ImPerfectly Happy

Whoever said revenge is a dish best served cold is an effing liar. My revenge is a piping-hot plate of petty, and I’m loving every millisecond of it. And the ladies had happily joined me in my plot for retribution.

Raina patted a sticker with my name and campaign logo on her chest. “I can’t wait to go door-to-door to campaign for you.” She passed a sticker to Kara.

Chris strode into my living room, clipboard in hand. He waved over Kara and Raina, who’d sat on the suede couch across from me. I stood to join them.

Chris shook his head. “Sienna, you keep practicing for the debate next week. I’m just showing Kara and Raina where they’ll be canvassing.”

“Canvassing.” Raina clapped her hands together. “I feel so official.”

Kara gave me a weak smile. Although she looked perfectly put together on the outside—starched black slacks and a cotton button-down shirt—a cloud of sadness cloistered around her, like a bad aura. My heart went out to her and Darren, and I wished I could’ve been there for my friend. If only she would let me in.

She ignored my calls and would only respond with one- or two-word text messages. Until today, none of us had met up since Nikki left a month ago.

Raina had given me big eyes when they’d arrived at Chris’s place. I knew that look. We needed an intervention. Usually, I was the one who could get things out of Kara. I’d tried to approach her a few minutes ago, but Kara just whispered, “Later.” I’d give her the weekend, but after that, I was going to invade her space until she exorcised her feelings about the separation from Darren.

“Okay, you’ll be going here,” he pointed to the sheet, “and here.”

Kara nodded. “Got it. I’ll put it in my phone’s GPS.”

“Great.” Chris pulled back the clipboard. “Have you reviewed what you’ll be saying? I emailed you the talking points last night.”

Raina raised her hand. “About that . . . love your talking points, but I’d like to spice it up a bit.”

“Spice it up?” Chris’s tone turned to the trademark take-no-bullshit voice.

Raina was not deterred. “Yeah. I think we should talk about why they should vote for Sienna—”

“Which is what I’ve done.” Chris cut in.

“And not vote for Keith.”

“I’d like to hear it,” I yelled from the couch.

Chris gave Raina a hard stare.

Raina glanced back at me. “The candidate has spoken, so I’ll take that as a yes . . . Okay! Here’s a good one.” She cleared her throat and turned on her late-night radio voice. “Did you know that Keith sits down when he pees?”

Kara coughed, and a surprised laugh spurted out of her like an old engine. “Good grief, Raina.”

“It’s true.” I shook my head. “I thought that was weird.”

“It is weird.” Raina looked back at me and nodded. “Anyway, I’ll give them a chance to respond. Most likely with, ‘Really! That’s fascinating. What else should we know about our councilman? ’” Raina lifted a finger to Chris, who opened his mouth to interrupt.

“Then I’ll say, ‘Did you know that your councilman has athlete’s foot . . . not only on his feet but also on his penis?’”

Kara cackled. “Raina, you’re too much.”

“Enough!” Chris’s voice rose over Raina’s chatter. “We will not insult Davenport. That is not how you win people over, and that is not how I win campaigns. Stick to the notes. No exceptions.”

Raina sighed. “Fine, fine.” She nudged Kara’s shoulders. “Let’s get out of here.”

Kara cracked a smile and Raina gave her a big smile back. I suspected Raina had no intention of saying those things about Keith. She had probably noticed Kara’s mood and attempted to make her feel better with a few immature jokes about my ex.

After they left, Chris turned his attention to me. “Please tell me you have normal friends who can help out?”

“Afraid not. Besides, being normal is overrated.”

“Sure it is.” Chris nodded to my yellow legal pad with notes. “Let’s practice. This,” he pointed to my temple and then my heart, “is how we beat Davenport.”

* * *

The cheater, formerly known as Keith Davenport, paced to my left, shucking and jiving for votes.

The crowd was fairly large for a debate, and I knew why. They wanted fireworks. Drama. I’d heard the whispers. “What happened to Keith and Sienna? They were so cute together.”

Chris had encouraged me to embody Michelle Obama’s famous motto: When they go low, we go high.

I’d discovered that I wasn’t quite as forgiving as the former First Lady. While I didn’t plan to announce that Keith was a lying, cheating scum of the earth, I was mentally throwing my ex weapons of mass destruction.

