I finally give in and force myself to open my eyes because I have a hard time saying no to Micha. The sunlight sparkles through the window as I stretch my arms and climb out of bed. I pull a short, black dress out of my suitcase and put it on and then side-braid my hair and secure it with an elastic. After I slip on my sandals, I sink down on the bed and wait for him to get out while I stare at the rings on my fingers. Even two months later, I still can’t help but smile when I see them there, marking one of the best days of my life. The day I told Micha how I truly felt, the day he conclusively became mine. We kissed and danced a lot that day, to a list of songs that made an appearance in our history. It was beautiful and magical and really sappy, but all weddings are. Afterward, we spent hours having sex until I felt like my body was going to break apart. It was amazing and exhausting—everything still is amazing and exhausting. And then we packed up our stuff and headed back home to start our life, but not after Micha made us stop by Mikey’s house so he could slash his tires, like I promised him he could.

We’ve been on the road for a little over a month now and it’s been an adventure. Micha was given the option of riding the bus with a few other musicians, but because we missed our honeymoon, he decided that we could at least have a road trip so we’re traveling across the country in the Chevelle, making it our goal to have sex in every state. So far we’ve gotten up to sixteen, but after tonight it’ll be seventeen.

After a while, Micha comes walking out with a towel in his hand, looking gorgeous and sexy in a red plaid shirt that he hasn’t buttoned yet so I get a glimpse of his muscles. His jeans ride low on his hips and my body burns as I look at him, thinking about the many times he’s used those hips to thrust into me. His hair is wet and flipped at the ends and I bite my lip, wanting to run my fingers through it.

“I’m so happy right now that I think there might be something wrong with me,” I divulge and he snorts a laugh as he balls up the towel and tosses it onto the hotel room floor.

“There’s nothing wrong with being happy, pretty girl,” he says, as he ruffles his blond hair into place. “It’s good that you’re happy.”

“I know that.” I stand up and help him button up his plaid shirt while he continues to fuss with his hair. “I hope you are, too, though.”