I mash my lips together when my chin starts to wobble again. “It’s really frustrating that I have to keep it together because I really want to squish you right now and give you all the cuddles. I’m so mad, and sad, and I love you a lot.”

  Michael’s smile is gentle and soft, like he can’t believe it either. “Can’t believe I’m NIKTORIOUS’s boyfriend. Wow.”

  I swipe at my face again, my cheeks feeling raw and sore. “Shut up, shut up.”

  “You can’t make Superman shut up,” he says, laughing now, cutting it off on a pained gasp.

  “No laughing, only watching the movie. I’m going to take care of you, don’t worry.”

  Michael smiles at me opening up his arms (slowly), waiting for me to carefully (so carefully) snuggle close, checking in almost every second to see if he’s hurting anywhere. “I love you, Victoria Prewitt. Just you.”

  “Okay,” I say, sighing, laying a kiss on his chest after I pull up Die Hard 3 to watch. I let it play in the background, listening to the inner workings of his chest pressed right up against my ear. “Okay. We’re going to be okay.”

  TWENTY

  “Come on, one more push-up, one more,” Michael coaches and as soon as I push my bodyweight up as he yells at me to keep my hips down and my back flat as I struggle to get my body in the upper plank position. I then promptly collapse, and I make the executive decision that I’m going to beat his ass, as soon as I can move my arms.

  “I’m just going to stay here,” I murmur against the mat, hot cheek pressed against it as I try to catch my breath. I want to get up, I do, but that would require me moving right now and that I cannot do.

  “Permission to help you up?” Michael asks, hovering over me, and I just grunt an affirmative and give a weak thumbs up. I’m moved around like a ragdoll until I’m sitting upright, arms limp at my sides, trying to blow the droplet of sweat out of my eye before the sucker blinds me. It’s a no-go though, and I have to squint and actually move my arms and hands to rub at my eyes.

  “I don’t want to move ever again. You’re going to have to carry me everywhere,” I say, grunting, panting more than a little as I take deep breaths and attempt to regulate my heartbeat. “Why do I let you talk me into doing one more rep, why?”

  “Because I’m handsome?” he asks, tilting his head at me, sitting down next to me as I struggle to catch my breath, especially with him looking like a god, all muscles and hard planes, and all rounded sweetness when it comes to his face despite the sharpness of his jawline.

  It doesn’t help, either, that his golden-brown eyes are alight with a joke, a private one that we tend to share. And honestly, I don’t mind hyping up my boyfriend, especially when he gets so adorably flustered.

  “Super handsome, Superman,” I say, watching him duck his head, getting bashful in front of me, in front of the entire gym when he looks like the Hulk without the green skin tint. “But also because my arms are dead and I’m not even sure I can wash my hair tonight. Really, it’s all your fault. I don’t even know how I’m going to feed myself.”

  Michael glances up, a smile playing along the corners of his mouth, like he’s just about to break into a grin, and I love that look on him, puckering my lips and leaning forward, silently demanding a kiss.

  It’s hilarious to me that he glances around to make sure that no one’s watching, and it hurts to see that, of course, knowing that he’s shy because of what he’s known from his romantic past. Honestly though, if people don’t want to watch me kissing my boyfriend just because well, then, they can turn away.

  Michael kisses me quickly, chastely. When I hum in disappointment, he lets out a huffed breath, licks at his lips and kisses me one more time, just a little longer, and it’s perfection.

  “Thank you, Superman. I’m still not joking though, you’re going to have to help me up. Everything hurts.”

  After a brutal upper body workout and HIIT for a whole half hour in which I wanted to throw up three whole times but still somehow managed to get through it, I’m totally spent and I couldn’t move, even if there was a velociraptor that’s loose and looking for an easy meal.

  I could really just make a home here, on the mat, never to move again, but then I’d never see Michael again, and that would suck.

  “Are you working tonight?” he asks, helping me up to my feet by picking me up like I weigh nothing at all, and judging by what he can bench and deadlift, I barely make him strain, even a little bit.