“Focus on your personality,” Chris had advised while we waited in the green room. “You know these people and you care. That’s your strength.”

I snorted. “Yes, I care. See where that got me.”

“A great relationship with the Neighborhood Planning Unit, coffee dates with the president of the West End Neighborhood Association, first-name basis with involved citizens—”

“Okay, okay,” I raised a hand, “I’ve got it.”

“Do you?” He crossed his arms and tilted his head. He cocked his head a lot around me. A crease between his eyebrows usually meant he was frustrated. Whenever the crease was absent, he was thinking, assessing. In this instance, he frowned.

“You don’t realize how beloved you are. Keith won the last race because voters knew you would keep him accountable. And you tried, but you can’t do his job for him. And, sure, people will ask what happened between you two, but keep it above the belt.”

I gave him a fake-serene smile. “I’ll keep it classy.” Besides, my friends and parents were here. While the ladies would get a kick out of it, Mama would be horrified if I embarrassed her, though I’d never done anything of the sort.

When it came to Keith, Baba would give me a thumbs-up. He’d never hid his hatred for my ex.

“The race needs to be about the people and how you will improve your constituents’ lives, not about a woman scorned. Don’t waste my time with your ‘I am woman hear me roar’ bullshit.”

I rolled my eyes, deciding to ignore his last insulting statement. Sometimes Chris’s straight-shooter ways were harsh. I was mostly used to him. “Of course I care about the people. I’m just—”

“You’re just what?” He stepped closer, towering over me. His sturdy hands rested on my shoulders, comforting and strong.

I softened a bit under his expert touch. “I’m angry, okay?” My eyes lifted to study his, to scan for judgment. There was none, and in that moment, I decided to reveal the core of my heated resentment. “I have a right to be angry, too. I won’t pretend that I’m not hurt or that I’m miraculously healed. I have a right to process my feelings.”

The pressure from his fingers deepened slightly. His curved lips flattened into a thin strip. “No one out there will give a damn about your feelings. The ones who do are here for a show.” He released my shoulders. “Key stakeholders want to know three main things.” He raised his fingers to tick off the points. “They want to know who you are, what you stand for, and what you’ll accomplish. Stick to the facts, be yourself, and you’ll win.”

“I hear you,” I said.

“Good.” He relaxed his tense stance and gave me a rare smile. “Now go kick his ass.”

I gave him a winning smile and left the green room. I spotted Raina and Kara in the center of the crowd and gave them a quick wave. Kara waved back and Raina gave me a thumbs-up. My parents sat toward the back of the room, both of them wearing wide and proud smiles.

Keith was chatting it up with the moderator. From the goofy-ass grin on his face, I could tell he was laying on the charm. Martha was a middle-aged white woman with three kids, and by the looks of it, she wasn’t swayed by his all-teeth-and-no-soul smile. After a few minutes, we got started.

“Ms. Njeri. As the contender, you’ll go first. What is your vision for the TrailLine?”

I gave Martha a wide and genuine smile. I was passionate and proud that the city had rejuvenated and leveraged 1,000-plus acres of green space.

“I love the direction the TrailLine is going. It’s fantastic because our residents and tourists are enjoying the trails. But we need to make a major push on the transit elements, which means connecting the streetcar to the TrailLine. Specifically, we need to incorporate the changes that were floated up from the Georgia Department of Transportation and then begin the rollout of the next phases to expand the route along the full length of the line. We also need to pay close attention to other cities, like Portland, that have a successful model for streetcars.” I offered a few more ideas and facts, getting a couple of head nods and a quick grin from Chris.

Keith basically spouted off the same message with a story about his experience at the TrailLine that was supposed to be funny but fell flat. You could hear a pin drop outside of Keith’s droning voice. I hated his voice, hated the way he lied to his constituents about his plans. Hell, half the things he’d proposed had been my idea. And that was the crux of my problem: We basically had the same plan because I had created the strategy.

We received a few more questions about taxes and public safety, and an hour into the debate, I knew I’d edged him out by giving genuine responses and a straightforward way to solve issues within the district. There were few claps and lots of silence after Keith’s responses. I was kickin’ ass and takin’ names; I felt damn good going the Michelle Obama route. I snuck a glance at Chris, who smiled at me. Not just a smile. A dangerous one—hot, potent, daring. A smile that conveyed that if there weren’t seventy-something people in the building, a camera crew, Keith, and a moderator, he’d give me much more than a smile.

