Page 180 of Sour Notes

I’m yours.

My heart starts to thump so hard it might crack a rib.

For now.

I tear the next one off desperate to see what’s next.

And for always.

She lifts the next one frustratingly slowly.

S’ayabo, Wolfie.

That’s Greek, I know that much but I have no idea what it means. I’m behind on my lessons with the green owl app, dammit.

She smirks, peeling back the penultimate note to leave me holding what’s arguably about to become my favorite Post-it in my entire damn collection.

I love you, Wolfie.

I inhale sharply, studying every square inch of her face. Unshed tears glitter in her eyes as she nods at me.

She loves me?

She actually loves me?

“I love you too, Angel. I never stopped.”

A garbled laugh slips from her lips. Tears stream down her face as she closes the distance and presses her mouth to mine.

I growl in relief, pulling her onto my lap so I can kiss my girl like I’ve been dying to for days.

Her taste explodes on my tongue and my entire body shudders at the contact. I shove the Post-its into my pocket and stand, sweeping her up into my arms, our lips still locked in a searing kiss.

With the soundtrack of our friends cheering around us, I walk her out of the ballroom doors and straight to my truck.

I’m ready to drive my girl home.

Finally. Forever.

EPILOGUE

MIA

It’s Halloween.

A whole three hundred and sixty-five days after one wild night changed the course of my future forever.

I can barely believe it's been that long because the time’s gone by in the blink of an eye.

I’ve literally had the best year of my life.

When I quoted the statistics about sixty-six percent of friendships becoming successful romantic relationships to Hopelessly Devoted—they’re expecting a baby, by the way, still together and very much devoted, awwwww—I had no idea I was days away from becoming one of those odds.

Swayze struck me like a bullet train, out of nowhere, when it turns out I’d been waiting at the station for it all along.

He is everything I never dreamed I’d find and now I get to call him mine for the bargain price of fifteen thousand dollars. We argued because he tried to pay for it, but I won.

My bid. My money. My man.