The Right Side of Forever (The Perfect Duet Book 2)

by Meghan Quinn

“Well, I see it now. You’ve helped me see my worth, Colby. For once, when I look in the mirror, I see the girl you see, and she falls on the left side of perfect and on the right side of your forever.”

  My breath catches in my throat as my heart beats rapidly in my chest. I grip the back of her neck and bring her to my lips, where I let every last inch of my body melt into hers.

  It started with a simple pool game with the wrong girl, a relationship with a woman that kept the love of my life close to me without me realizing it. Then on one fateful wedding night, a friendship blossomed into something unexpected, something I never believed I’d risk again, but needed. She became an addiction, a soul I needed near mine, and even though rocky at times, I saw and believed in the beauty in our pairing. Both Rory and Sage led me to Ryan, giving me the tools and the understanding of what a real relationship is supposed to be.

  It’s not just about love, but about friendship. It’s easy to fall in love, to be infatuated with another person, but what makes a love last a lifetime is the foundation it’s built from.

  My love with Ryan started as a friendship and rolled into an everlasting bond. Not only do I love Ryan, but I like her. I like her so damn much that all I want to do is spend every hour I have with her, letting her push my buttons and hearing that infectious laugh of hers. And keep her out of the kitchen whenever possible.

  She’s my best friend, the girl who stole my heart, and the forever person I’ve been looking a lifetime for. She’s the left side of perfect. She’s the right side of my forever. She’s my everything.

  Epilogue

  COLBY

  “Are you ready?” Stryder asks, hand on my shoulder.

  The boys are outside, ushering people to their seats, while heaters flank the rows, trying to keep guests as warm as possible.

  “Is she ready?” I ask, turning away from the window, nerves starting to prickle the back of my neck.

  A sly smile spreads across Stryder’s face. “She’s ready, man.”

  I let out a long, pent-up breath, letting the tension in my shoulders roll away. It’s going to happen. I’m finally going to make her mine, put a ring on her finger, and give her my last name.

  Ryan Brooks.

  Sounds perfect to me. Meant to be.

  “You know”—Stryder walks me toward the door—“if you think about it, all this heartache and confusion could have been avoided if we had gone after the right girls to begin with at the mountain party.” God, that seems so long ago. We were . . . kids.

  I chuckle, the sound vibrating through my chest. “Where’s the fun in that journey?”

  “Uh, it would have been a hell of a lot more fun than going through all the crap we went through.”

  I think about it.

  It would have been easier, but then again, I’m not sure Ryan and I would have lasted if that was the case. I think we needed to be apart, we needed to find ourselves, and be molded by our experiences before we could become the right fit for each other. Before we could become the right people who knew how to love each other how the other needed.

  “The journey was a son of a bitch, but the end result was worth it.”

  Stryder takes me into a small room right outside the venue. Sheer white curtains drape the windows elegantly, the walls are covered in natural wood, and a white love seat set in the middle of the room, finishes the room nicely.

  “She’ll be right in. Do you need anything? A box of tissues?”

  “Get the fuck out of here.” I playfully push Stryder away.

  When planning our wedding, Ryan made it very clear that she wanted to see me a few minutes before the ceremony. It was important to her to hold me and have a private moment before we were turned in every direction after we say I do.

  She didn’t care about it being “bad luck” or taking away the reaction from our guests of me seeing her for the first time. What she cared about was having one special moment with me.

  How could I say no to that?

  Especially after all we’ve been through.

  Shortly after Ryan moved to Korea, her dad divorced her mom. He said it was a long time coming. Ryan has yet to talk to her mom—she was invited to the wedding but never replied—and although their relationship was non-existent, she's grieved the loss. Thank God for Rory's mom, who has loved and supported Ryan in everything she does. Such a great mother figure in her life, and in some ways, mine too. Slowly but surely Ryan has been gaining the strength to let go of the hurtful and awful things her mom said to her, but it’s been a struggle, one we’re working on together.