“Okay, this is the last question for our candidates. Mr. Davenport. What is your stance on police shootings as they relate to black lives?”

I perked up and attempted to hide a smile. Keith and I hadn’t discussed this subject. After the recent shooting of a young black man within the district, racial profiling had skyrocketed into a hot topic. I reclined in my seat and, for the first time, willingly looked at my opponent.

Keith cleared his throat and steepled his hands. “As a black male, the shooting of Devon Jordan in my district particularly hit home for me.”

Right. I mentally rolled my eyes. Keith grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood and could count his black friends on one hand—his pinkie and his thumb. Not that his neighborhood had any bearing on race relations, but the man had no desire to connect with his community.

“I’ve had many conversations with citizens and leaders of this fine city. As much as I’d love to push the issue, this type of thing, making a real effort at police training and reform, would have to come from the mayor. It’s truly out of my hands.” He lifted his hand in a “don’t shoot” gesture, the absolute wrong movement, given the topic.

Just keep digging, Keith. I rubbed my hands together like a greedy miser collecting a debt.

“Also, we have to own up to our mistakes. I can’t help but think if the young man had stayed at home, refrained from smoking an illegal drug, this incident could’ve been avoided.”

People shot from their seats. “What in the world?”

“Are you kidding me?” a young black woman yelled from the crowd.

“Everyone, please, settle down,” Martha yelled over the crowd. “Mr. Davenport, are you finished with your points?”

“I want to wrap this up by stating that I am on your side. I will meet with the mayor and the police force to come up with a viable solution.”

“Ms. Njeri, can you please give us your opinion?”

“Absolutely.” I leaned into the mic. “As a public defender, I have a front-row view of the justice system. My clients are lucky enough to be alive but unlucky in that they were arrested. Many of my clients have expressed that when approached by the police, they were often told that they fit the profile of a criminal. This is just another way to criminalize blacks and widen the gap of economic disparity. Jail time, fines, the impact on employment and other opportunities can ruin people’s lives. I am so damn tired of our young men and women being targeted. We have to take steps to end inequalities in Atlanta’s criminal justice system, and I am committed to pushing this through. The way we solve this issue is on a state and on a local level. It’s not just up to the mayor to act.” I looked at Keith, narrowed my eyes. “We have to stop criminalizing petty things like panhandling and drinking alcohol in public, or sending people to jail for parking tickets. And for goodness sake, we have to take care of those who have mental issues and struggle with substance abuse. They deserve help, not jail time. These are just a few ideas, but not all-encompassing. We, the city council, and you, the citizens, can demand change. The police force is enacting the will of the democracy. Together we can make an impact and form a better bond between our community and the police force that protects us.”

A thunder of applause followed my impassioned speech. People rose from their seats again, but this time in support.

“So naïve.” Keith’s sharp voice cut over the crowd. He leaned closer to me, a hand gripping the back of my vacant chair. “You think drug abusers and criminals should just run rampant in our city?” The bitterness in his tone stank like weeks-old trash.

The crowd went quiet, save for one woman that I was pretty sure was Raina, who whispered, “No, he didn’t.”

Yes, he did. Gripping the mic in my hand, I took a cleansing breath, rolled my shoulders back. In my peripheral vision, I saw Chris scoot to the edge of his seat.

“I’m not naïve, Mr. Davenport. I care about our citizens, and I’m not suggesting we let drug dealers run rampant. But up until last year when the city decriminalized marijuana, you could face up to six months jail time. God have mercy on residents outside of the city proper.”

“Caring doesn’t make things happen, Sienna.” He got his tone back under control. This time it was mild and condescending. “Perhaps you’re out of your depth here. But I would like to state, for the record, I do care.”

“Do you now? That’s certainly a change.”

“What does that mean?” He stood, his palms down on the table.

“Did you or did you not refer to my clients as poor, unfortunate souls? Did you or did you not once tell me that they weren’t worth the hours I spent poring over discovery to try to win their cases?”

“Oh, oh. Girlfriend went there,” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Well, hell, he went there first,” someone in the first row yelled back.

Keith adjusted his tie and then licked his lips. “Sienna, I said no such thing.”

“Candidates. Please stick to the topic,” Martha lightly admonished. “Let’s not make this personal.”

