When Brandon Proposed to Taylor

“PRINCESS,” Taylor said softly to his closest friend, “you really have to stop doing this.”

Monica Carol Teresa Alexa Gaudioso Robbins-Grayson looked down at the tiny son in her arms and tiredly kissed his forehead. “Well, the pill and a re-up on Jakey’s vasectomy—I think if I have another one, we’re going to have to concede to God’s will and just change my name to Easy-Bake, you think?”

Taylor took the baby from her, sleeping after his lunch, and tucked him into the hospital bassinet. Jacob had run home to shower and hug the other five kids, while Taylor sat first watch. They’d perfected this maneuver with the birth of Nica’s fifth child and Taylor’s namesake, the irrepressible Princess T.

“I concede nothing of the sort, sweetheart. You’re done. Your job contract making adorable children has been fulfilled. Looking at you makes me tired.” He blinked his eye and hid a yawn behind his hand.

Nica laughed softly, but she was falling asleep too. Well, she’d put in a rough sixteen hours—she’d earned herself another nap or six.

He propped himself back against the wall and closed his eye, wishing his eye patch could clone itself and leave him completely in the dark. He loathed hospitals. The only reason he’d be here in the ambience of the body monitors was for his best friend.

Booted footsteps sounded in the room, and Taylor blinked, smiling when Brandon came into focus. “You’re late, Brand—you missed the big event.”

Brandon shrugged. “Please—if I wanted to see a person squished in and out of a cooter, I’d watch het porn. There’s a reason I picked kinesiology. You know that, right?”

Taylor just stared at him, in awe. “How do you do that? Every goddamned time?”

“Oh hell—I just said something that made your brain explode again, didn’t I?”

He had to laugh. Brandon was built like a linebacker, and God, if he didn’t talk like a dumb jock, as smart as he was. But Taylor adored his auburn-haired giant and wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Come here and kiss me,” he ordered quietly. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

Brandon approached quietly and then offered Taylor a hand. “Stand up, baby—let me get your leg and shoulders. You’ll cramp up if you don’t.”

Taylor obeyed, because Brandon was right. He’d been a good soldier, in and out of the room while Nica went through the worst of her labor, but it took a toll on his body. The last time, he’d been a big crampy mess for an entire day after the birth. This time, with a little work, he might avoid that.

“Mm…,” he said as Brandon started working on his shoulders first. “That’s wonderful. I may keep you.”

“Keep me?” Brandon mock protested. “Keep me? With hands like this, you should marry me!”

Taylor swiveled his head to see if Brandon was joking, but he was standing at Taylor’s back, so Taylor couldn’t see squat. “That would be a pain in the ass,” he muttered.

“What, marrying me?” And there was no mistaking the thread of hurt in his words.

“No, marrying you would be fine. I’d love to be married to you,” Taylor told him. “Ah… yes. Right there. But the wedding. It would be a colossal pain.”

“Yeah,” Brandon muttered, voice falling in disappointment. “You’d have to wait until Nica could be your best friend of honor or whatever—”

“Well, first we’d have to get a pastor or someone—so we’d have to ask Nica’s mom. She’d know someone who knew someone, I have no doubt. Then we’d have to buy all the kids clothes—’cause you can’t just have a flower girl with this bunch, you have to have a flower family—that’s what? One, two, three, four, five dresses, including the one for my namesake because she can’t just wear a diaper, right? That’s a lot. All the guys probably have tuxedos or some such bullshit—everyone but you and me, mind you, so that would be a thing to do. We’d probably have it in that park by Channing and Tino’s house, so we would have to reserve that and maybe get some friends to stake it out and mark it off—like velvet-rope stuff. Maybe a week to print out invitations after we reserve the park and hire the pastor, some time for the mommies and uncles and daddies to go shopping—we’ve got to put Dustin, Conroy, and Keenan in suits, and pretty much the only other people we’d want there are the people you work with and some of our student friends. What’s that? Fifty? Could we do fifty people in a park in September? Three months, Brandon—that’s not much time.”

“I need to sit down,” Brandon said, sounding shell-shocked. “Dear God, you’re a force of nature.”

“You didn’t even ask me if I could cater, you bastard,” Nica snapped, waking up and pouting.

“Princess, all you have to do is dress the children. I’d ask your mother to find us a caterer so you don’t make yourself batshit. Oh—and Sammy and Cooper—we need to give them something to do or they’ll be getting married next, and holy God, they’re what? Sixteen?”

“Twenty-one, old man,” Brandon said without heat. “Did you really just plan our wedding in five minutes?”

“No—you haven’t asked me to marry you. Why would I plan a wedding?”

“Marry me,” Brandon demanded with no ambiguity whatsoever.

Taylor turned to gape at him. “That’s it?”

He was glaring at Taylor through exasperated green eyes. “Please marry me, you grumpy perfect bastard. I love you so much right now I swear I’d have your babies, but I don’t have a cooter.”

“Thank God for that,” Taylor said with feeling. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you. Think Jacob would give you away?”

Nica started to giggle. “He could always sell you his cousin for a couple of sheep.”

Oh God. Taylor bent to kiss her brow. “Love you, sweetheart. Go to sleep. We’ll talk about this when you don’t have a little creature ready to gnaw on you in ten minutes.”

“Love you too,” Nica purred, snuggling down into the heinously uncomfortable hospital bed.

It really was time to leave the hospital room.

“Come on.” Brandon grabbed his hand. “I’ll continue your rubdown out in the corridor, where you can continue to fill me in on all the things we’re going to do for our wedding. What colors will the flowers be? The dresses all those girls are going to wear? Who is going to cater the event? Seriously, Tay—I’m dyin’ here. You didn’t just plan a wedding, you practically wrote a mystery novel.”

“Shut up!”

“Make me,” Brandon purred. They were out in the corridor now, so there was nothing to stop Taylor from whirling Brandon against the wall and pushing their mouths together in a passionate kiss.

Nothing at all.