Page 151 of Best Friends for Never

Parker came to LA as promised, and to both of our surprises, she didn’t hate it. In fact, I think she kind of loves it. Not more than Washington, of course, but still enough that she’s made herself right at home in my penthouse and has even mostly gotten used to the paparazzi that follow us around. Pumpkin loves it, too, and he does much better with the flights than any of us anticipated.

Being with her these last eight months has been incredible, and I can’t believe I went ten years without her.

I know one thing is for damn sure—it will never happen again.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, grinning at me.

“You.”

“Me?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Are they naughty thoughts?” she whispers.

I laugh. “Surprisingly, no. I was just thinking about how much I love you.”

Her grin widens. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that.”

“I’ll never get tired of saying it. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

She laughs. “All right. That’s enough of that.”

“Why? Am I getting you all riled up?”

“Yes,” she states matter-of-factly. She wiggles out of my hold, grabbing my hand once more. “Come on. Let’s see the rest.”

We walk through the theater, and I spy Astrid and Clifford, who she recently moved in with, sitting near the bar. She sends me a wave, and I give her a wink.

I nod at Axel, who is holding Molly, his adorable baby girl, as we walk down the hallway. The triplets are at his feet, giggling over something, while Mary chats with other guests. Parker’s best friend nods back. We’ve found a good rhythm, he and I. There’s less gruntingand more talking. We won’t be giving hugs anytime soon, but we have advanced to handshakes.

Progress is progress.

Parker points out all the posters of upcoming films we’re showing and the subtle details she’s added, like filmstrips embedded into the trim pieces, and then pulls me through the double doors that lead into the theater.

My jaw drops.

The old, worn-out seats and the horrid popcorn ceiling are long gone. In their place are shiny black seats that look cushiony, and the ceiling has been replaced with beautiful ornate tiles.

But that’s not the best part. The best part is the stage.

“It’s the same one,” I say, unable to take my eyes off it.

“It is,” Parker says. “I didn’t have the heart to tear it down. With a few reinforcements under the stage and some hard buffing, we were able to restore it and keep it going.”

“I can’t ...” I shake my head, looking over at her. “I can’t believe you did all this. This place ... It’s ... I really don’t know what to say. It’s perfect. I couldn’t have imagined anything better.”

“Really? So you don’t think that the wall color is too—”

I capture her lips with mine, cutting off whatever silly-ass thing she’s about to say.

Everythingabout this place is perfect, down to the most minute detail, and I couldn’t possibly be prouder of her.

The kiss is soft at first, but it progresses into something more almost instantly, and now it makes me wish we were anywhere else right now so I could rip off the gorgeous skintight navy-blue dress she’s wearing and have my way with her.

“Okay, okay. Stop sucking each other’s faces off before the show even starts.”

We spring apart like two teenagers caught in the act.

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