Twisted(65)

Kate turns toward me, so James lies between us. My arm lays over him, my hand on her hip, encircling them both.

Kate’s eyes are velvety warm. “Drew?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you think we’ll always be like this?”

I give her a small smile. “Definitely not.”

And then I touch her face—the one I plan on looking at every morning and every night, until death shows up to drag me away.

“We’re just gonna keep getting better.”



So there you have it.

How’s that for a happy frigging ending, huh? Or beginning . . . I guess . . . depending on how you look at it.

Anyway, now’s about the time I start spouting off some pearls of wisdom.

Advice.

But given the events of the last year, it’s become increasingly obvious that I don’t know what the f*ck I’m talking about. I don’t think you should listen to anything I’ve said.

You still want me to give it a shot?

Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Here goes:

Number One—people don’t change. There’s no magic bullet. No bibbety-f*cking-boo.

What you see is what you get. Sure, certain habits can be tweaked. Reined in. Like my propensity for making snap judgments. The very idea of assuming I know everything—without checking with Kate first—now makes me sick to my stomach.

But other characteristics, they stick.

My possessiveness, Kate’s stubbornness, our collective competitiveness—they’re too much a part of who we are to be totally eradicated.

It’s kind of like . . . cellulite. You ladies can spend all day at the spa wrapped in mud and seaweed. You can throw a fortune away on those ridiculous creams and scrubs. But at the end of the day, that puckered, dimply skin is still gonna be there.

Sorry to be the one to break it to you; it’s just the way it is. But if you love someone, really love them, you take them as is. You don’t try to change them.

You want the whole package—cottage cheese ass and all.

Number Two—life isn’t perfect. Or predictable. Don’t expect it to be.

One minute, you’re swimming along in the ocean. The water’s smooth and calm; you’re relaxed. And then—out of nowhere—an undertow sucks you down.

It’s what you do next that counts. Do you give it all you’ve got? Kick for the surface, even though your arms and legs are aching? Or do you give up and let yourself drown?

How you react to life’s twists and turns makes all the difference.

So Number Three—the important thing is, if you can make it through the rough, unexpected times? That light at the end of the tunnel is worth all the shit you had to wade through to get there.

That’s something I’ll never forget. I’m reminded of it every time I look at Kate. Every time I look at our son.

When it’s all said and done? The payoff is way more than f*cking worth it.





Turn the page for a sneak peek

at how Kate and Drew’s best friends

handle falling in love

in Emma Chase’s next book

Tamed

COMING SOON FROM GALLERY BOOKS





I pull on a pair of silk boxers then heat up a bowl of leftover pasta and chicken. I’m not Italian, but I’d eat this every day of the week if I could. It’s about eight thirty by the time I finish washing the dishes. Yes, I am man who washes his own dishes.

Be jealous, ladies—I’m a rare breed.

Then I flop back on my awesome, king-size bed and grab the golden ticket from the pocket of my discarded pants.

I finger the letters on the bright green cardstock.





DEE WARREN


CHEMIST


LINTRUM FUELS


And I remember the soft, smooth flesh that swelled from the confines of her tight, pink shirt. My dick twitches—guess he remembers it too.

Normally I’d wait a day or two to call a girl like Delores. Timing is everything. Looking too eager is a rookie mistake—women enjoy being panted after by puppies, not men.

But it’s already Wednesday night, and I’m hoping to meet up with Dee on Friday. The twenty-first century is the age of Maybe He’s Just Not That Into You and Dating for Dummies and The Girlfriends’ Guide to Dating, which means calling a chick for a random hookup isn’t as easy as it used to be. There are all these frigging rules now—I found that out the hard way.

Like if a guy wants to meet up with you the same night that he calls, you’re supposed to say “no,” because that means he doesn’t respect you. And, if he wants to take you out on a Tuesday, that’s a sign he’s got better plans for Saturday night.

Trying to keep up with the changing edicts is tougher than keeping track of the goddamn health care debate in Congress. It’s like a minefield—one wrong step and your cock won’t be getting any action for a long time. But, if getting laid were easy, everyone would be doing it. It . . . and pretty much nothing else.

Which brings me to my next thought: I know feminists always complain about how men have all the power. But when it comes to dating—in America, at least? That’s not really the case. In the bars, on the weekends, it’s ladies’ choice 24/7. They have their pick of the litter because single men will never reject a come-on.