“My apologies, Martha.” I straightened my skirt and tossed her a strained smile.

“Sorry,” Keith mumbled under his breath.

Martha nodded, although her eyes brimmed with amusement. “Sienna and Keith, please present your final remarks.”

Keith begged for votes. I tried to pivot and get my Michelle Obama on, but I could tell the crowd wasn’t buying it. The good news: They seemed to like my message. The bad news: Our lovers’ spat may have discredited us as serious candidates.

After the debate, I was accosted by my parents. Kara and Raina looked like they wanted to come over, but I shook my head. I would never live it down if they heard my mother lecture me about controlling my temper.

“Sienna.” Mama grabbed my elbow. She had a strong grip, despite her petite frame. Baba was close behind. My parents maneuvered me to the back of the room. Mama nodded as people waved. On the outside, she was all smiles, but on the inside, I knew she was boiling mad. Mama didn’t tolerate us cutting the fool in public. It didn’t matter that I was in my thirties, had a good job and paid my own bills.

I had definitely cut the fool with Keith, of all people. I sighed and readied myself for the verbal lashing I deserved.

Finally away from the crowd, Mama dropped her smile. “Sienna, dearest, what in the world were you thinking? Arguing like a . . . an elementary student with that man.” She squeezed her slender hands together, again, I knew this was an effort to not swing her hands widely like she usually did when lecturing one or more of her seven kids.

“I . . .” She waved at Baba. “We are so disappointed that you—”

“Speak for yourself, Winnie. I, for one, am proud of our little girl.”

Mama tutted. “Busar.”

“Oh, stop it, woman. I saw you fighting a smile when she went toe-to-toe with that spineless rat. Our daughter has always fought for her fellow man, and we raised an exceptional woman. The only time she got in trouble is when she defended her classmates from bullies and when she boycotted McDonald’s after that ridiculous documentary.”

I smiled. That was the turning point of me becoming a vegetarian. I’d been a junior in high school and had convinced a few other students to picket the McDonald’s near our school. I was convinced McDonald’s was the cause of all things unhealthy, and I wanted to save our little town in middle Georgia. The police had been called, but luckily my parents came by and forced me home.

“Today,” Baba continued, “and for the first time, our daughter stood up for herself.”

“You are right.” Mama smoothed her hands over her gorgeous bright orange dress. “I just wish she would’ve done this in a non-public manner. There are other productive ways of getting your point across, young lady.”

A blast of hot energy hit my back and the back of my neck prickled. Chris.

“Mr. and Mrs. Njeri.” He smiled at my parents and shook their hands. “I need to steal your daughter.” Chris turned his attention to me, and his smile dropped. Raw energy electrified the air around us.

Mama must’ve felt it, too, because at some point, she’d drifted closer to me, her hand now on my shoulder in a protective Mama Bear manner. “My Sienna was a little spirited, but there’s no need for . . . whatever it is you plan to say to her.”

Chris nodded. “I assure you, Sienna is safe with me. But there is much your daughter and I need to discuss. It’s what we typically do after each event.” He modified his earlier spitting-mad tone and somehow had switched to competent counselor.

“Oh, good.” Mama sighed. “Well, he is your campaign manager, after all.” Mama patted Baba’s potbellied stomach. “I need to get your Baba some food. His stomach was growling the entire time.” She attempted a small joke.

Baba was oddly silent during this exchange. He just looked at me and Chris with a highly amused expression on his face.

After we said our goodbyes to my parents, Chris placed a hand on the small of my back and then guided us out of the building to his car. He clicked the alarm to his car, opened my door, and then walked to the driver’s side. He quickly reversed his car and sped out of the parking lot.

“Chris—”

He unclenched his hand from around the shift and raised his hand “Don’t. We’ll talk about it once we get back to headquarters.”

I scrunched my nose. “And where is headquarters?” Technically, we didn’t have a building. We were in the process of locating a building, but so far, it’d been at Chris’s office in his condo.

“My place.”

“I—”

“Quiet, Sienna. You showed your ass today, and you aren’t going to talk your way out of this. For the next forty-eight hours, your communications manager and I will have to tapdance our way out of that shit show. I need peace. I need to think. I need quiet.”

I gave him quiet.

* * *

Chis tugged his tie off and then went for his cuff links. He waved toward the buttercream suede sofa. “Sit.”

