“Say it,” he gruffly commands.

“I love you. You fucked up my plan and I’m glad you did.” I laugh when his lips hike up at the corners and his hand clenches convulsively around the back of my head. Callan couldn’t look prouder if he’d taken over the galaxy. “It’s the first time I’ve said it to your face. It feels good to tell you.”

He stands and lifts me, his hands on my ass, anchoring me to him. “I brought you something.” He shifts me on his thigh and reaches into his back pocket.

He hands me a box of cigarettes, and a melty sensation runs along my spine. I open it and, to my disappointment, there’s nothing inside. “What kind of gift is this?” I complain.

I turn it upside down, as if magically a cigarette will appear, and out falls a heavy diamond ring onto the center of my palm.

I’m in shock. All I’d asked for was a cigarette. Really. Just a smoke.

“I’m all in,” he whispers, looking down at me, his eyes brilliant with happiness as he tips my chin up. “Are you?”

My throat starts closing as he takes the ring and slides it onto my finger. The perfect fit. “This one’s as real as it gets.” He taps the huge emerald-cut diamond in its center.

I’ve had flutters, palpitations, and weird feelings in my heart since I met him, but the leaps my heart is doing now have no precedent! “You’re going at warp speed, Callan, I . . .”

“You wanted a nudge, this is more than a nudge. I’m taking control of our futures. I want everything. Are you in?”

I clench my lips together and spread my palms on his hard jaw, cupping the face of my Hot Smoker Guy in a way that tells him I’m never, ever letting him go. “I’m in. I’m all in.”

He strokes his fingers through my hair as he plants a hard, fierce kiss on my earlobe.

I press closer to him. I’m smiling so hard my face hurts. “I’m crazy in love with you.”

He’s smiling too. His hands like vises around me. “Because you’re a crazy girl. Half mad, really.”

“Mad for you,” I counter.

He leans over and captures my lower lip with his, then nibbles on my top one. “Back at you.”

I flick my tongue out and taste him. God, I’d missed his taste so much. “Come upstairs with me. No one’s home. It’s too hot to go out to the hill,” I say.

I take his hand and tug him inside, and upstairs, to my bedroom.

I shut the door behind me and head to the bed, looking at him wantonly. “You with your reputation for womanizing, are you sure you’ll have enough with me?”

He walks forward. “Got my hands full with you.”

“Good, because I’m too stubborn to let anyone else have you.”

“No one has me, but I’m having all of you,” he says, grabbing me and pulling me to him.

“I get nothing? That’s not a fair trade.” I scowl.

“A little bit of me. This, though?” he says softly as he touches my lips. “I’m definitely having this.” His eyes heat up as he lowers his hand and cups my pussy. “Definitely this.” His voice gets gruffer by the second as the heat in his eyes swirls around me in a sea of bronze. He touches my eyes with two fingers. “These. I’ll take both of these.” Then, he spreads his hand on my forehead. “I’m taking this too.” He brushes his fingers over my breast, my left breast, right over my heart. “This. Most of all.”

“And in return, I get . . .?” I prod.

“An eye for an eye, like they say.”

“My whole heart for your whole life?” I dare him.

“We’ll see. I want a bonus.”

“Like what? I’m giving you everything!” I cry, laughing.

“Like . . .”—he tugs the sleeve of my top downward to expose the back of my shoulder, pressing his smiling lips against my skin—“this cluster of freckles.”

I groan.

Shivery.

That’s how he makes me feel.

He kisses the back of my shoulder and I tilt my head, enjoying the feel of his lips on my skin as my chest swells.

When he lifts his head and our gazes meet, I’m done playing around.

I love the playful sensuality in his eyes—like he doesn’t take anything too seriously. Except maybe sex with me right now. Because there, right under the playful sensuality, is the heat of a thousand suns trained on me. I can’t even breathe.

I’m wearing this guy’s ring, on my finger. He loves me and I love him.

He’s panting as his eyes give me a quiet command to get naked.

I unzip my slacks and shove them off, on a mission, not able to get naked fast enough, then I stare at him, delicious and stunning as he unbuttons his jeans, and his beautiful cock stands out. Callan takes it and strokes, watching me, and I lean over and kiss the tip, then open my mouth, taking everything I can, the whole shaft. He groans.

I shiver.

“Fuuuck.” He lifts me in the air, then throws me on the bed. He doesn’t even remove my panties, he tugs them aside until they’re hooked to the side by my swollen labia, and then he slides into the slick depths of my body. I clench reflexively; we groan from the pulsing, lung-stopping pleasure. My head falls back, my body arching with sensations.

“Oh god!”

My pussy is so tight, his dick so big, he’s almost tapping my heart every time he hits deep and I love it. We both do. We’re having steady, noisy, out-of-this-world sex and I won’t last another minute.

I cry out and squeeze my thighs around his hips, tightening my vagina around his shaft, locking him in. He groans.

He thrusts inside me, his mouth on mine, his body as relentless as mine is, neither of us letting the other breathe, or think, or stop.

This is an avalanche of ravaging desire, his need telling me beyond words how much he wants me.

My orgasm thunders through me. My skin melts; I fly away, ecstasy ripping through me. “Callan,” I moan.

He groans in pleasure, saying, “God, I love you,” against my mouth as he rides his own orgasm, fucking me through it.

Seconds—or maybe a year—later, I realize my nails are biting into his back and I’m gasping for breath. He’s throbbing inside my pussy, still impaling me. I groan and nibble on his neck, loving the feel of him. All in.

“Does this mean we won’t have one last cigarette?” I ask, kissing his neck.

“I got a new pack. Somewhere.” He smirks as he edges away, then goes to clean up. When he returns, he pushes the window open and brings a fresh pack.

I sit up in bed as he lights a cigarette. I memorize his movements. His hand cupping the flame, his lips pressing down on the end, his inhale, how he plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and offers it to me, his eyes shining as if he’s giving me the world.

“Sometimes, on a special occasion, we could have one,” I hedge. I already miss this.

“Yeah, we could. If we wanted to.”

“Yes, if we want to. I do.”

“I do too.”

He pries the cigarette off my lips, takes a drag, then passes it back to me as he slides his arm around me, and we lie in my bed and have our last cigarette.

Or so we think.

Mom and Dad are stoked about the engagement. We spend the weekend with them and before heading back, Callan and I visit Nana’s grave.

After a tearful farewell with my happy but jealous friends, on Monday, I’m all packed and ready to move permanently to Chicago.

I’m in Callan’s arms, looking out the plane window at Chicago. My new home.

Callan

Six years and a couple of packs of Marlboros later (what can I say, we’re addicts), we’re expecting. Olivia Carmichael. Fun and sweet girl. Expecting a Callan Junior.

I could spend days listing the things Livvy’s done at Carma. We’re breaking the rules. Always.

Fridays are Easy Fridays—the Carma troops wear whatever the fuck they want.

But what matters, really, are the things my wife has brought to me. Before her, I never wanted to be better or worthy of a single thing. You don’t need to be worthy of what you own if you can afford it. But the love of your girl . . . that’s something a man needs to own.