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“I take it you want me to fuck you?”
Ciaran blushed so prettily. “Well, yeah.”
“Patience, babe. I will, but not right now.”
I pulled him into the bedroom. Our bedroom. Over the last few months we’d added our own touches.
My mother’s longboard hung from one wall while Ciaran’s dad’s military decorations, awards, and service flag were on the other.
All of Ciaran’s favorite books were stacked neatly on bookshelves. I’d ordered special copies of his favorite series, The Claymourn Chronicles, from the publisher and mailed them to the author to get them signed and personalized. They arrived in the mail last week.
Ciaran hadn’t noticed yet, but the first book in the series was on the nightstand, right where I’d placed it earlier today.
Ciaran’s steps faltered as soon as we stepped in the room.
There was a large box on the desk. Joan had so many connections that it was ridiculously easy to locate Ciaran’s other gift at an antique store in Lake Sherwood.
“Is that for me?” Ciaran squeaked.
“Open it.”
Within seconds, Ciaran was ripping paper away and opening the box.
“Oh, my God, Matty!” He looked up, shocked. “Where did you find this?”
Inside lay a very old typewriter from the late 1800s. It was blocky, with pearly off-white keys. It wasn’t functional, of course, but it was very cool to look at.
Plus, I hoped it might be a source of inspiration as he wrote his Badger Detective Inspector First Class Earl Shiremarch novel. I loved it when Ciaran told me about his main character.
He’d gushed to me the other week that after years of scribbling down notes and hashing out a “dumb outline”—his words, not mine—he’d written the first two chapters.
Before meeting Ciaran, I didn’t know a single thing about badgers, or writers. Now, well, let’s just say I knew a lot more than the average citizen about both.
“Happy birthday, babe.”
Ciaran tackled me to the bed, pinning my arms over my head, and began to kiss my face in earnest, making me laugh and squirm in the process.
“So you like it?” I asked.
“I love it, thank you, Matty. Best birthday ever!” He leaned back to look at me. “I love you so frickin’ much, Matthias Vaulteneau.”
“I know I’m in trouble when you call me by my full name.”
“Not in trouble, unless trying to seduce you is trouble.”
I nipped his bottom lip with my teeth. “That’s the very definition of trouble, Ciaran.” He scowled at me. “You’re adorable when you do that.”
“Stop being perfect.”
“Never. But it’s time for your other birthday present.” I slid out from beneath Ciaran and moved to the head of the bed. I patted the space beside me. He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. “A while back, you mentioned reading books to each other at night before bed.”
Ciaran nodded. He didn’t move, but there was a new, hopeful look on his face. Always make Ciaran look like that, I told myself. Make the love of your life deliriously happy.
“Yeah, I remember,” Ciaran said carefully.
I showed him the book from the nightstand.
Ciaran went very, very still.