I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes. So, yeah, I might’ve gone the middle-school playground route with Keith, but that didn’t mean Chris could be a jerk.

“Excuse me?”

“Sienna.” He clenched his jaw. The skin beneath his sandy brown goatee stretched with tension. “Please, take a seat.” Chris strode to the kitchen.

“All right, then.” I smoothed my black pencil skirt and sank into his couch. A clinking sound grabbed my attention. I couldn’t see him from where I sat, but I could guess he was making himself a whiskey neat, as he typically ordered and slowly sipped during our weekly schmoozing obligations.

While he poured himself a stiff one, I took in the tall plants in the corner and the elegantly decorated living room. A small glass sculpture rested on a side table. Art—by the looks of it, a mixture of African and French-style canvases—decorated his wall. Stylish, but not pretentious. Just like Chris.

My attention was snagged by something that definitely didn’t fit into his obviously expensive yet tastefully decorated condo.

Ignoring Chris’s earlier request to sit down, I was drawn to a picture framed in a dried-macaroni frame. In the photo was Chris, who looked to be in his preteens, and a white woman who looked to be in her late thirties. They were standing in front of a yellow house that had lots of long windows and a pointed roof.

“My mom.” I felt a warm tickle from his breath along my neck.

Taking a few steps back, I clutched my chest. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I didn’t want to be heard.” His gaze seared me, the same one he’d given me at the debate that nearly made me combust.

“O-okay.” I turned away and swallowed, an attempt to get moisture to my suddenly dry throat. I focused back on the picture. “Nice frame.”

“Thanks.”

The room grew quiet again. I wrapped my arms around my middle and continued to stare at his mother, a brunette with striking blue eyes and laugh lines around her mouth. She clutched Chris to her side, her head resting on his shoulder. Chris wore a goofy grin, and surprisingly, he didn’t have a look of disdain like most preteens would have when their moms got too mushy.

“She’s pretty.”

“She was.”

Was. I turned to face him again, at a loss of what to say. Is he still hurting? “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Not your fault. It’s been a long time.”

“How long?” I couldn’t help but ask, not at all expecting Chris to share.

“She died soon after that picture was taken. Car accident. We lived in a small town outside of Paris. That day,” he pointed to the picture, “we took a day trip to Paris. Exploration day, she used to say.”

And my ovaries exploded. Of course this incredibly sexy, smart, and sometimes sweet man spoke one of the sexiest languages in the world.

“Oh, um, that’s neat.” Neat? No, that was hot. Definitely hot.

I ran my fingers through my curls, an attempt to get a hold of my libido. “I didn’t realize . . . you don’t seem to have an accent.”

“I moved to the States after she died to live with my dad and his family.”

“Really? So you have, like, half brothers and sisters?”

“Yeah, but I don’t consider them half. They’re full and we’re close.” He set down his drink on the coffee table. “Enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

“M-me?” I huffed and squared my shaking shoulders. Get it together.

I wasn’t some trembling virgin. And although Mr. Sexy decided to turn up the heat, whether consciously or not, I wasn’t playing his game. As a vegetarian, I was on a meat-free diet in both respects.

Keep it professional. “Look, I apologize for my behavior today. I just got so heated and, well, I didn’t think things through. If you want, I can draft up a statement.”

“You will?” He stepped closer, his eyes becoming a deep swirl of blues and browns.

“Yes. Um . . .” His ambrosial, manly cologne twisted my senses and jacked up my heartbeat as if I’d been hit with a dose of adrenaline. “Yes, anything you want.”

“Promise?” He leaned closer, cupping my face.

“S-sure. I mean, within reason.”

His lips grazed my earlobe, followed by a soft nip. “I want you.”

“You do? I thought you were mad at me.”

He leaned back, still cupping my face. “As your campaign manager, I’m pissed. As a man, a man who’s been attracted to you since day one and fought his attraction every second you were in my space, a man who tried to respect your decision to marry a man not worthy of you, who finally has the opportunity to come for you when you gave Keith his walking papers, I was turned on. He’s an asshole, and you put him in his place. I’ve tried to keep my attraction contained. This is completely unprofessional, but . . .”

“But?” I leaned in closer, my head tilting up to stare into his serious eyes.

