“Two out of three ain’t bad.” I meet Grip’s eyes in the bathroom mirror. “You’re officially a Grammy winner now.”

“And losing best new artist to Kai is no loss at all.” He grins at me, brushing his teeth as we get ready for bed. “Least we kept it in the family.”

“Yeah, Kai had a huge night. Three trophies.” I yawn while removing the makeup from my face with a wipe. “I think Rhyson was on a higher cloud than she was.”

“He’s proud of her, and he should be.” Grip leans against the marble counter in my bathroom. “Grammys, movies, endorsements . . .”

“And Broadway,” I insert, running a brush through my unruly hair. “Just give me a little time.”

“Yeah. Kai’s on that world domination trip. She’s on the come up big time.”

“You are, too.” I lean into him, pressing my chest to his. “Song of the year’s nothing to sneeze at.”

Grip palms my head and lays a kiss in the hair at my temple without acknowledging my compliment.

“And best rap song.” I lower my lashes to study our feet, almost touching. “With Qwest.”

He tips my chin up, searching my eyes.

“Did it bother you to see us up there together?”

“It bothers me to see you with anyone who isn’t me.” A tired, self-deprecating laugh rumbles over my lips. “But I was okay.”

I hesitate, biting my lip before going on.

“She still has feelings for you, ya know.”

Grip runs his tongue over his teeth, a thoughtful frown disrupting the strong line of his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I know.”

I tip up on my toes and kiss his chin, slipping a hand to the back of his neck. He rubs my back and we appreciate the closeness of each other’s bodies for a minute, the silence swelling with a tenderness, an intimacy I can’t imagine sharing with anyone else.

“Your performance tonight . . .” My words evaporate because I can’t find the right ones to express how moved I was when he performed “Bruise.” It wasn’t just me, either—he ushered the entire crowd to another plane during that performance, and I still feel like I’m coming off a high. “I’ve seen you be amazing, but this was something else. It was on another level, from a different place.”

“It felt . . . I don’t know.” He shakes his head and shrugs, a helplessness limiting what he can say about it even now. “It was a once-in-a-lifetime moment. I couldn’t hold it together. Thinking about those guys who died and the cops who were ambushed, I just lost it.”

I don’t respond for a moment because I can’t. The same emotion that overcame me during his performance steals my words again. Seeing those names scrolling behind him, seeing the tears rolling down Grip’s cheeks, looking around and seeing that I was surrounded by wet faces and broken hearts, there was a oneness in that crowd I’ve never experienced before. What if we achieved that kind of unity without music? Without a stage? In our communities and in the streets? How would that feel?

“That was sweet, dedicating the Grammy for song of the year to your cousin Greg,” I say, clearing my throat and shifting to something I can actually articulate. “He’s a good cop.”

“And to Chaz.” Voice subdued, eyes somber, Grip wears the sadness that always accompanies thoughts of Jade’s fallen brother.

“Yeah, and to Chaz,” I slur the words as exhaustion takes its toll. The last few days have been nonstop.

Grip links our fingers, allowing our hands to dangle between us. He caresses over my hip and down my thigh before cupping my ass possessively, warming me through the silk of my nightgown. His bare torso and long, muscled legs in just briefs stir my passion, but I’m too exhausted to do anything about it.

A first for me.

My head flops against his shoulder, and I can barely keep my eyes open. There was all this press after the show, and then we must have hit every after-party Hollywood had to offer.

“Come to bed,” he whispers in my ear, ghosting kisses down my neck. “To sleep. You’re obviously too tired for anything else.”

I almost trip over my feet, stumbling behind him as he leads me to the bed. I climb in, grateful when he pulls the comforter up over my shoulders.

“Do you miss your loft?” I ask with the last of my consciousness. My eyes droop drowsily and I consider him in the light of the lamp on his side of our bed.

“Not really.” He lies on his side, tucking his pillow in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “We don’t need the place in New York and two places here in LA. The guys from Kilimanjaro subleasing the loft makes sense. Besides, I got spoiled living with you last semester, waking up with you every morning.”

He pushes my hair back and runs his thumb over my cheekbone.

“I can’t go back now.”

We share weary smiles and skim our lips in sleepy kisses until my eyelids drift closed.

“Bris.”

I start awake, barely.

“Wha . . . Huh?”

“I need to ask you something.”

“Is this something I need to actually remember tomorrow?” I murmur, eyes closed and the cool pillow soothing under my face.

“Yeah, you need to remember this.”

“Okay,” I mumble through a yawn. “Shoot.”

“When can we get married?”

My eyes pop open to find him watching me, his expression as alert as if it’s the top of the morning, not the end of an extremely exhausting, emotionally draining day.

“What?” My heart buffets my ribs, fighting against the tired body caging it. “When . . . why . . . what?”

“You heard me.” He chuckles, brushing a knuckle over my brow. “We said we’d set a date after the Grammys were behind us.”

“And you consider, oh, an hour ago ‘behind us’?” A tiny, tired smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

“Yeah, I do.” He moves forward until our heads are on the same pillow and our foreheads press together. “When will you marry me?”

It feels like rocks are tied around my arms, but I lift and link them behind his neck, scooting close enough that the heated hardness of his body absorbs mine.

“Depends,” I say, my voice weary and husky. “You want to do it tonight, or would you prefer tomorrow?”

My eyes may be barely open, but there’s no doubt in my mind they are certain, no doubt he reads complete willingness in them. If he said to me that we should drag our tired asses out of bed right now to go get married, I’d do it. He knows that; his pleased smile tells me so.

“It doesn’t have to be tonight or tomorrow.” He leaves one last kiss at the corner of my mouth. “But it will be very soon. Just making sure you’re down for very soon.”

He reaches over to turn off the lamp.

“Okay,” he says into the darkness. “Now you can go to sleep.”

With complete contentment and the promise of forever very soon, I do.