Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“So I guess we won,” I say.
“We both won,” Hunter corrects, then kisses me in front of my friends like he did that night in Vegas. Like he’ll do, I’m sure, many years from now too.
#
When we return to California, we stop by Los Angeles first, visiting my sister. She has news, she tells me. She takes us out to a restaurant in Venice, looking like she’s about to burst with excitement. Once we sit, I stare at her, eager. “What is going on, Ames?”
Her smile deepens. “You know that trip I just returned from? The book tour where I took Axel Huxley and Hazel Valentine and some VIP readers around Europe?”
“Yes. That sounded awesome and I’m mildly jealous.”
“Me too,” Hunter chimes in, then points at me. “He got me addicted to Huxley.”
Amy smiles. “I’m glad his books are popular. Glad he warranted a book tour. Since…I met someone on it,” she says, then tells us a story about a billionaire who was determined to win her over.
Holy smokes. My sister is in love. Big love. Epic love. Just like…me.
Hunter
June
I’m at the end of the line at the dunk tank, but I don’t mind. Sarah’s great company, and we’re planning our strategy for a mountain bike ride we’re doing, along with her boyfriend, around Lake Tahoe later in the summer.
It’s called the Death Ride. It’s one hundred-twenty-nine miles over five mountain passes, comprising sixteen thousand feet of climbing.
“We’ll have to hydrate, eat lots of carbs, and basically chat the whole damn time,” she says.
“Hmm. Sounds just like us,” I say.
“It sure does,” she says as we move up a few spots. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you live here?”
“A few times,” I say, then stage whisper, “I’m glad too.”
I’ve been living in San Francisco for eight months now, and they’ve been the best eight months of my life. I earned a promotion at Webflix, and now I’m a producer—no more ‘associate.’
I’m working on all the NFL games in Europe, and that takes me back to the homeland often so I get to see my mates and my mum.
Mostly, though, I work in the States, developing promotional videos for our sports coverage and working on acquisitions of adventure-sports shows.
I’ve learned so much from Ilene—she’s quirky, yes. But she’s dedicated, passionate, and cares deeply about the people she works with.
I still don’t like kale smoothies, though. Or pumpkin spice lattes. And Nate doesn’t like pie.
But we both love living together and seeing each other nearly every day. I root for him at his games, and he cheers me on with support and a willing ear. He’ll always listen whenever I want to talk. He listens too when I sing in the shower.
He knows, too, when to shut up and fuck, and that keeps us plenty busy.
So do all the thrillers we read together and debate. The movies we watch. The quotes I shout at the screen.
It’s a fantastic life, and I owe the start of it all to a dunk tank and some pie.
When I reach the front of the line, I pick up a ball and cock my arm.
“Just try to take me down,” Nate taunts from the tank.
“I’ll get you on the first try,” I say, then I fire the ball, smacking the target and sending my husband splashing into the water.
When he comes up, he slides a hand over his wet hair. Then shrugs happily.
Later, when he gets out of the tank and dries off, he joins Sarah and me. “You got me on the first try. That feels like a metaphor,” he says.
“It sure does.”
On October thirteenth, since we were married after midnight one year ago, Nate and I escape San Francisco and fly to Vegas by ourselves.
We go to the chapel in The Extravagant and we renew our vows.
“Do you, Nate Chandler, take this man to be your husband again?” the officiant asks.
“I do,” Nate says in a reverent tone.
“Do you, Hunter Colburn, take this man to be your husband again?”
“I do,” I say solemnly.
Then I kiss my husband, smiling when we break apart. “Husband again. I think I’ll call you that.”
“Works for me.” He grins, a little cocky, a little bossy. “Because of your dimple and your disposition.”
Then, these two husbands again go to the room and shut the door to the world.