  We’ve spent the last year in Korea, not the best station, but luckily, we were recently PCSed to Tyndall Air Force Base in Florida. To say Ryan enjoyed the change of scenery is an understatement, and I’m not too upset about it either because we were able to secure housing on base with a small pool, which means my girl struts around in a bikini seventy-five percent of the time. And her bikinis have been getting smaller and smaller lately.

  When she’s not lounging by the pool, she’s running a blog—something she never thought she’d do—an inspirational one that talks about her journey toward loving herself. It’s been therapeutic and lucrative. She’s made it her mission to instill positive body images in all her followers, which has included makeup tips. Ten-minute videos to show women how to change from applying heavy makeup—their own façade to hide behind—to subtly highlighting their best features. There’s also a seminar in the spring that she’s been asked to present at. I couldn’t be prouder of her.

  There is a light knock at the door and for the first time today, my stomach flips, sending a ball of nerves straight up my spine. This is it.

  “Come here, baby,” I call out, anxious to finally see her, to give her the wedding gift I’ve been hiding.

  The door creaks open, anticipation heightening within me as a peek of white makes its entrance. Slowly, she glides past the door and shuts it behind her, sheltering us from everyone outside.

  I start at her feet where flowy fabric falls over a pair of high heels. My eyes follow a slit off to the side that gives me a glimpse of her tanned and toned leg. Continuing my perusal, I take in her slim waist, followed by strategically placed flower lace that shows her skin in all the right places but covers everything else modestly.

  Goddamn.

  I rub my fingers over my lips as I take in the rest of her. Her blonde hair is loosely pulled up into a bun, with a flower fixed in the back, and she’s applied natural-looking makeup that accentuates her dreamy eyes, but doesn’t hide her gorgeous freckles.

  Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

  And she’s all mine.

  “Baby.” I take a step forward, reaching my hand out to hers, which she shakily takes. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

  “You like the dress?” she asks, a little self-conscious. She went alone when she bought it, FaceTiming with Rory for a second opinion.

  “It’s breathtaking. You . . .” I swallow hard. “You made my heart skip a beat.”

  She lets out a long breath and then smiles at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so lucky you asked me to marry you, Colby. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t remind myself how lucky I am.”

  I bring her knuckles to my lips and place a soft kiss on each hand while looking her in the eyes. “I’m the lucky one.”

  Gently, I pull her in close and cup the back of her head, reveling in this moment before we walk down the aisle. We may be moments from committing ourselves to each other for the rest of our lives, but I know deep in my soul, that we’ve been committed to each other since the day we first met, before our minds understood.

  “Do you want your wedding gift?”

  “You got me something?” She pulls away, a crinkle to her cute brow. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “Tonight, babe, your present to me will be received tonight.” I lean forward and nibble on her ear. “When I strip this dress off you and make love to my wife, that will be your present.” She
shivers beneath my touch, and fuck if I don’t want to take her dress off right now. My fingers itch to pull down the zipper, but I hold back, knowing there is something much more important waiting for us a few minutes from now. Truly claiming her as mine.

  “I think I can make that happen,” she whispers, “and I did happen to buy something special to wear for you tonight.”

  I groan in her ear, gripping her tighter, images of her in white lingerie flooding my mind and making me forget all about what I’m supposed to show her.

  “Maybe we skip the reception and go straight to our hotel room?” I run my hand down the side of her dress to the slit where I skim my fingers along her heated skin to the hem of her underwear.

  She pulls on my tie and brings her lips inches from mine. “But what about the cake?”

  “Fuck the cake, baby, I’m hungry for you.”

  She chuckles and pats my chest. “Patience, Colby. It will all be worth it.”

  “I know it will, that’s why I want you now.” I move my fingers past her underwear and to her ass where I grip it tightly. “Let me at least get a taste of you now. I want to fuck you with my tongue so when you’re walking down that aisle, I’ll know why there is a satisfied smile on your face.”

