Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
How could I not have known what I was missing, all this time?
Simply nothing can describe how I feel right now.
We reach our climaxes at the same time. And I can attest to the fact that that is rare. As Danny reaches his point of no return, I watch that distinct, exquisite look of anguish and pleasure twist his face. Then he lets out a groan as he erupts all over his chest and abs. Just from that look on his face alone, I fly right over the edge, emptying myself inside him one desperate, urgent pump at a time. The room fills with our sounds of relief at long last.
Then we draw silent and collapse, my body on his, and our deep breaths in our ears. Neither of us can seem to form a word for quite some time as we swim together in a pool of our afterglow.
“You really did it,” he murmurs.
I lift my face to look at his. “Did what?”
“Wrecked me.” He turns to look at me. “I’m in pieces. Fallen apart. Destroyed forever.” He smiles. “And all yours. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same after tonight.”
I let on an exhausted smile, kiss him, then say, “I guess that makes two of us.”
As we lie here on this bed, swirling in a dreamy state of unmatched joy, I’m struck by a sudden thought: This is the first time I can remember having sex and not wanting to leave right away. In fact, I can’t imagine leaving at all. I want to stay right here, clinging to Danny, holding him in my arms, and letting the rest of the world fade away.
I have never felt more alive, more complete, more myself than I do right now. Danny, I’m the luckiest man in the world to have gotten a second chance with you.
Another Year Later
Epilogue
“You owe me $1500!” shouts Jonty.
“No, no. You only have one hotel, not two,” says Danny, trying not to get too heated. “And if you had two, then—”
“Look, I let you be the dog tonight, okay? I have to be the stupid thimble.”
“So? Your head looks like a thimble.”
“Dude.”
“Go ‘dude’ yourself. I paid you all I’m required to. Check the rules.”
“I did check the rules. You owe me more!”
“I owe you nothing, buddy.”
“Uh, yeah, you do. $1500. Pay up!”
Watching Jonty and Danny argue back and forth over the cluttered table of Monopoly pieces and fake money is sort of adorable, I have to admit. Over this past year, they’ve become like brothers—but the rowdy kind who can’t stop bickering and fighting over every little thing. Then the next minute, the pair of them will make up and start laughing at something nonsensical. I don’t understand it.
Prisha leans into me and whispers, “Should I cut in and play mediator again? Or …?”
“Nah, let them work it out.”
“Are you sure?”
I shrug and give her a look. “Isn’t it cute, though? Our boyfriends arguing with each other like an old married couple?”
“I always hated that saying,” says Prisha thoughtfully. “Every ‘old married couple’ I’ve ever met get along like beautiful soul mates. We should stop the trend of thinking it’s normal for couples to fight. We just need to learn how to communicate and accept our differences better.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you have to turn everything into a poetic, philosophical curiosity?”
“Yes,” answers Prisha rather matter-of-factly, still lost in her cloud of thoughts.
Across the table sits the fifth participant of tonight’s game night: Elliot. Handsome yet weary-faced, with that glint of cocky authoritativeness in his eyes, and a cocktail hovering near his lips, his eyes play Ping-Pong between the arguing pair of Danny and Jonty. When he notices me looking at him, he smirks over his glass. “Is it weird if I’m sort of shipping your respective boyfriends to fuck someday?”
That very effectively silences both Danny and Jonty, who look his way, stunned.
“Meanwhile,” Elliot goes on casually, “I have so much damned money, I’m willing to pay on Danny’s behalf, just so we can carry the fuck on.”
Jonty isn’t having it. “That’s not how the rules—”
“Does this beautiful face look like it cares?” asks Elliot, gesturing at said face with his cocktail glass. He grabs the money from his ghastly stash, slaps it in front of a bewildered Jonty, then nods at the board. “Besides, it’s my turn next, and I’ve been eyeing a lovely hotel on Boardwalk for far too long. A’hem.” When there’s no response, he clears his throat yet again. “I said: A’hem.”
The whole table jumps from a head suddenly bumping its underside. Then another face emerges from underneath—our sixth participant this evening: Tim. “Sir?”
“I need you to roll my dice,” states Elliot rather lazily. “I’m still drinking and can’t be bothered.”
“Do you wish me to keep rubbing your feet, sir? Or—”
Elliot rolls his eyes. “No. I need my teammate up here to kick these guys’ asses with a good roll of the dice!”