“Gorgeous,” I repeat, pulling her down to kiss her again. “Gorgeous.” Another kiss.

When she’s smiling again, I ask, “So . . . how was our first date? Maybe a one to ten ranking scale, so I can improve for the next one? Keep it statistically comparable, you know.”

Zoey laughs at the conversational turn, and I feel her muscles squeeze me. She tilts her head left and right, not giving anything away before saying, “Pretty good. Though I don’t have much to compare it to,” she teases. “But I hope it’s not over yet.” Her brow lifts flirtatiously.

“Oh?”

Zoey shakes her head, a cascade of dark hair tickling my face. “I plan on giving you a little time to recover, and then we’re going to go one more time before we sleep. Perchance to dream,” she adds with a dramatically airy flair.

I smile at the quoted poetry. It’s so Zoey. “Did you know Hamlet’s soliloquy is one of the most widely known and quoted pieces in modern English? Shakespeare also wrote nearly one-tenth of the most quoted lines in the English language.”

“I did not, but somehow, I’m not surprised that you do.”

I hum, “I also know the average male my age needs roughly twenty minutes before they’re able to go again.”

“Is that so?” Zoey says on a smirk, but she grinds her hips against me as she says it. “Oh, maybe you’re above average?”

“Good inspiration,” I agree, feeling myself harden inside her. Grabbing her hips and pulling her down forcefully, I correct myself. “Gorgeous inspiration.”

Epilogue

Zoey

It’s brunch, Zoey. No big deal. Smile, eat, and don’t say anything weird. You can do this.

I hope that’s true because today is most definitely a big deal. I’m meeting Blake’s family—the people he loves, the ones who shaped him and who made him believe in happily-ever-afters. I want them to like me, and I want to like them. Blake says they will love me, just like he does, but I’m nervous.

Don’t talk about dead bodies. Don’t talk about decomposition. In fact, don’t talk about work at all.

Yeah, that’s probably my best bet. I’ll talk about . . . the weather, cute puppy dogs, and rainbows. That’s normal people stuff, right?

Hell if I know. I haven’t had a regular conversation since . . . I don’t know when. I talk to people at work now that they don’t give me a hard time anymore, but the other folks in the sheriff’s department talk about weird cases, gross calls, and stupid suspects.

Holly talks about her work and shitty guys she’s dating, though I think Jacob might be finally wearing her down. He just might have a chance at getting at least a pizza date out of her before long.