Page 154 of Relationship Goals

“What?” She licks her lips, and it takes all my self-control not to kiss her.

“I still have Princess.” I grimace at the admission, sure she’ll be furious.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, then she squeals loudly. “Seriously?”

I grunt, grinning at her pleasure at my admission.

“Yes, oh, light of my life, queen in the west, lobster hunter extraordinaire, Gollum of my heart, I have had Princess the whole time. I never put her up for adoption…because I always planned on finding my way back to you,” she says in her ridiculous rasping imitation of me.

“Yep,” I agree, skimming my thumbs over her cheekbones. “In fact, I bought two concert tickets to see Yo-Yo Ma when he’s here next month. I hoped I could get you to forgive me by then.”

“Shut up,” she says, tipping her head back with laughter. She’s so wildly beautiful my heart might explode from it.

“No,” I tell her with a shrug, which only makes her laugh harder.

“I’ll bring a pair of extra socks and lube for you,” she says, a smirk on her delicious lips.

“Good.” I can’t seem to stop smiling. I don’t want to.

When she goes to her tiptoes, pulling my face toward her, I decide I don’t mind kissing her in front of the entire stadium.

And when our lips meet, the crowd goes wild.

Chapter Forty-five

Abigail

“I still thinkI should have worn the Gollum outfit,” I tell Luke.

He doesn’t take his gaze off the bumper-to-bumper traffic, which is par for the course for LA, but he lifts an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on his face.

“I mean,” I continue, trying to keep a straight face, “it’s our first public outing since we got back together. I think the people would want to see Gollum.”

“Babe,” he says in that deep, delicious voice of his, “you already know what Yo-Yo Ma does to me. Add Gollum to the mix, and I’d probably be arrested for public indecency.”

I bark a surprised laugh, and Luke reaches over to squeeze my hand.

It’s been a month since I crashed his game, mostly long distance, which it would have been anyway, considering Luke’s travel schedule.

Being back in LA with him this weekend is like a dream.

“Fuck off!” he shouts, flipping the bird and honking at a Corvette that cuts us off at the last minute. “You had that entire time to merge, fucking hell.”

I snort. “A dream come true.”

“What’s that?” he asks, still focused on the scarlet sports car revving its way in front of us.

“Just talking about making you come,” I tell him innocently.

“You first,” he says, and I grin.

“Duh,” I tell him, tossing my hair.

“Did you bring your meds?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me.

I scoff, rolling my eyes. The magnetic clasp on my purse clicks open, and I tug out the prescription my new therapist and psychiatrist approved to help manage my panic attacks.

“Got them right here,” I tell him, shaking the bottle.

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