  She cups my cheek. “I’ll have a satisfied smile because the man I’m going to marry is you.” She kisses my lips and then says, “Plus I’m not getting my pictures taken with a freshly fucked face. Sorry, Colby, I love you, but my dad is going to hold my hand in a few minutes, and I don’t need him wondering why I’m still panting with a red face.”

  I chuckle into her neck and release her ass from my firm hold. Damn it, she’s right. “I hate it when you make sense, you know that?”

  “I know, but the minute the reception is over and we’re in our room by ourselves, I promise you, all clothing will be lost and you can lick, suck, bite, fuck any and every part of me.” Oh fuck. That’s not helping here. She presses another light kiss on my lips before putting more distance between us. “Now what’s this gift you have for me?”

  Knowing there is no way she’s going to let me in that dress, I relent and guide her to the love seat where we both sit, facing each other.

  “Do you remember a while back when we made a bet about what’s considered noon?”

  “How could I forget?” She rubs her tattoo with her thumb.

  “Do you remember when I said I was going to get one too?”

  “Yes, but you never did.”

  “Not true.” I push my sleeve back and show her my arm.

  Written in cursive, on my right forearm are the words right side. In awe, her hands fall to my arm where she gently strokes it a few times.

  “I wondered why you were wearing clothes to bed last night, it was weird.”

  I chuckle. “I didn’t want you to see it until now. This tattoo represents you and the love you’ve forever given me, my right side of forever . . .”

  Tears well in her eyes when she looks at me. “Your right side of forever.”

  “Exactly.” I squeeze her hands and say, “This is it for me, Ryan. You’re it for me. I knew I would get married one day, that I would find the right person, but I never knew the person would be as absolutely incredible as you. You’ve consumed me, taught me about perseverance and strength. You’ve shown me what true, soul-bearing love is, and that it’s the type of love that’s eternal. Whenever I’m flying or on deployment, I know you’ll always be with me, because you’re my forever.”

  One stray tear falls down her cheek and I quickly catch it with my finger before it ruins her makeup. “I love you so much, Colby.”

  “I love you, baby.”

  Stryder was right; we could have made our lives so much easier if we’d chosen the right women first. But this moment right here, experiencing an intensity of love I never knew possible between us, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I know in the depths of my soul, that the journey was worth traveling. The journey made this perfect.

  Thank you for reading The Right Side of Forever! I hope you enjoyed it! My next release, Love Sincerely Yours, co-written with Sara Ney, is releasing October 9, 2018. Pre-order it HERE and you can read the prologue below…

  LOVE SINCERELY YOURS

  PROLOGUE

  PEYTON

  Vivian: God, why is he such an asshole?

  Kimberly: Don’t you think the better question is, “Poor George, why is he never prepared?”

  Peyton: George spends more time at the latte machine than his computer. That’s why. And look how jolly he is. Like a cute little Santa Claus . . .

  Vivian: Sigh. George’s wife makes the best apple pie.

  Kimberly: Oh crap, Vivian, look out. He’s coming for you.

  “Vivian, what came out of your test study?” A man’s voice cuts into our group chat and, unprepared, our coworker stumbles to pull her notes up on her iPad.

  Kimberly: Shit. Viv is a goner.

  Peyton: Oh I feel bad. She’s turning red.

  Kimberly: Yeah, Viv. You’re turning SO red.

  Peyton: Viv, you should see your ears . . .

  Kimberly: Maybe if the devil himself wasn’t breathing down her neck, she wouldn’t be sweating so much.

  Peyton: To be fair, we are in the middle of a meeting. She should be prepared, not pretending to take notes white chatting online.

  Kimberly: Look how irritated he is. His nostrils are flaring.

  Peyton: Yeah . . . look at his face. He looks like a dragon tempted to light the entire room on fire.

  I turn to study him from my position at the conference table, the long wooden slab a monolithic buffer between my boss and me. He’s at the head of the table, brandishing control and his silver tongue over the room like a sharp sword.

  No one is safe from his contempt.

