#Score (21 page)

The breath leaves my chest and I let out a whimper. Do I always sound like a sad little mouse? I wish my voice was deeper, like Brie's, or even Jasmine's . . . OH MY GOD, WHAT AM I DOING? "Yes." I shout, laughing at the way his eyes go wide and excited, his lips parting as he follows mine. "I will totally marry you, country boy."

B
enji

I
’m spinning her around
, and we’re getting so dizzy that I crash into the couch, laughing so hard that I feel like my insides are splitting. She tumbles down on top of me and her smile is all I see. I can relax now that I know I’ll never go another day without seeing it right in front of me. I have her and I don’t plan on letting go.

“So now we’re engaged.” Hearing her say it out loud feels even better than me asking her.

“Looks to be that way.”

“I wonder what all of your little fangirls will think of that . . .” she muses, giving me a knowing look.

While I know that Ramona is a strong enough person to let stuff like this slide, I also know that it’s probably pretty difficult marrying a guy who’s in the news a lot now. “Half of them will Photoshop pictures of you in a big white wedding dress, and maybe even write stories about our very sexy honeymoon adventure, obviously.”

She laughs, rubbing her cheek against mine. “Obviously.”

“And the other half will probably make little voodoo dolls of you and stick a whole bunch of pins in them, just because you ruined their chances with the sexiest man alive. To them, of course,” I add, unable to hold back my own laugh.

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not superstitious then, huh? I think I’ll feel better once the ring is on my finger though. Just in case.”

"I don't have a ring though," I say to her, knowing her well enough to know that she doesn't care.

Her expression changes, her eyebrows knitting together, and my stomach clenches. Oh shit, I've seriously overestimated myself here.

"No ring?" There's an edge to her voice that I definitely didn't see coming.

"Uh . . . well, no. Not yet, but soon. I wanted to make sure we picked the one you wanted. You're not exactly a traditional type of person, baby. I didn't want to pull this whole surprise off and then get you some shitty ring you'll have to wear for the rest of your life and you not even liking it. We can go out right now . . . wait. You're fucking with me, aren't you?" I stop myself as the corners of her mouth twitch before breaking out in to a full-on grin.

"Yeah. Kinda. Sorry, I just couldn't resist."

"Oh, you're going to get it now. You don't even know," I say, reaching behind her to give her ass a slap.

"
Thank God
. I've been waiting for three weeks," she groans, straddling my hips. "Please, Benji. Put me out my misery. Punish me, do your worst. Just do it now." Her eyes are full of lust and impatience, and I want to do a million different things to that dirty mouth.

I lean forward and nip at her delicate neck, kissing all the way down until I reach her cleavage. "Sorry about this." I only sort of mean it when I tear her shirt at the collar and rip it all the way down to her bellybutton, reaching past the ruined piece of clothing and unclasping her bra.

She gasps, rolling her hips against me, moaning while I cover her luscious tits with my mouth, grabbing small handfuls of them. I suck hard on each of her nipples, and she's working on my pants, pulling out my cock so that it throbs between us. I don’t know what’s with us and couches, but it always works out well in the end.

When she finally sinks down on top of me, I get so lost in her, the fire in her eyes, the heat spreading through her pussy, the way she moans my name.

I
t strikes
me hard in the heart all at once. Ramona is going to be mine for the rest of my life, provided I don't royally screw everything up somehow. I guess I'll have to work extra hard to make sure that never happens.

S
he's riding
me like the fucking pro she is and when we come, we come together, clinging onto one another for dear life.

A
fter
, while we're lying on the floor, tangled up in a blanket I pulled down from the couch, I make my confession. The final part of the master plan.

"
C
an I tell you something
?" I ask, threading my fingers through hers.

She's half-asleep, judging by the way her chest moves as it rises and falls. "Mmhmm."

"I've been dying to officially christen this place."

Ramona chuckles, rolling toward me with her eyes still closed. "There's plenty more where that came from, believe me. And I'll get back to you, I promise. As soon as I get some more sleep."

"That wasn't it though," I whisper, not sure if she's able to hear me. "There's a whole lot more."

