Epilogue One

EVERETT

Six months later – Election Night

“Are you two trying to kill me?” I question, glaring. “Typical. In my own house.” I shift the oversize plate of nachos in my hands. “Did your mother put you up to this? Because don’t let her fool you. She actually really likes me.”

Darcy and Lizzie peer up at me, yellow eyes pooled around their big hunter’s pupils. Darcy lets out a tiny meow, which I interpret as, She’s always vilifying me! , which makes Lizzie paw at him and meow, which I think means, Get over yourself. Nobody is thinking about you as much as you think about you.

“Hey,” I warn. “No fighting on election night. Tonight is a night for party unity.”

Now, they’re doing circuits over my feet, tails swirling around my legs.

Get a bonded pair , they said. They’ll play with each other , they said. Two black cats will be adorable , they said. Liars.

I can barely tell these cats apart. They’re chaotic balls of shadow, darting across my path no matter where I am in the house. If they’re not actively trying to break my neck, they’re napping on top of each other or play-fighting, and if that isn’t a metaphor for Cora and me, I don’t know what is.

Well, a category five hurricane is a decent metaphor, but the kittens are a lot safer for me to photograph.

Darcy takes a swipe at Lizzie, so she tries to bite him. Then I have to intervene with my foot and a warning glare. “I’ll take you back to the shelter. I mean it. No more fighting.”

Needless to say, if anything ever happened to these cats, I would fall into a nihilistic spiral because they’re my reason for living—them and the woman whose face now covers the hallway between the kitchen and my living room.

I’ve taken so many pictures of Cora over the last six months. Too many, probably—like a stalker-level amount. What I have on display in the hallway is a tiny fraction of my collection and nowhere close to the number of not-safe-for-work photos I’ve hung in our bedroom.

The Logan House has never looked better.

When I enter the living room with vegan nachos, I’m met with cheers from Cora and our four best friends. This is the drunkest election night I’ve ever witnessed, and easily the best one. There’s so much alcohol and an obscene amount of schadenfreude as we watch my father’s final fall—plummet—from grace.

Scratch that. Most of us are brimming with schadenfreude tonight. The two exceptions are Alyssa and Essie’s father, Porter, who moved back to the States at the end of the summer. He and Alyssa have been talking for the better part of the evening, and I’m sure neither of them was expecting our collective victory roar when Regina Rutherson, the reigning queen of the network, says, “24N is calling it immediately—former Virginia Governor Warren E. Logan has lost his bid for senator, a loss all but guaranteed by polling data over the last six months.”

In the glow of the television, Cora throws her arms around my neck and kisses me, laughing against my mouth, and I can’t help but laugh right back.

Revenge is a dish best served cold—and vegan.

***

Another two months later – New Year’s Eve

“We have an announcement,” Alyssa says, raising her glass of champagne with her free hand. Her other hand is looped in Porter’s.

On Cora’s other side, Dalton immediately chugs the remainder of his champagne—and Cora’s.

Alyssa beams at Porter, who smiles back at her before he says, “Lys and I agreed: There’s no better way to start a new year than to tell you…”

“…We’re engaged,” Alyssa finishes.

It’s a surprise to nobody—literally nobody . When Alyssa told Dalton a week ago, he sent Lander and me thirty-seven Code Blue texts (which I thought was code for Dalton accidentally committing insider trading, and Lander thought was a request for a threesome). When Porter told Essie, she didn’t talk to anyone for two days. She went off the grid to wherever tiny, high-strung girls go, and returned with her blond hair dyed brown.

But still, Lander and I spring to our feet to hug Alyssa. Lander picks her up first and swings her in a circle, and when he puts her down, I go in for a bear hug. Eventually, Dalton joins us, smelling of Dom Perignon. And minutes later, while Alyssa is hugging Essie, I gleefully whisper into Dalton’s ear, “She’s going to be your sister .”

***

“Aw, baby boy, what have we learned?” Cora asks while stroking the tip of her thumbnail against my bruised jaw.

I inhale through my nostrils and flinch from the pain. “No more fighting with my friends.”

She worries her lip. “I mean, fight Lander all you want, but I wouldn’t try Dalton again.”

The fucker was right: He would absolutely hunger games the shit out of Lander and me in a parking lot brawl.

“Never,” I agree. “I’ll be good.”

“Lie down,” she murmurs.

I move to my feet, relieving my knees from the hardwood floor after having crawled to where Cora is perched on the edge of our bed. Once I’m on my back, she makes quick work of my clothes and plants a kiss on each of my knees—like she always does when I crawl to her.

And then she climbs on top of me and rides one out of me, undulating in her familiar, mesmerizing way. Within minutes, I’m a mess beneath her—and she’s a mess on top of me while I take her from below. This is how we begin the new year.

Look at how you move that perfect body. Whose slut are you? Mine, of course. A cunt that only tightens for me and my cock. Are you going to earn it, princess? Are you going to earn your fucking tip?

She slides off and puts my cock in her mouth, licking her taste off me while her hands roam, traveling the planes of my tingling skin.

I catch her left hand by the wrist and slip her fingers into my mouth before I caress the length of her arm. My fingertips linger on her scar.

When I slide her fingers out of my mouth, she works my cock deeper in her throat. I contemplate waiting, but she loves this—sucking my pierced cock after she fucks me, making me hard again. Truth be told, she could recite our grocery list, and I would still get hard, but I’ve vowed to always give her what she needs.

Right now, she needs the cock I pierced for her—and she needs her tip.

Cora lets my cock fall from her lips. She pushes back to her knees and holds out her hand to see the sapphire ring I placed on her finger. The thing is massive on its own, but on her slender hand it looks legitimately intimidating—which makes it perfect for her. And because we’re always in sync, all her piercings and rings are yellow gold today—like her new engagement ring. The deep blue of the sapphire contrasts nicely with her black nail polish, and I’ve never seen a more beautiful hand before.

Nearly half a minute later, she still hasn’t spoken.

Well, shit. I finally managed to render Cora Flores speechless. Normally, I’d be proud of myself, but I’m dying to hear her say she’ll be my wife.

“I wanted to buy you eight of them since you always wear so many, but everyone talked me out of it.”

Finally, she snaps back to attention and rolls her eyes. “They’re such rock blocks.”

I chuckle. “Don’t be too upset. I funneled the budget for all eight into that single ring. You could buy Andorra with it.”

Cora faces forward once more, eyes locked on her hand. Slowly, they travel up to meet mine, and a small smile rises on her lips.

Fuck, I love her. Taking a deep breath, I say, “Ever since you came into my life, I’ve steadily become the person I’ve always wanted to be. I hope you know how special you are. And for the rest of our lives, I’m going to make sure the entire world gets it. Will you let me? Will you let me do that for you?”

Her eyes are watery, but her smile is undeniable. She doesn’t try to hide it, and neither do I. We don’t hide anything—not anymore. “Ev, I love you,” she finally says. “And I’m yours. I’ve been yours since that night in the bar.”

“So…yes?”

“Yes, but can we please make up a better story? I don’t want to tell anyone that you proposed while your dick was in my mouth.”

I burst out laughing. “Fair. My timing has always been shit.”

Smiling, Cora—my fiancée—leans forward and kisses me. Her lips are soft and familiar, swollen in the aftermath of making love. She bites my lip, loving but probing at the same time, and when we separate, she runs her hand through my hair, holds my face, and reminds me: “Nobody’s perfect.”