  I watch as he reprimands my friend from the marketing department—her small office is two down from mine—laying both palms on the desk and leaning toward her.

  “I have no new ideas to work with here. How the fu—” He stops himself from cursing mid-sentence, pausing to take a deep breath and starting over. He then runs one of those large, masculine palms through his dark hair. “What the hell is it you do in your office all day? Stare out the damn windows waiting for inspiration? I want you outside for fuck’s sake. Go climb a goddamn mountain. This is an outdoor adventures company, for fuck’s sake. Go outdoors.”

  He pins a mammoth, brawny guy named Branson with a hard, emotionless stare. “Innovation is one of your jobs, Branson. Take a tent out, set the fucking thing up, and find a way to improve it.”

  He’s breathing hard. Pissed off.

  “Look. I know we’ve just come off the holiday season and everyone is beat, but if we don’t get some advances with our designs to boost sales, this fiscal year will end up being complete shit.”

  He drones on, his deep voice reverberating off the walls as we all sit silently, holding our breath.

  Vivian: Uh, hey guys? Do you think he still wants my notes?

  Kimberly: Fuck your notes, Viv. Don’t say another word unless your “notes” are actual notes.

  Peyton: Pretty sure you lost your moment before he stood up and starting pacing like a tiger at the zoo.

  Vivian: Thank God. I had nothing new to add.

  I watch across the table as Vivian slouches with relief, a sly smile playing across her bubblegum-painted lips. Her lithe fingers tap away at the iPad propped up on the table, and I know her next message isn’t to us.

  Kimberly: Do you not have notes because you were so focused on flirting with the guy online that has—how did you put it . . .

  Peyton: Meat steaks for pecs?

  Kimberly: Yeah, that guy. “Meat steak guy.”

  Vivian: I can’t be accountable for my actions. I have to flirt.

  Peyton: You don’t even know if he’s real.

  Vivian: Who cares if he’s real? He’s the perfect distraction.

  “I want everyone to crawl back to their hole of an office and p
ull an idea out of their ass by noon. This is the summer of ‘roughing it.’ Our target demographic—Harry can provide the data—is the millennial and the yuppy. If you don’t know what a yuppy is, google it. If you can’t figure out how to do that, clear the shit out of your desk.”

  At the mention of his name, Harry blanches, an unattractive contrast to the muddy-green color of his short-sleeve plaid shirt. His neck turns a muddy burgundy, which only serves to highlight the stubble his razor missed when he shaved this morning.

  Kimberly: Did you guys just see that? Harry wiped his brow. He’s legit sweating.

  Peyton: Yeah, I saw that—gross. He looks like he’s about to barf. You heard what happened though, right?

  Vivian: No, what happened?

  Peyton: Rumor has it, the ad copy he proofed for Mountain Man Magazine had three errors in it.

  Kimberly: NO IT DID NOT

  Vivian: THREE?? Ohhhh shitttttt . . .

  Peyton: Yes, three.

  Our boss levitates Harry with a pair of eyes so grey I squirm, though they’re not directed anywhere in my direction.

  Thank God.

  Bossman holds up three fingers.

  “How could you let three god—” He stops himself again, pushing his large hand through his thick, ruffled hair. “How could you let three errors get through proofing? You had one job, Harry. One. Keep us from looking illiterate.”

  He has a point; an ad has no more than one hundred words in it.

  “I’m so sorry, Rome. I, uh, had a headache that day.” Harry fidgets with the handkerchief in his hand. It was given to him by his wife, embroidered with his initials and a heart that’s gag-worthy sweet. Too bad he’s using it to wipe the nervous sweat pouring from his temples.

  It’s not a good look for Harry—or anyone for that matter.

  “You’re giving me a headache.” Bossman surrenders to his chair, head in his hand.

  “I’m sorry, Rome, I—”

  “No, Harold, I’m the one who’s sorry.” His meaning couldn’t be more clear: I’m sorry I hired you. I regret it. I intend to fire you if you fuck up one more time. “There will be no second chances.”