The Dating Proposal

by Blakely, Lauren

  33

  McKenna

  I shower first.

  I can’t waltz in and find my man in my cat-chasing clothes.

  Plus, I need a new outfit. When I get out of the shower, dry off, and track down a fabulous pink lace bra-and-undie set, there’s a knock on my door. I pull on the silky items, wrap the towel around me, and head to the door. Peering through the peephole, I find three wiseasses making goofy faces at me.

  I yank open the door, letting Julia, Erin, and Hayden inside.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  Julia points her thumb at Hayden. “This girl called and told us what went down.”

  Erin nods crisply. “We’re here to babysit.”

  “I need a babysitter now?”

  “Oh, hell yeah,” Erin says, spinning me around and gently shoving me by the shoulders back to my bedroom.

  “We are not letting you burrow your way out of this,” Julia declares.

  “I’m doing it, I’m doing it.”

  “I’ll believe that when I put your butt in a Lyft and take you to Gomez Hawk’s myself,” Erin says.

  I huff, but I’m smiling, loving that they’re here, looking out for me.

  A few minutes later, I slide into an A-line champagne-colored minidress that’s shorter than sin and makes a statement—I’m a woman who goes after what she wants.

  I add a pair of black ankle boots and my rose-gold bracelet. Then I dry my hair, put on makeup, and grab a clutch. When I reach the front door, nerves grapple me and my momentum falters.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Julia says.

  I breathe in, reminding myself it’s worth it.

  The chance is worth it.

  I’m worth it.

  Julia and Erin order a car, and we say goodbye to Hayden. They slide into the ride with me as we head across the city.

  “You’re like my probation officers.”

  Julia nods. “Yup. We are.”

  When we reach the karaoke bar in Japantown and head inside, Julia kisses one cheek, Erin kisses the other, and they wish me luck.

  But it’s not luck I need.

  It’s strength and courage.

  To love again after heartbreak.

  To try again after hurt.

  I might have had a little meltdown—okay, a big, fat, hairy one—but I’m here, ready to try again.

  In the entryway of the karaoke bar, I ask the hostess for a favor and tell her what I need. She smiles and says she’ll gladly help.

  As a guy finishes up a Foreigner tune, the hostess tells me there will be one more song, then it’s my turn.

  She guides me backstage and hands me a mic. I peek around the velvet curtain. My heart skips when I see Chris.

  It frolics.

  It runs.

  It wants to throw itself at him.

  Except he looks sad.

  And empty.

  And it hits me—I did that to him. I made him feel like that. Like I didn’t want him the same way he wants me.

  I need this song to end. I need to get out there and tell him in a song that I do want him in every way. I hate the sadness in his eyes, the slump in his shoulders. And I’m going to make it right. Because he’s over his trust issues, and I’m choosing to be over my fear.

  The song ends, and as soon as the opening notes of “Can’t Help Falling In Love” begin, I stride onstage.

  Awash in nerves and hope at the same damn time.

  Like Hayden said, love is both of those all at once. And you have to be strong enough to choose it.

  I take one final breath, then I meet Chris’s gaze and bring the mic to my mouth. I do my best imitation of the King as he sings about fools rushing in. The lyrics swoop into me, and even though I don’t sound like Elvis, the look on Chris’s face as he watches me kindles a fire in my soul.

  Yes, Elvis, some things are meant to be. Like falling in love against your wishes. Against your better judgment. Against all your plans to do the opposite.

  This time I’m not going to hide. I’m going to rush in, fool or not.

  And when I reach the chorus, I’m not alone.

  Chris walks to the stage, his eyes on me, his pace confident, his intentions clear. He steps up, joins me at the mic, and we sing the rest of the song together.

  When it ends, I hear someone shout, “Kiss the girl!”

  I laugh, butterflies fluttering in every cell of my body as I lower the mic and turn to face Chris. “By the way, I’m in love with you.”

  Grinning, he slides a hand around my waist. “I kind of figured that out. And I’m in love with you.”

  He kisses me in front of the crowd, in front of his friends, and it feels like a declaration. Like he’s saying I’m his, and he’s mine, and that’s how it’s going to be.

  That sounds about right to me.

  He deepens the kiss, and before I know it, we are all lips and tongue and teeth crashing into each other in an anthemic song of kissing, a big, epic tune of joy and passion and hope. Of falling in love again. Of letting go and starting over.

  I am flying high right now, ready to head into the great unknown. Ready and eager.

  * * *

  We don’t stop at Elvis.

  We attack a whole screenful of songs, belting the guy and girl parts in “Love Shack” like we’re now a singing duo, then performing The Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me.” Then the whole group of us—Chris, his friends, Erin, Julia, and I—head back onstage after another round of drinks, and we do our best full-on rocker salute as we air-guitar our way through one of the best karaoke tunes ever—Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer.”

  Matching the words in the song, Chris takes my hand. I feel the music fill me up, and I swear, just like the song promises, we’ll make it.

