Mom and Dad love CJ—they especially get a kick out of her All the Fucks I Give T-shirt she wears for luck when we’re playing five-card stud—and CJ loves them. She fits in like she’s slipping into an empty place in our family none of us knew was there until she stepped up.
For Christmas, my parents fly north to enjoy the holidays in the city, and I make sure to get them a hotel near all the Midtown action. We enjoy the tree in Rockefeller Center, the museums, and the Rockettes’ Christmas Spectacular, and CJ and I spend our nights alone, keeping each other warm while the snow falls outside.
“Did you get everything you wanted?” I ask her as Christmas Day draws to a close and we head down the hall to bed.
“I already had everything I wanted, but yes, your gifts were perfect, as always.” She presses up on tiptoe to kiss my cheek before adding in a naughty voice, “Although there is one thing I didn’t find under the tree . . .”
I arch a brow, feigning ignorance, though the hand she runs over my ass leaves little doubt what my vixen has in mind. “Oh? And what’s that?”
“You,” she murmurs, lifting her chin. “Naked and at my mercy.”
I kiss her, smiling against her lips. “That can be arranged, Butterfly. Right this very second, in fact.”
And it is.
And I am—at her mercy.
When it comes to CJ, my heart is wide open, defenseless, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Another Epilogue
CJ
Eleven months later…
I tug on a pretty pink sweater, fasten on one of my typewriter necklaces, then give my hair one final fluff.
Appraising my reflection in the mirror, I decide
I look pretty damn good for a woman heading to Sunday morning brunch with her roommate.
Laughing at that word—as if it can even begin to encompass the depth of what we share in this home—I head to the living room, stopping to give Stephen King a scratch on the chin.
A quick purr tells me he likes the attention.
“Of course you like attention. You’re a man,” I say, then rub his ears. Good thing I enjoy spoiling the men in my life.
I grab my purse, sling it onto my shoulder, and I’m scanning the room for my phone when it rings loudly from the coffee table. It’s Ted, the weekend doorman.
“There’s a delivery for you.”
“Send it up.”
A few minutes later, I answer the door and thank Ted as I take a slim white box from him. When the door shuts, I tug off the ribbon.
I furrow my brow as I find a number two pencil in it.
What on earth?
There’s a note. Bring the pencil to brunch, my butterfly.
I shrug happily. That’s Graham. He is the king of gifts, and I have to say, I love this special skill of his. Stephen King’s new leather studded collar is proof that Graham can shop his butt off for anyone, or any creature.
Tucking the pencil into my purse, I head uptown to Ruby’s Kitchen, where he said he’d meet me after an early morning workout. We’ve become regulars at Ruby’s. After that first brunch when I was too shocked by the audacity of my proposal to eat, we’ve made it a point to rarely miss the eggs and French toast there.
Both are delish.
When I arrive, I gaze across the bowed heads of the diners, but I don’t see the handsome cut of Graham’s jaw, or the fantastic mess of brown hair I love to run my hands through. But I know he’ll be here soon.