I tell Ramona how I'd been playing myself this whole time with her. How I'm one hundred percent certain that the biggest part of me fell in love with her the first night we met, but I couldn't let myself believe it. I tell her how I couldn't even look at another woman without thinking of her, confessing about the lie I told the team and the real story behind the twins. How I wanted to kill Dimitri for what he did, and how it hurts to think someone hurt her that badly and got away with it.

My chest gets lighter and lighter as the sky gets darker outside, and soon moonlight is pouring in through the window, a rarity here where there's always clouds out no matter what time of day it is.

I nudge her when I'm finished, and she lets out a soft snore. All I can do is laugh, laying my head back on the floor.

"
B
enji
? Baby? Oh my god, I can't believe I fell asleep like that. I'm so sorry," Ramona's voice creeps into my consciousness and I look up, my eyes bleary, and see her looming only inches away.

"Hi," she says, a smile on her face. "I'm sorry I fell asleep on you."

I'm tired as fuck but I don't care, sleep is for the dead. "It's okay. Jet lag is a motherfucker. You want to get up? I can make us some coffee. We can still call everyone and tell them about the big news too, although it's already 8:30 at night back in California."

R
amona lays
her head back down on my chest. "No, that's okay. I'd rather just go back to sleep with you, if that's cool. We'll call everyone tomorrow evening once they’re home from work and all."

I stretch my arms up, clenching and unclenching my fists. "Okay. But can you do me a solid?"

"Sure."

"Can we move this party to the bedroom? My back is killing me."

R
amona giggles
and moves so that I can stand up. I scoop her up into my arms with ease, kissing her one more time before we lie back down on my brand new king-sized bed. It takes up a huge amount of space in the room but I have big plans for it with her, so it's well worth it. She sees the red corded ropes hanging off each of the bedposts and gives me a knowing look.

"
W
e'll save
all that for tomorrow, I promise," I explain. "And Ramona?"

S
he curls
her body against mine and I throw my arm over her small waist, kissing the soft skin under her earlobe. "Yeah?"

"
I
love you
."

A
pause
and then she lifts her head a tiny bit. "I love you too, Benji.”

R
amona

“
O
h girl
, those peacock feathers are on
point
,” Benji says, pointing to the God-awful bridesmaid dress that looks like an actual peacock was killed and draped over a smiling woman whose teeth are so white they make her porcelain skin look like a summer tan.

I playfully smack at him while he’s looking over my shoulder. “How about hell
no
?”

His grin cuts across his face easily, and he’s pointing at some of the sluttiest dresses I’ve ever seen anyone advertise as wedding attire, with slits cut out in so many places that they could double as bathing suits. “What about the lady-of-the-night wear here on the other page? I’m sure my friends would appreciate the look.”

“I’m sure they would, too. My mother? Not so much.”

He slides his arms from around my waist and sits down next to me, pulling his phone out. “Tell her we can find a matching one for her to wear,” he teases.

I roll my eyes and flip through the rest of the bridal magazine, this year’s favorite wedding colors flooding the pages. The truth is that we’re going kind of low-key with our wedding. I was surprised to hear that Benji wanted a big party when I wanted a small one, with only close friends and family.

“But what about all of my adoring fans?” he argued. “They’ll be heartbroken if I don’t throw a big bash afterward for them to all talk about the next day once the pics are leaked on Twitter.”

Right now I have bigger things to worry about. Like what to do with Jasmine and Brie. I slide my hand over Benji’s free hand, squeezing it. “How am I supposed to get Jas and Brie to be civil toward each other during the wedding?”

He chuckles, shrugging his broad shoulders. He knows just how much of a pain in the ass it’s going to be to have this conversation with each of them. “Maybe you can tell them we’re going to have them take turns being your maid of honor. I’m sure they’ll love that.”

“Ugh. Why can’t we go elope somewhere pretty here? Ooh, we could go to the Ness Botanic Gardens. It’s close by, in Liverpool. Olivia just told me about them a few days ago. She goes there all the time to paint . . .” The thought of painting a beautiful sunrise in a genuine English garden sends my heart racing.