  After, we go to the bar, laughing and kissing. He brushes my hair off my cheek and threads his fingers in my locks. “What do you say we get out of here?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  He loops his hands around my neck, bringing my face to this. “There’s this girl I’m in love with. And I’d really like to be alone with her right now.”

  Tingles. Everywhere.

  We go to my home, and our clothes fly off in a flurry. I pull him down on my bed, bring him close, and wrap my arms around his neck. “Make love to me,” I whisper, the words pricking at me with the sheer vulnerability of them.

  “Always,” he says, and it feels like a promise we’ll both keep.

  Later, when we’re spent and curled up together, Ms. Pac-Man jumps on the bed, licks Chris’s face, and flops down next to him.

  “What did you just say?” I ask her.

  “I like him. He’s a keeper,” I reply in the dog’s voice.

  He rolls over, gives her a smooch on the snout, and says, “Back at you.”

  And I fall in love even deeper.

  34

  Chris

  Epilogue

  Several months later

  I watch from the street corner. Two deliverymen wait outside on McKenna’s steps as she arrives home from a business meeting.

  One of those guys walks up to her, presumably asking her name.

  She nods.

  He tells her, I suspect, that he has a delivery for her, and she stops and waits.

  I smile, ridiculously pleased with the delivery in question.

  The guy returns to the truck and wheels a dolly down the ramp. When he’s halfway, McKenna realizes what’s on it.

  “Oh my God!” She’s so loud, I can hear her as she claps her hand to her mouth and jumps in excitement.

  I walk down the block, heading straight to her. “Built it myself.”

  She spins around, and I’m in front of her. “You did?”

  I pat the side of the Q*Bert machine. “I had a feeling you might like your own.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the delivery guys are gone, and there’s a gorgeous new game in her living room.

  “It’s one hundred percent auth
entic,” I say, handing the woman I adore a bag of quarters. “But no freebies. You have to pay this beast every time.”

  Her wild bluish-hazel eyes light up as she reaches for a quarter. “I want to play now.”

  Her excitement thrills me, makes me even more sure that this is right—that this is how it should be.

  I clasp a hand over hers. “There’s one thing I should let you know though. I tested it out first. Just to make sure it worked. You’ll have to beat my high score.”

  “You’re so cruel.”

  “I am the absolute worst.”

  “Fine,” she huffs, pretending to be annoyed. “What’s the score I have to beat?”

  As I tap the screen to show her, a flock of nerves lands briefly in my chest, but they fly away quickly.

  I’m ready.

  When she stares at the score, she gasps.

  Turns around.

  Drops her jaw. “Seriously?”

  I’m so serious I’m down on one knee. The score is high, and the name of the winner is “MARRY ME.”

  I’m pretty damn proud of what we’ve built.

  I’ll be the happiest guy around if she says yes.

  “I’ve been falling for you since the day I met you, McKenna.” I reach into my pocket and take out a dark velvet box. I flip it open and show her the ring, a vintage-style cut that’s perfect for her. “And I don’t plan to ever stop falling in love with you. Will you be my wife?”

  She falls to her knees, knocks me down so I’m sitting, and sinks into my lap, then throws her arms around me. I can feel her tears on my cheeks.

  “Yes,” she whispers. “I don’t plan to stop either.”

  She pulls back, and I slide on the ring. She beams and can’t stop looking at it. Then she quirks up a brow. “Hey, do I have to take your name? Because McKenna McCormick would be quite silly.”

  “Take my name or don’t take my name. All I care is that you’re mine forever. For always.”

  “I am. I’m yours. Always.”

  35

  McKenna

  Another Epilogue

  A few months later

  I should be terrified to walk down the aisle. But I’m not. I don’t have a shred of doubt inside me. All I feel is the faith, hope, and certainty in this choice. Marrying the man I’m madly in love with is awesome.

  “Don’t you agree?” I ask Ms. Pac-Man, who sits patiently by my side as I apply my lip gloss then twirl once in front of the antique gilded mirror in my room here at the Golden Gate Club in the Presidio, near the water.

  “You look so beautiful, and this dress is so completely you,” Julia tells me. She’s seen the dress many times—she helped me pick it out.

  I’m in love with it too. Not that I have a hard time falling in love with clothes, but this one was insta-love. With a smooth A-line and a lacy bodice, it’s a decadent mix of sexy, stylish, and bridal.

  We leave the suite, my faithful dog by my side. My three bridesmaids are with us as well—Hayden and Erin, and Chris’s sister, Jill, who’s now become a good friend of mine. We head through the expansive grounds of the hotel to the bluff overlooking the water. The ocean waves loll peacefully against the shore, and the afternoon sun warms us. White chairs are spread across the lawn, and all my friends and family are here.

  I kind of want to run down the aisle because I’m so damn ready to be that man’s wife. But I control myself and wait patiently at the edge of the chairs as my bridesmaids, and then my sister, the maid-of-honor, walk across the white runner rolled out on the lawn.

  When the King croons, I take the first step toward my soon-to-be husband. A huge, ridiculous smile spreads across my face because Chris is incredibly handsome in his tux.

