By: L.M. Pruitt

“Tell me again. The thing you’ve been telling me for the last month.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I squealed when he scooped me up and spun us in a quick, fast circle. “Do that again and I’m going to throw up all over you.”

“No, you aren’t, because that would ruin the moment and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that happen, not with something this big.” He set me back on my feet, brushing my hair back from my face and grinning down at me. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Not yet.”


“Since you’re on a roll, you should ask me the other thing again.” I poked him with my left ring finger to make sure he got the point. “Right now.”

“Since I’m on a roll....” He trailed off, taking a deep breath and swallowing hard before clearing his throat. “Jeannie Jackson, I’ve loved a lot of things in my life—tequila, waffles, dirty sex—but I’ve never loved any of them the way I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you and all the kids we either randomly find or inherit or make.”

“And as much as I love tequila and tacos and orgasms, I don’t love them nearly as much as I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” This time I was prepared when he picked me up and spun me around, the applause from the bar drowning out my laugh. When he set me on my feet, I said, “You can kiss me now.”

“Damn straight.” He crushed his mouth against mine and for a few heady seconds the world disappeared and it was just me and him. When he finally let me come up for air, he murmured, “I do have one confession to make.”

“Oh, God.”

“I actually don’t care for Don Julio.” He brushed his lips over mine. “I’m really more of a Patron guy.”

“Oh.” I nibbled on his lower lip, chuckling when he groaned. “Well. We all have our vices.”

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