“Does a tie make me look too thirsty?” Ryan asks, coming into the bedroom in a button-down shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. It’s a couple of months later, and we’re headed to the opening party at the first PowerBar storefront, in a prime location in the Financial District. “I feel like I’m playing dress-up when I get too smart.”

“A tie is going to make you look just thirsty enough,” I promise. He’s holding out two of them, and I consider for a moment before picking the deep blue one that matches his eyes. Then I smile. “I might put some pants on, though.”

Ryan shakes his head. “Nah, this is the look now,” he says, without missing a beat. “All the cool kids are doing it.” He grins, mischievous. “I could use a pair of socks, though. Have you seen my bag?”

“I put it on the shelf in the hall closet,” I admit, a little sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Ryan smirks. “Of course you did.”

“It was just sitting there on the floor!” I protest, although it’s not like he looks mad about it, exactly. “I like a tidy house!”

“I‘d never have guessed,” Ryan teases. He’s had plenty of opportunity to observe me in my natural habitat the last few weeks—ever since our reunion at the Aquarium he’s been staying at my place pretty much every night of the week. I was worried I might not like having somebody in my space all the time, but—aside from that ugly duffel bag—it’s actually been going amazing.

“You should just take a drawer,” I tell him absently, gazing into my closet as I try and figure out what I’m going to wear. Then I pause, whirling around to look at him. “Actually, you should just take a bunch of drawers.”

Ryan raises his eyebrows. “I should?”

“I mean it,” I say, and as the words come out of my mouth I realize they’re true. “What if you moved in?”

“Seriously?” Just for a moment, Ryan goes very still. “You want me to?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, my heart thudding at the realization. “I really do.”

In fact, I’m already picturing it: the two of us waking up together every morning, ordering takeout and sharing the shower and watching old movies in bed. Flirting and fighting—and, OK, fucking—in a place all our own. It’s same kind of life I imagined back when I was scrolling through Tristan’s Instagram all those weeks ago—but this is a million times better.

It’s Ryan.

And what we have is real.

“OK,” Ryan says now, and his smile is like the sun rising over the East River in the morning. “Yes, I’ll do it. Let’s shack up.”

I laugh. “Live in sin?”

“Get the milk for free.” He smirks, crossing the room in two big steps, and kisses me hard, sweeping me off my feet as the both of us fall backwards onto the bed. His mouth moves lower, grazing down my neck in the way he knows makes me shudder, so I pull my tank top off and straddle him, going to work on the buttons of his dress shirt.

“Here’s a thought,” I say breathlessly. “What’d you do with those ties?”

Needless to say: we’re almost late to the opening.

“It’ll be OK,” Ryan reassures me, as we finally arrive at the PowerBar location, “it’s not like they can start without me, right?”

“Good point.” I grin, checking there’s no sign of lipstick on his shirt. Or neck. Or . . . lower.

“You’re good to go.” I nod briskly, but he pauses.

“Kiss for luck?”

I grin, leaning up to drop one on his cheek. “Go get ’em.”

Inside, the place is packed with celebrities and sports people, plus the media, too. Mason and Arianna are already there, along with Ryan’s business partner Logan and a bunch of his old teammates. Hallie and Max made it out, and so did Cal and Jules. “This place is amazing!” Jules crows, holding her bangle-covered arms out for a hug, and as I look around I see that she’s right: the space boasts high ceilings and big windows, with black-and-white sports photography by local artists hanging on the exposed brick walls. There’s even a massive skylight that retracts in the summer, creating an open-air effect.

“You were right about the subway tile,” Arianna admits with a smile.

“And you were right about this girl,” Ryan tells Mason.

The chef Ryan’s been working with put together hors d’oeuvre-size versions of all PowerBar’s menu items, so we snack on tiny black bean and quinoa sliders and sweet potato fries, then hit the bar for some fresh-pressed juice that’s surprisingly delicious in spite of its fluorescent green hue. A DJ spins chart hits in the far corner, and looking around, I can see that this place is a slam-dunk, home-run, insert-sports-metaphor-of-your-choice success. I feel like my heart might explode with pride.

Someone lays a hand on my arm. “Hey, Livvie,” my dad says with a smile. He’s dressed in khakis and a parrot-green polo shirt, with a young, incredibly familiar-looking blonde woman beside him.

“You came!” I say, wrapping my arms around him and hugging tight. I’ve been checking up on him a bit since the non-wedding, but he keeps insisting he’s fine. Neither one of us have heard from Vanessa—or Tristan, for that matter. And with any luck, it’ll stay that way.

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” my dad says now. “After all, Ryan’s practically part of the family. Hint hint,” he adds with a wink.

I laugh. “Getting that way,” I admit, “but we’re not rushing into anything. Unlike some people,” I tease.

My dad clears his throat. “Well, speaking of that . . .” He turns to his blonde companion. “I believe you’ve met—?”

“Fern,” the woman beams as she holds her hand out. “We shared a really meaningful spiritual journey. I feel like we’re bonded already!”

And that’s when the penny drops: she’s the tantric sex coach from Vanessa’s bachelorette party.

Because of course she is.

I wait for the familiar rush of exasperation—with my dad and his questionable taste in young women, with young women and their questionable taste in my dad—but, to my surprise, it doesn’t come. The truth is, I’m too happy. And if my dad is, too, then that’s good enough for me. “Great to see you again,” I tell her warmly. And glad to be seeing less of you this time, I don’t add. “Why don’t you guys check out the juice bar?” I lean in and add in a whisper to my dad, “The bartender will find you some bourbon, if you ask nicely.”

“What would I do without you?” My dad smiles and heads off with his new, oh-so-flexible friend.

Then there’s a loud whistle cutting through the crowd. Everyone stops talking and turns to the back of the store, where Mason is gesturing for silence. “I give you, the man of the hour. Come on up, Callahan!”

There’s cheers and applause, and Ryan hops up on one of the tables, looking bashful. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m not the type for big speeches,” he starts, smiling broadly. “But I do want to thank you all for coming out and celebrating tonight with us. This business has been a dream of mine for a long time, and I’m fucking pumped to see it come to life, if you’ll excuse my language.”

People laugh, and I take the moment to look around the room. Everybody’s watching Ryan with respect and admiration, and I couldn’t be prouder.

“Mason’s been an awesome mentor to me,” Ryan continues, “and I have to thank everybody behind the scenes. But there’s one person who’s really given me the support and wisdom I needed to make this happen. She’s the one who believed in me when I wasn’t sure I could follow through, and it’s because of her I’m standing up here right now. Olivia, come on up.”

He points to me, and every head turns. I gulp and shake my head. I stay in the background, I don’t go chasing the spotlight, but Ryan insists, and someone gives me a firm nudge towards him. I catch a glimpse of Hallie’s innocent smile, and then Ryan reaches down and lifts me onto the table beside him.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he says softly to me, and my heart just melts. “I’m lucky to be on your team.”

I’m the lucky one, because I know he’s the only one for me. And as Ryan dips me in a deep, slow kiss—applause fading as I sink into the rush—I know this is going to be one hell of a ride.

And it’s only just beginning.