“But fuck it.” He followed up his declaration with a kiss. It was the permission we both needed. We rushed into action. Me unbuttoning his dress shirt. Chris reaching for the zipper of my skirt and tugging the shirt out of my skirt.

He murmured something hot and sexy in my ear, something foreign that caused a flood to rush between my legs. “Say that again,” I commanded.

“Tu es mon fantasme devenu réalité,” he whispered, tugging off my shirt.

“What?” I asked, breathing heavily and seriously turned on. “What does that mean?”

“You’re my fantasy come true.”

I unclasped my bra, grabbed his hand, and led him to his bedroom.

I was feeling bold, being someone’s fantasy and all. I needed this—to feel desired and special and attractive. And from the hot and heavy look on Chris’s face, he’d meant every word. I walked to his bed, turned to face him, and then slowly sat down. I crawled backward, still facing him. “Touch yourself. Show me how much you want me.”

He smiled, but that hot look was still in his eyes. Reaching down, he unabashedly stroked himself.

Panting, I opened my legs wide, slid my finger down to the vee between my thighs, and touched myself.

He continued to pump himself. I threw my head back, unable to handle the intensity of the moment.

“Eyes, mon chéri,” his deep voice commanded, pulling me back to his sexy gaze. “Don’t come.”

I nodded my acquiescence, well past the ability to form words.

He stalked to the nightstand. A crinkle of foil sounded and then he slid the condom along his length.

Dipping a knee onto the bed, he gripped my hips and drew me closer. “I want to taste you, touch you. But I cannot. Too close,” he grunted, a pained expression on his face.

When he slid deep inside me, I gasped. He was big, so big he filled me up.

And he filled something else up that I had no intention of thinking about at the moment.

“Je suis chez moi,” he said, thrusting deeper and staring into my eyes.

“Translation?”

“Tell you later.” He stroked me again. I shuddered at the pleasure and gripped my legs around his waist.

“Chris!” I yelled as he continued to pound me with such precision, such beauty, a tear rolled down my cheek.

But Chris was wrong.

This wasn’t quick. It was long, artful, and painstakingly thorough. He touched my body, my soul. This was something I’d never experienced.

When I squeezed my eyes shut, he commanded me in that deep and patient voice of his. “Look at me. Don’t cut me off,” he said right before he took us over the edge.

Still inside me, Chris caressed my cheek with his calloused thumb and kissed me deeply.

He rolled off and walked to the connecting bathroom. Like magnets, my eyes were drawn to his muscular ass. I sighed wistfully when he shut the bathroom door. I rolled over to the other side of bed, aka the wet spot.

Nibbling my lips, I thought through my plan.

Should I leave? No, maybe I should wait, thank him for a good time? Dang it! What did single, unattached people do after just having sex? I was half a decade out of the game.

Just wait for him. We’re still working together, I think. Oh shoot! What if he doesn’t want to work together? Or what if—

My mini freak-out was cut short. Chris returned with a serious look on his face. His brows creased. Apparently, I pissed him off. Maybe I should’ve left.

“Why are you way over there?” He lifted the covers, got in bed, and then jerked me to his chest.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if you wanted me to leave or—”

“We’ll have some major problems if you attempt to sashay your sexy ass out of my house.”

“Oh, well, that’s good then.”

“And a new rule. When we’re in bed, you’re by my side.”

I smiled at Chris’s bossiness. That’s a rule I could get behind. I sighed, relieved. “I like that rule. Keith never, well, he didn’t like to hold me afterward. He said I was too hot.”

“Another new rule.” His voice dropped to frigid temperatures. “Don’t mention Keith’s bitch ass while in bed with me. Out there in public and for business, sure. But that’s it. He isn’t like me, and I’m damn sure not like him.”

I squeezed his bicep and snuggled against his chest. “I’m sorry, that was dumb of me. I won’t mention him, in um, bed again.”

“Good.”

“So, there will be an again?” I tried but failed to contain the hopeful tone in my voice.

“Damn right,” he rumbled. “Give me ten, twenty minutes, we’ll do another round.”

“Twenty minutes?” I lifted my head. “That doesn’t happen in real life.” I snorted. Only in books. The romance books I used to love reading until Keith shattered my heart.

“I already confessed you were my fantasy come true. You think I’m waiting hours to get my fill again?”

“We shall see,” I teased and patted his chest. “We shall see.”

It’s important to note that I did see. All. Night. Long.