  He waits for me at the edge of the bluff as the last words of the song fade. I reach his side, and his smile is as wide as mine.

  “You’re beautiful. I can’t wait to be married to you,” he whispers.

  Yes, he was worth taking a flying leap for. He’s worth getting over all my fears. He’s worth everything to me.

  The justice of the peace clears his throat and begins. “I’m told by the couple that we have a cat to thank for this union. But they decided not to bring Chaucer along to the ceremony, and as your highly allergic officiant, I thank you many times over for that.”

  We both laugh, and so do the guests.

  “When Hayden’s cat swatted McKenna’s hard drive many months ago, she thought she merely had a damaged electronic device. But that dastardly cat’s attack was the best thing that ever happened to her because it’s the reason she met Chris, the man who’s about to become her husband.”

  “If Chaucer were here today, I’d high-five him,” Chris says.

  “But it’s because of the two of them that they stayed together. Through doubt, through uncertainty, and through starting over. Now they’re here, ready to be together always.”

  The justice of the peace segues into the vows. “Do you, Chris McCormick, promise to love, cherish, and honor McKenna Bell for the rest of your days?”

  “Absolutely,” he answers, and my heart swells with joy as I savor his words.

  “And do you, McKenna, promise to love, cherish, and honor Chris for the rest of your days?”

  “Every single day.”

  “Now it is time to exchange the rings.”

  I turn my attention to the crowd, and there’s Ms. Pac-Man, waiting dutifully at the end of the chairs.

  “Come here, girl,” I call out, and my dog trots along the aisle.

  When she reaches us, Chris removes the rings from the pouch on her collar. She’s a good girl; she listens to him now too. He taught her how to surf, and there is nothing cuter than my sexy guy and my dog riding the Pacific waves.

  Ms. Pac-Man lies at our feet as Chris slides the wedding band onto my finger, and I do the same for him.

  The justice of the peace finishes the ceremony with these final words: “McKenna Bell and Chris McCormick, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  Chris kisses me, and it’s as amazing as our first time, as our second, as our third. It’s a kiss that curls my toes, sweeps me off my feet, and melts me.

  We dance and toast and eat French fries and other yummy delicacies, and then there’s a karaoke contest. It’s not a fair one, though, because Chris’s sister just won a Tony for Best Actress in a Musical, but that’s why we want to hear her sing. She belts out an amazing rendition of “Overjoyed” by Matchbox Twenty that gives me chills, her voice carrying throughout the tent and far across the ocean, I’m sure.

  Late into the night, Chris pulls me aside, and we dance under the twinkling lights.

  “Hey, wife.” He loops his arms around my waist.

  “Hi, husband,” I say, curving a hand around his neck.

  “Are you having a good time?”

  I pretend to ponder his question. “Hmm. There are French fries with forty-seven varieties of dipping sauce, including orgasmic ketchup. All my friends are here, and so is my dog. And I’m with my favorite person in the whole world. I’m having the time of my life.” I give him a cheeky smile. “I still want to beat you at Q*bert though.”

  “You have a lifetime to do that,” he says then spins me around and brings me in close for another kiss.

  I do have a lifetime with him. I have something more too—faith that we’ll go the distance.

  As the King would say, some things are meant to be.

  I take his hand as we leave the dance floor later that night, stepping into our forever.

  THE END

  Curious about Cooper’s romance? He has a story to tell in the USA Today Bestseller MOST VALUABLE PLAYBOY, available everywhere! McKenna’s sister Julia experiences an epic, sensuous romance in the New York Times Bestselling Seductive Nights series, available in Kindle Unlimited!

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  Some women you never forget.

  Your brain won’t let go of the scent of her skin. Your muscle memory holds the shape of your body curved around hers, and your senses recall the feel of your hands in her hair, your lips on hers.

  It can be months, even a year, since you’ve seen her, longer since you’ve touched her, and everything rushes back in an instant.

  Every damn image collides at once in a traffic jam of sensation. Sounds, sighs, scents. Her back arching, her lips parted, her waterfall of hair cascading over my hands.

  But now, she’s three-dimensional, flesh and bone. I blink all those memories aside, and they take a back seat to the woman in front of me.

  As I drink in the long blonde hair, the chocolate-brown eyes, a body I wanted to get to know so very badly, I’m reminded of one damn near perfect week seven years ago.

  One tempting, tantalizing, torturous week. It’s seared in my mind. We met at a fundraising event in Manhattan, danced, drank, laughed, and stayed out all night. In the seven days that followed, we embodied infatuation. Late nights, lingering calls, chats you never wanted to end. So many sparks you could light up the night sky.

  I can recall every moment, I swear.

  Including the ending.

  The bitter realization of who she was.

  One more step, then another, and she stops in front of me, looking impossibly sexy, and she was the sexiest woman I’d ever known when she was a mere twenty-two.

  But now? Dear God. She’s not even dressed up. Sloane Elizabeth is decked out in exercise pants, running shoes, and a sporty tank, and I still want to lick and kiss every inch of her. A canvas bag is slung over her shoulder.