Page 86 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

EPILOGUE

A VERY NAKED PARROT

Emerson

The parrot squawks. “So, a parrot walks into a bar... and he’s naked.”

I turn to Nolan, mouthing, Aren’t parrots always naked ?

Nolan nods the answer. Yes.

“And he says to the bartender, the two of us will have a couple of blow jobs,” the bird continues.

I tug on Nolan’s shirt, whisper in his ear, “That’s a very dirty parrot.”

“Yes, he might even be dirtier than you.”

I scoff. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

The emerald-green bird squawks once more. “And the bartender says a couple of blow jobs? There’s only one of you.”

The bird drops his beak like he’s looking at his birthday suit-ed body. “It’s for me and my... woodpecker.”

I groan—so loudly—and roll my eyes. But I’m laughing, and so is Nolan, and we keep on laughing through the whole set of terrible jokes at The Parrot Club.

After the show, we catch a cab to our hotel. “We finally made it to The Parrot Club,” I say as the driver pulls away from the curb.

“My life is now complete,” Nolan says. “I can’t think of anything else I want to do.”

“You don’t want to ride the roller coaster?”

“Ah, yes. That. Let’s do that.”

I have high hopes for the ride.

We tell the driver to stop at New York, New York, and we wind our way through the casino to the thrill ride where we had our first kiss. It feels a little like kismet, like something big could happen. I can’t stop thinking both of beginnings and next steps. Of the future I want with Nolan.

As we wait in line, I squeeze his hand. “You’re the reason I love roller coasters.”

“You’re the reason I’m ridiculously happy, so I win,” he says with a cheeky grin. Then he stows his glasses in the locker, and we grab seats in the car.

On the first hill, I maybe, possibly, definitely squeeze his arm hard enough to leave marks. But there’s always makeup to cover that. When we zip downhill, though, I thrust my arms into the air and scream at the top of my lungs.

It’s more fun than the first time.

Everything with Nolan is, including this mini vacation in Vegas. Our show is going strong, and Webflix renewed it for another season, along with Dot and Bette’s and the Wine Dude and Drive-Thru-Babe’s too. Not Max’s. I don’t feel bad about that at all. Not one bit.

Nolan and I decided to celebrate by flying to Vegas. He played solitaire on the flight, and I read.

My goal in Vegas? Do face masks and wear robes. Translation—we bang a lot, just like we do back home in New York. But hey, every couple has hobbies. Ours are food and sex.

When we’re off the ride, Nolan kisses me like he did that very first time.

It’s toe-tingling and knee-weakening, and I could kiss him all night.

But kisses end, and this glorious one does too.

Nolan grabs his glasses, and we leave. Once we’re out of New York, New York, I’m still a little surprised that he didn’t ask me a certain question. But I’m not disappointed.

I can wait. I can definitely wait.

Good things come and all.

We return to The Extravagant, and as we wander through the hotel on the way to the elevators, I figure tonight’s not the night, and that’s okay.

“Hey!” Nolan points to a late-night eatery off the casino. “I didn’t realize they had a cereal bar here.”

I’m Pavlov’s dog. Instantly, my mouth waters. “Cinnamon Life Cereal, take me to your leader.”

Nolan pats my belly. “Your appetite for cereal knows no bounds.”

“That is true. It is boundless.”

With an arm wrapped around my shoulder, he guides me into the quirky breakfast-anytime café.

We grab stools at the bar and place our order with the server. “One bowl of Froot Loops for me.”

“One Cinnamon Life Cereal for me,” I add.

A minute later, the server returns with a bowl for him and a box for me. “I don’t need a whole box, but thank you,” I say.

The server shrugs and smiles. “Here you go anyway.”

Then he walks away.

I arch a brow at Nolan, who’s pouring a cup of milk onto his multi-colored cereal. “Am I supposed to open the box?”

“That’s how one gets to the cereal inside,” he says like he has a secret. “And the prize.”

“Oh, there’s a prize?” I ask, refusing to get ahead of myself.

I swear I try. But it’s hard.

“Yes, there is,” Nolan says.

I rip the box open and gasp so loud I bet they can hear me at New York, New York.

There’s a blue velvet box perched on top of the cereal.

I grab it, hold it tight. Try not to burst into a million diamonds of excitement.

“Like I said.” In that commanding way he sometimes has with me, Nolan takes the box, rises from the barstool, and gets down on one knee.

I have no chill.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. It turns into a whisper-chant. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

“Emerson Alva, you’re the one. The one I want to wake up with, sleep with, work with, eat with, play with. You’re the person I want to spend my days and nights with. And you’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. Will you marry me?”

I jump off the stool, tears streaking down my face, and join him on the floor, throwing my arms around his neck.

“I will.”

He slides the ring on my finger. “Good. Now shut up and kiss me,” he says.

And I do—because that sounds like an excellent plan to me.

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