Page 165 of Forgotten Comeback

“Steve.”

“Artsy-fartsy.” I smile, blinking back the tears.

I’m on cloud nine when the evening comes to an end, and I take in all the blank walls, save for Gavin’s loaned pieces, of course. But Effie was right: I sold out my very first show.

Gavin grabs my hand, leading me to his car. “Where are we going?” I ask.

“Celebrating. This is a hell fucking yeah moment!”

“It is,” I agree with a huge grin.

He drives me to his boxing club, unlocking the door. The ring is set up with a table and spread. “You didn’t have a chance to eat tonight,” he says, holding the ropes open for me as I duck between them.

After feeding each other sushi, one thing leads to another, and I’m straddling him on the mat, our tongues warring. “Gavin, fuck me.” I moan against his lips.

“Not here.” He picks me up, carrying me out of the ring and down the hallway, to the newly constructed locker room.

My eyes land on the cushion placed near the bench, a brand new strap on, and an excessive number of lube bottles.

I do a double take. And the ball gag I “gifted” him, what feels like a lifetime ago.

“Gavin, you don’t have to?—”

“Taylor, I want to give you everything, so don’t stall and give my asshole time to back out,” he warns, placing me on my feet.

“I like you, but for the next little bit, I’m going to treat you like I don’t. Strip and get on your knees, ass hanging over the bench,” I command.

With a bark of laughter, he strips, his dick standing ready. “Just remember, man-eater, you tear up my asshole, I’m gonna tear up yours.” He falls to his knees on the cushion, making a kissy-kissy face.

“Oh, little fuckboy, it’s on.”

Sneak Peek of Forgotten Games:

Parisi Family Book 6

Effie

“Sign here and here.” My lawyer flips the page, and I sign my name next to the sticky arrows. “Maiden name, correct?” My pen pauses.

“Correct.”

Effie Sullivan

“I haven’t written that name in years,” I say quietly.

“Divorce will be an adjustment, but I predict yours will be one of the biggest post-divorce glow ups.” She attempts to make me feel better, but a glow up?

No, this is a blow up.

“My life is in shambles because I was young, dumb, and ‘in love’ when I signed that horrendous prenup.” The only thing that worked in my favor was the infidelity clause, which my ex violated in the most cliché of ways.

“Money’s not everything. At least you’re walking away with your dignity,” she tells me.

Says the young and bright-eyed Gen Z billing 350 an hour, but I bite my tongue.

“Last page.” She flips to the final page, and I sign and date.

“So that’s it, then?” I ask.