Page 187 of The Play Maker

“I love you too, Six.”

EPILOGUE

AUSTIN

Icheck my pocket again.

Ring’s still there.

That makes five times in the last ten minutes in case anyone’s counting.

It’s currently humming like a grenade in my suit pocket. A sparkly, terrifying, life-altering grenade.

I’m pacing the living room while my girl takes an entire lifetime to get ready.

“Babe,” I yell toward the bedroom, dragging a hand through my hair. “How long are you gonna take? We’re gonna be late, and I swear to God if I miss the crab cakes?—”

“Then you’ll survive,” Maisie calls back.

“You look hot in anything,” I tell her. “Or nothing. Especially nothing.”

Kevin—our rescue dog—lifts his head from his little blanket cave and glares at me.

“You could at least pretend to be supportive,” I mutter.

He groans and rolls back over.

I rip my eyes away, glancing toward the bedroom door that’s still shut. Maisie’s been in there for fucking forever. Gettingready. For dinner. For a normal night out. That’s what she thinks this is. But she has no idea what she’s stepping into.

This is torture. Not just waiting on her—I mean, yeah, that too—but sitting here with this box in my pocket like I’m not two inches away from combusting.

I pat my pocket once, then twice, then drag my hand down my face and groan like a man on the brink.

Because Iamon the brink.

Of proposing. Of combusting. Of texting the guys again even though Cole told me he’d block me if I did.

I grab my phone off the coffee table and open the group chat.

Me:

how long does it take for a girl to put on eyeliner? I’m gonna puke.

Cole:

And they say romance is dead.

Ryan:

You don’t need to worry. She’s going to say yes.

Logan:

And then realize she’s stuck with you forever. Poor girl.

Nathan:

She’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Don’t screw it up.