“I know,” I console. “They’re assholes. But they’re our assholes, and without them, I never would have realized how perfect you are.”
She sags in my arms, closes her eyes, and lowers her voice to the barest hint of a whisper.
“You think I’m perfect?”
“I know you’re perfect. For me.”
“Even when I’m saying ‘motherfucker’ in public?”
“Even then.”
She loosens my hold with a squeeze of her own and lets her head fall back into the door. “Why? Why on earth do you find me attractive?”
“Because you are. You’re witty and funny and smart and beautiful. You have one of the best minds I’ve ever had the pleasure of exploring.”
“I’m sarcastic. And mouthy. And highly unprofessional fifty percent of the time.”
I shrug. “I guess I find all of that charming, then. Is that a problem?”
She laughs, just one sharp bark before shaking her head with a smile. “Yes. I think there’s something seriously wrong with you.”
“Only if you leave me here by myself. With you, it just means we go together better than ever.”
“Trent—”
“What? You said it would never work while we were working together, and we’re not. As of tonight, you are officially off the payroll.”
“And jobless,” she remarks sardonically.
I shake my head and lean in to press my lips to hers. She’s a smartass and she’s apathetic, but she can’t be either of those things to this.
Her eyes flutter closed as I run my tongue across her lips to open them, and then I touch the tip to hers.
When we pull away, there’s only one thing to say.
“There’s magic in the two of us. And we both know it.”
My voice is soft, but my words are loud. There’s no way she can’t hear what I’m saying.
“I love you, Greer.”
Her crystal-blue eyes widen, and a shaky hand touches her mouth.
“I didn’t plan it, but our lives…and our friends…did.”
She laughs. I smile.
“We both had a lot at stake when we started this job, but in my opinion, life handed me a lot more than I bargained for.”
Finally, she nods. “Me too, Trent. And you know what?”
“What?”
She leans forward and presses her perfect lips to mine. “I love you too.”
Trent
“No way,” I argue, tossing a piece of popcorn into my mouth with amazing accuracy. “It’s five at most.”
“Pshh. Are you kidding? Have you seen her face?” Greer argues. “We’re definitely in transition. Seven. I’m calling it.”
Emory glares, nostrils flared, while she finishes breathing through a contraction. “If you guys don’t stop making bets on the size of my cervix, I’m going to climb out of this bed, baby motherfucking hanging out if I have to, and drag you out of the room myself.”
Greer pulls her lips inside her mouth and pretends to shake in fear. I fall a little more in love.
“I thought she’d at least threaten something serious,” I whisper. “Mass murder. Mutilation of our genitals. Something.”
“Don’t tempt me!” Emory yells through her clenched teeth as another contraction hits her.
“Wow,” Greer remarks. “You’re going to want to remember that childbirth obviously allows superhuman hearing. For future reference.”
Goddamn, this woman. She makes my life.
A year and half ago, I dressed up like Walter White—for a second time—and convinced Greer to give me another chance, and I’m certain no one has ever loved this woman like I do.
I have memorized all of her smiles. All of her laughs. I know her annoyed sighs and her sassy glares. I know what makes her wet, and I know what makes her come.
I know her. All of her. And I’ve never been happier in my entire life.
My smile is unstoppable as I cuddle into her on the hospital couch and bump her with my shoulder. “You want to have kids with me?”
She giggles. “Yeah. Someday.”
“Like, how someday someday? Should we start trying now? I think I saw an empty room down the hall.”
“Easy, Walt,” Greer says with a laugh. “You’re going to have to give me time to heal from the trauma of watching Emory give birth first.”
“You’re not watching me give birth!” Emory yells. “Quince, you better get them out of here before I ki—”
“Okay, okay,” Cap says, stepping forward from the corner, a surprising peacemaker.
“Quince, you just stay with Emory. I’ll handle Mo and Larry.”
He grabs me by the shoulder, but I shake him off so I can offer Greer a hand up as she frowns. “What happened to Curly?”
“He died,” Cap says stoically before pointing back over his shoulder. “She killed him. So, let’s go before you both meet the same fate.”
The two of us laugh our way into the hall, poking and prodding and teasing each other all the way to the snack area. St. Luke’s Hospital in New York is big and sterile and about as unromantic as possible—and apparently very advanced if Emory’s parents insisting that she give birth here is anything to go by—but it’s the gesture…the moment that I’m after. The one that will suit the woman I’ve fallen head over heels in love with.