Garrett’s epilogue
There are three things I’m serious about: running, a good suit, and the bombshell blonde drawing a crowd in room four. This shit never gets old. Tonight, she’s in a short school-girl skirt, her tits hanging out of the front of her unbuttoned blouse, bouncing beautifully as she humps her pillow like it’s a damn rodeo bull. God damn, she’s good at this.
Every night, she takes a room, and I swear people show up at the club just for this. And while that caveman urge to go in there and take her for myself is still there, the sense of pride I feel watching her is unmatched. When I take her home later, I’ll get it all out of my system anyway.
When her set comes to an end, she stands with her cheeks flushed and her hair a mess, and her gaze finds me through the window, shooting me a devious smile before she pulls the curtain closed.
The hall is at max capacity, as is our VIP membership. Turns out there are a lot of rich people in Briar Point who like to watch other people fuck. Color me shocked.
Does it bother me that most of these people have seen me naked and fucking like an animal on stage after having my prostate publicly prodded? No. Not anymore. In the three months since that night at the club, I’ve even been dragged into the voyeur rooms a time or two.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still like to watch. I’m still a voyeur, and that will never change. My therapist likes to use big words like self-inflicted disassociation, but we both agree that there isn’t a damn thing wrong with liking to watch people fuck—consensually, of course.
It really is about the most interesting thing two people can do…or more than two people, as I’m reminded by the energetic threesome taking place in the room next to Mia. It’s when I spot Drake’s tall form and light hair that I immediately look away and continue down the hall toward the exit where Mia will come out after she gets changed.
It’s early, a lot earlier than we normally leave the club, but we have plans, and we can’t be late. Although if I’m honest, I’d like to skip the whole thing entirely. But I’m not a fucking coward, and I said we were going to do this. So here we go.
“Ready?” she asks as she loops her arm through mine.
Leaning down, I kiss her forehead. “Not even a little bit.”
She laughs. “You big baby. Come on. It’ll be fun.”
“You and I have very different definitions of fun.”
On the drive, we listen to music and she sings along while I hold her left hand in mine, my thumb rolling the gold band back and forth to try and calm my nerves.
Are we moving a little fast? I don’t think so. I’ve known Mia since I was twenty-one, and considering that I’ve basically grown into a new person since then, I feel like I’ve known her all my life. There isn’t a person on this planet more suitable for me or for her than each other.
It’s not like they don’t know we’re together. It’s made family dinners only slightly awkward. It was one thing to tell them we were a couple, but it was an entirely other thing to show affection in front of them. The first time Mia held my hand in front of her dad, I wanted to jump out the window to escape his furious stare.
But this is big news.
Nothing in my life has ever felt so serious, but the day I realized I wanted to marry Mia, I didn’t hesitate. We had woken up one day last week, and when she climbed out of bed to open the window and let the sun in, I realized I wanted this to last forever. Ten years ago, I couldn’t imagine wanting something forever. Now, I wanted everything good in my life at that very moment to last. Slowly over the last decade, since we started Salacious, my life has started to take on some permanence. My friends feel like forever. This company feels like forever. And for a guy who never saw a forever kind of life in his cards, at the exact moment I realized I wanted Mia forever, I let the words slip out.
I wasn’t on my knee. I didn’t have a ring. And it wasn’t some elaborate show of commitment.
I just looked at her from my pillow and said, “Marry me.”
The way she gasped, the tender expression on her face, and the tremble of her lips are images that will remain stored in my memory until the day I die. To be honest, I don’t even care much about the wedding, because it couldn’t possibly compare to the way she looked at me in that moment before tearfully nodding and whispering, “Yes.”
As we pull up to the bar downtown, where we’re meeting them for drinks, I squeeze the steering wheel and take a few minutes to breathe before getting out of the car.
“Whenever you’re ready,” she says patiently from the passenger seat. Pulling her face to mine, I kiss her fiercely.
Then with a deep sigh, I look at her. “I’m ready.”
My mom and Paul already have a table in the back. They wave us over with big smiles, and I’m relieved to see how much better her dad looks since his surgery. He’s put on quite a bit of weight, which after the last year, is a good thing.
As Mia greets them, I keep her hand in mine, making the hugs a little awkward, but I don’t need that hunk of gold on her hand to give away the news before we’re ready. Sitting down, we order drinks, and while I’ve cut way back on the alcohol these past few months, I’m not going to turn down a Jack and Coke to calm my nerves tonight.
When Mia orders herself a spiked seltzer, my mother reacts with a loud, “Oh, dammit!”
We look at her with furrowed brows, and she quickly replies, “I was hoping you were gonna tell us you’re pregnant.”
“Mom!” I shout, the shock making my jaw drop.
Mia bursts out laughing, her bright smile making her dimples even deeper and those round cheeks of hers look so fucking kissable. “Not yet!” she squeals.
And I squeeze her fingers under the table. Not yet.
Not never…just not yet.
My heart pounds a little faster as I stare at her, the insane vision I had a few months ago seeming like a reality almost within my reach. How had it seemed so impossible back then, but now…
Unable to keep in her excitement, Mia tears her hand out of my grasp and displays the diamond studded band on her finger. “We’re engaged!”
The shriek that comes out of my mother’s mouth nearly silences the whole bar. Paul is smiling next to her, so that’s a good sign. I find myself searching his reaction for any indication that he’s disappointed, that I’m not good enough for his only daughter, that she could find someone better, but it’s not there. Instead, he stands up and takes my hand, yanking me into an almost violent bear hug.
“I’m proud of you,” he mutters, and it silences the intrusive thoughts.
There’s an obnoxious exchange of hugs and questions and showing off the ring a hundred more times, and I don’t even finish my drink by the time the excitement has died down. We start talking about dates and venues and the girls get excited about the idea of having it at the lake house, a conversation I sit back for, simply basking in her joy.
It’s almost peaceful and relaxing, and I think everything might be all right. That is until the karaoke menu is placed on our table and my fiancée beams at it with mischievous excitement. And I have to bite back my laughter because I know exactly what she’s thinking.
Pulling her close, I mutter low in her ear, “Don’t even think about it, Kitten.” But she’s an obstinate brat, and there’s no stopping her.
As she grabs the pencil from the cup, she laughs. “Oh, come on, Garrett. You’ve done crazier things on stage.”
