve never been to a wedding that awesome.”
“Me neither! Are we just dreaming here, or are we being serious?”
Stiles gazes into my eyes. “Dead-as balls-serious.”
“Oh wow, that’s super serious.”
“Damn, right it is,” he grins.
My heart feels like it’s gonna crack wide open because there are too many feelings inside it. “Just so you know, I’m amending my fire rule. There’s no more box.”
Stiles looks surprised, and maybe a little concerned. “What do you mean there’s no box? Where did you put the box?”
