Page 187 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“Nah, he’ll be fine. Just give him a minute.” Petra crouches beside me, patting my cheek. “This is basically foreplay for us.”
“WIFE! FNNNGH-GLLLUUURRBB-BOOBIES.”
“Welcome to married life, Moneybags. Better buckleup… This is just day one.”
Despite my electrical fog, I’m completely smitten. Petra Sterling—my wife, my chaos, my forever.
Worth every volt.
EPILOGUE
PETRA
1 YEAR LATER
Iflipdownthemirroredvisor in Bryce’s Aston Martin and immediately regret it. My reflection shows smeared eyeliner, my lopsided graduation cap, and a weird sheen of post-ceremony sweat. My lipstick has gone AWOL thanks to the three-hour event and Bryce’s congratulatory kisses.
Time for a refresh.
Digging into my bag, I shove aside a linty granola bar, and pull out my partner in crime: Wet n’ Wild Sexpot Red. The same shade I’ve been wearing since I was in high school, back when a $1.99 felt like a financial commitment. Now I could buy the entire factory, but some things are sacred.
I swipe the color across my lips, watching my mouth go from sleep-deprived college grad to totally kissable.
Bryce’s eyes flick to me at a red light, and a familiar, slow smile spreads across his face—the one that says,I want to worship you against the closest solid surface.
“You know I could launch a lipstick line just for you?” he says. “Call it ‘Petra Red’ and charge a fortune for your signature shade.”
“And deprive the world of affordable beauty products? What kind of monster do you take me for? Besides, this little tube has gotten me through more disasters than your bank account has digits.”
He chuckles. “I think I may have developed a graduation gown fetish. I’m having very inappropriate thoughts wondering about what you’re wearing under there.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Moneybags.”
“I would and I will, as soon as we get home, Mrs. Sterling.”
“Promises, promises. You’d say I look hot in a hazmat suit if you could strip it off me.”
“Should I order one?”
I burst out laughing. “I do love that you’ve fully embraced your dirty side.”
He’s adorable. And mine.Which, yeah, still blows my mind a little.
We’re cruising down Sunset Boulevard, rolling past palm trees and twenty-dollar smoothie shops. I lean my head back and my tassel taps against the window. This stretch of Sunset feels different today. Like it’s winking at me. Like it knows I finally crossed some invisible finish line.
“One degree down, Pip. One to go.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
“Have you decided about taking that gap year before law school?”
“I’m scared if I stop, I won’t start again. But also, I’m so goddamn exhausted, I could sleep for five years straight.”
He reaches over, laces our fingers together, and gives my hand a squeeze that says,I’m here for you.
And he is. His support has never wavered through an incredibly long year of sprinting, studying, and sleepless nights.
After ourholy-shit-we-did-thatwedding, Bryce and Gavin got their asses back to L.A. in under twenty-four hours. No honeymoon—unless you count christening the bedroom on Bryce’s jet(and yeah, we did break the headboard).