It’s Benji’s turn to roll his eyes. “And feel the wrath of Aunt Mel? She’d send EZ to kill me on her behalf for getting married without her being there. Sorry, baby. We can get our marriage certificate here, but the wedding’s totally got to be in the States.”

I give him a half-hearted pout but end up smiling when he mocks me, sticking out his full red lips exaggeratedly.

“Speaking of which . . .” he trails off as he holds his phone up to his ear, winking at me.

I love the fact that now that we live in another country, Benji calls Aunt Melissa at least once a day. It’s the cutest damn thing, especially when he’s calling her about little things like how to make a good chili because he’s too embarrassed to ask me. Or when he tells her about the funny things he’s picked up and heard around London. I know it must warm her heart that he finally realizes how it important it is that he does that.

It makes me think about what kind of future we’ve got ahead of us. Travelling the countryside, getting our passports filled up with all the places we’ll travel across the world. Just like I’ve always wanted.

And maybe when the time is right . . . we’ll think about adding future little Lundgrens. I can see Benji teaching a little girl how to kick with her inner arch, or me showing a sweet boy how to mix his colors.

I can’t help but tear up when I think of how lucky I’ve been. Benji’s talking to his Aunt Mel, laughing about something stupid Cal’s told her about a girl he’s been dating. Not only have I gained one amazing soon-to-be-husband, but I’ve gained more family. Something I didn’t know I was craving until I knew it was happening.

I bite my lip when he gets up from the table and looks at me out of the corner of his eye, giving me the special grin he reserves only for me—the one where his whole face lights up—while he’s talking to her.

Looking back down at the magazine, I push it aside. It doesn’t matter what my friends wear, how I get my hair done, or what kind of cake we plan on having made. It’s all superficial stuff that I’d go without if he’d let me.

No, the only thing that matters in the end is that I love Benji and he loves me. Bad timing be damned. Which makes me realize something—something I can’t believe I’m only just now remembering. “Benji.”

He covers the mouthpiece of his phone, looking at me funny. “What?”

I jump up, shaking my head at myself. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back. Oh, and tell Aunt Melissa I said hi, please.”

I’m out the door before he has a chance to reply, making a beeline to our small garage. I throw open the trunk of the car . . . or the boot, if we’re sticking with the local-speak. I take the giant roll in my arms and very carefully haul it back inside, making sure not to bump into anything as I try to feel my way around.

While Benji’s talking to Aunt Melissa, I slide the plastic protective covering off the canvas and unroll it across the floor of our bedroom, inch by inch. Color explodes across it, and I smile. It’s the first time I’ve seen it in months.

I wait and listen for the moment he gets off the phone with her. “Hey, Benji? Can you come here for a minute?”

His light footsteps halt the second he gets to the doorway of the bedroom. “Whoa.”

I look between him and the painting, grinning as I take in the expression on his face. He quietly kneels down next to me, pulling my waist into his arms, his face buried in my neck. “Holy shit, baby. That’s . . . that’s amazing.”

On the right side of the canvas is the same man, outlined in extra relief, holding up an abstract version of his umbrella, almost getting crushed by the clocks and time and shapes and swirls. All the colors in the rainbow is represented in short, hurried strokes. The middle is a melee of confusion—more shapes and abstract ideas that only start to make sense once they cross unto the left part of the canvas. The crazy mixture of purples, greens, reds, and steely blues all form around a white space that is the outline of a man from the shoulders up. For his face, the colors are mixed in a pattern of thatching that shapes his brows, his prominent nose, his strong jawline. And oh, the best part is his eyes. The steely blue color was as close as I could get it. The man’s lips are parted so that he looks like he’s getting ready to tell a funny secret. Like he doesn’t have a single care in the world, or a single fuck to give.

I watch Benji’s fingers ghost over the outline of his own face, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. “This is by far the best thing anyone has ever done for me.” His words choke in his throat, and I realize he’s crying. My future husband, Benjamin Matthew Lundgren, is crying.

It’s a small victory maybe, in the scheme of things. But moving Benji to tears is only one of one million different ways I plan on loving him for the rest of my life.

The End.

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