Following the Rules (The Script Club 1)

“But…”

I swallowed over the ball of emotion in my throat and blurted, “I love you.”

Topher’s mouth fell open. “Simon…”

“I love you. I’m not afraid anymore. I have options. I have a path. I have people rooting for me. And I have this guy in my life who makes every fucking thing seem possible.”

He swiped at the corner of his eye and launched himself into my arms. “I love you too. I love you.”

I held him tight and kissed his temple. “I told my parents and George about us…and my decision.”

“You did?”

I nodded. “No one seemed surprised. I feel like the last guy to figure out what’s been right in front of my face all along. I don’t want to waste any more time. I want you, Christopher. I want us.”

“Me too. I just…never thought this was an option.”

“Baby, you are the only option for me. You. Just you. I love you.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, loving the weight and feel and smell of him. I pulled back to rain kisses all over his face, sending his glasses askew. He chuckled when I straightened them, and met my gaze with an adoring look that made me feel ten feet tall.

“Come with me. I want to show you something.” I laced my fingers with his and pulled him with me around the side of the brick and stucco building, stopping short in front of a huge tree with a massive trunk and sprawling roots.

Topher set his hand on the bark and grinned. “You wanted to show me a tree?”

“Not just any tree. I did my research. This is the oldest and biggest one in the city. They say it’s over a hundred years old. It has deep roots and long history. I’m not a poet. I’m a jock. I’m not good at math or science—but I can learn, and I can do other things. I can be like this tree for you. Solid, strong, constant. I can offer you shelter or shade or a place to rest. I can be whatever you need. Just give me a chance. I promise you won’t regret it. And maybe in a hundred years, this will be us.”

“A tree.” He pursed his lips together and let his laughter bubble to the surface as he slipped his arm around my waist.

“Yeah, but a big, awesome tree.”

His smile lit up his face. “That is so very strange and yet so very romantic.”

“That’s me…Mr. Romance.”

Topher chuckled, then rested his head on my shoulder and tightened his hold around my waist. Golden leaves from nearby maples danced at our feet as we stood under the massive canopy, lost in each other and a new beginning.

Life had a funny way of throwing obstacles that led to a better path. My professional direction wasn’t clear, but I knew where I was going and who I wanted to be with. The script would make sense as long as we were together, following our own rules.

Epilogue

“We love the things we love for what they are.”—Robert Frost

Topher

The school bell chimed loudly in the distance, competing with a car alarm, a siren, and the steady beat of running shoes hitting the dirt. I drowned them all out with practiced ease as I analyzed data on my laptop from a shady corner on the bleachers facing the high school track. The measurement for the change in velocity seemed off. I stared at the equation, hoping to unscramble the missing link before my time was up and—

“Hey, hot stuff. Are you still studying Beowulf?”

I chuckled at the old joke as I met Simon’s mischievous gaze. “Not today. I’ve moved on to calibrating velocity.”

He pulled a “yikes” face, then yanked a towel from the gym bag at my feet and draped it over his head, wiping sweat from his brow. “Babe, will you grab a clean T-shirt for me?”

I reached into the bag and handed him the tee and a bottle of water. “Drink this. I’m not sure it’s enough. You’ve lost a lot of fluid. If you’re not hydrated, your body can’t perform at its highest level.”

Simon snickered like a kid. “Don’t worry, baby, my body will be ready to perform…as soon as we get home. And after I shower. I stink.”

His sun-kissed skin glistened and his muscles flexed as he stripped out of his old tee, tugging the fresh one over his head. I shamelessly admired his graceful movement and effortless athleticism, loving that I had the right to ogle him to my heart’s content. Simon Murphy, aka the most beautiful hunk on planet Earth, was mine. All mine. My boyfriend, my lover, my best friend, and in two shorts weeks, my roommate.

Simon had purchased a three-bedroom fixer-upper near Old Town last fall. It was a mid-century cottage with good bones and bad everything else. The floors sagged, the insulation was thin or nonexistent in some areas, the electricity and plumbing needed to be replaced, and the kitchen and bathroom were…awful. I honestly hadn’t seen the point, but he had a vision.