Epilogue
Keaton
“Cheers,” I say, raising my glass of champagne to Slate’s with a satisfying clink.
His eyes hold mischief and happiness, and such a warm, comforting familiarity that it literally makes my breath catch in my chest. I haven’t been this happy in . . . well, ever.
Slate leans close, pressing his lips to my neck, and all the celebratory noises in the room fade to the background. Even if we’re in a bar filled with our closest friends, the only person I see is him.
“You trying to kill me with that miniskirt, babe?” he murmurs, his lips pressed to the sensitive spot below my ear. His fingers trail down to the hem of my skirt, and he grabs my ass in both hands, letting out a small growl.
I meet his gaze and give my head a shake. “Behave, mister.”
Our friend Jack was kind enou
