Page 72 of Legally Ours

Chapter 17

It was past four by the time we got back to the apartment, since turning the birthday party into an engagement party gave the night a second wind. We had spent the majority of it wrapped up together on the dance floor, alternating between jumping around while I laughed uncontrollably at Brandon's hilarious lack of rhythm, and folded together like one person while we swayed during songs fast and slow.

When the elevator doors opened into the penthouse, we practically fell into the huge space, tripping over each other's feet even as we couldn't stop touching. For the first time since I met him, things with Brandon felt truly free. There was nothing between us––just the complete and utter adoration we had for each other.

"What a fuckin' great night," Brandon remarked for the fifth time as we stumbled into the kitchen for some much-needed water.

Both of us looked like we had just come back from the gym. Still sweaty with an absurdly healthy glow, Brandon was down to his undershirt, and his dampened hair curled around his brow and at the nape of his neck. He looked delicious.

"Up you go," he said as he hoisted me onto the counter next to the refrigerator––mostly, it seemed, so he could keep his hand on my thigh while he rustled around the fridge.

He hadn't stopped touching me during the rest of the night, and I loved it. It was like we were making up for lost time, and the glow burning deep inside me like the embers of a fire told me I had done the right thing. Maybe now we were finally speaking each other's languages.

"What?" Brandon asked through a mouthful of salami. "Why are you smirking?"

I just grinned as I accepted a bottle of water. "I was thinking of this conversation Dad and I had last week. It was so corny, but he was right. We just needed to learn each other's love languages."

Brandon pulled leftover pasta from the fridge and started eating it right out of the plastic container like he hadn't eaten for days. Looking over him, I realized he was thinner than usual––the stress of the last two weeks had been taking its toll on him too, in more ways than I'd thought.

"Don't eat it like that," I said as I hopped down and took the pasta.

"Hey!" he faux-yelped as I popped the noodles into a proper bowl and then put them in the microwave.

"Drink your water," I ordered with another smirk as I pointed at the bottle on the counter. "You need hydration."

"But––"

"Let me take care of you, birthday boy."

Brandon raised one blond brow, but obediently opened his bottle and drank half of it in one go.

"You sound like your grandmother," he said.

I just propped a hand on my hip. "There are worse things."

"You know, it's not my birthday now. It's not Friday anymore."

"It's your birthday until we go to sleep," I replied.

Behind me, the microwave beeped. I pulled out the pasta, sprinkled a bit of extra Parmesan on top, and handed it back to Brandon. He took it with a smile, and his thumb grazed over my newly adorned ring finger before he turned back to his food. I looked down at my new addition, in awe of the perfection of the ring.

"How long had you been carrying that around with you?" I asked as I hopped back up on the counter.

After he swallowed another massive bite, Brandon grinned bashfully. "Longer than you want to know, Red."

"Since France?"

He took a long drink of water and just grinned.

"The Fourth of July," I ventured again.

Brandon just shook his head, the apples of his cheeks gleaming with slight embarrassment. He polished off the rest of the pasta and deposited the bowl in the sink with a clink.

"When?" I demanded, kicking my heels against the cupboards impatiently. "Tell me."

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "The truth?"

I nodded eagerly.

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