  It’s very weird being carried in adult mode, and I hold my body stiffly, glancing around as people start to look. My cheeks start to burn and I make Michael put me down—which he does because he’s Michael—and he walks me to the women’s locker room, heading to the men’s once I’ve gone inside.

  We leave the gym after we’ve both showered, my blue hair not as bright as it was before Christmas and the color’s fading out quite nicely now, less of an electric blue to a more baby blue, and I really like it. Michael does, too, with the amount of times he plays with the ends of my hair, winding his finger around the strands, watching the contrast of color against his golden skin.

  “So…uh…” I say, while Michael drives us back home, since it was his turn to drive so he doesn’t waste all of his gas if we’re going to the same place anyway. Once he parks in the building parking lot and we’ve both exited the car, heading toward the elevators, I blurt out what I’ve been wanting to ask him all week. “Do you think you wanna meet my parents?”

  Michael freezes when we both get into the elevator, so I end up crashing in behind him, smashing my face up against his hard bulk, letting out a surprised whine that has him turning around to check on me first, instead of telling me what’s wrong.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I’m serious, why would I joke about that?” I shake my head, rubbing at my stinging nose. “It’s not like they’re villains or anything, but I am nervous about them meeting you. Actually, my little sister thinks you’re nothing but a figment of my imagination.”

  “What do you think? Do you think they’ll like me?”

  I point at him. “You? Not like you? You have to have a cold, dead heart not to like you, Superman.”

  Michael grins, his blush darkening on his cheeks as he ducks his head and shuffles closer to me, bending almost double so he’s practically hovering over me. I wind my arms around his neck and let him just rest on me. I’m stronger now, I can let him do that.

  “Are you okay? What’s going on, huh?” I ask, as we shuffle out of the elevator. Michael lifts me up to carry me like a princess and really, I’m not going to object, although I let out a startled bray of a laugh that gets him laughing, too, so really, it’s a win-win.

  “I’m just happy. Can’t I be happy?”

  I swat at his shoulder, then lean down as much as I’m able and kiss whatever’s closest. “Yeah, of course. I’m glad you’re happy. Super glad.”

  “You’re just using that word over and over again ’cause I can’t control my blush whenever I hear it.”

  Well, I’m caught. I shake my head, though, pretending. “I super don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say with a grin. “Where are you going, to yours?”

  “I want food, and I want to watch a movie with you.”

  “So, basically what we do every other night when we see each other. I like it, I like it.”

  “Do you have to work?” he asks, eyebrows raised in question.

  I shake my head. I’ve gotten wiser with my gaming—it actually was one of my New Year’s resolutions, to be more careful with myself and how much I can play a day, not to make myself sick because I had literally nothing else going on.

  Self-care can also come in the form of taking care of your finances, or so it seems.

  It’s made me realize what’s important, how I’ve pushed away Amber because it was convenient, because she wasn’t as nosy as Max (who’s busy as all hell on any given day, but forced herself to check in with everybody because she’s the mediator of the group, through and through), and being with my family and friends is important, not to mention my health.

  I can’t be completely burned out before I hit thirty, I won’t allow it.

  I’m gaming less now than ever, but the way I’ve set up my play time is that I put in a few hours every single day—like you would a regular day job—racking up points for the league I’m in, helping at keeping us at first place for the time being, and playing other games on my own time, when I feel like it.

  There’s another tournament coming up in July worth big prize money, and I’ve deferred my entry into the fitness competition world because I want to do the tournament first, set up my finances and schedule without trying to put on weight for my weight class.

  I’ve never felt physically or mentally stronger, and I’ve never had such a ready-for-anything type of mindset that it’s a little unsettling, to be honest.

  So I don’t necessarily freak out as much as I could have, or would have before Michael came into my life, literally swept me off my feet by making sure when I passed out that my head didn’t crack against the unforgiving floor. Timing, or whatever you want to call it, brought us both here, where Michael puts me down and unlocks his front door.

  There’s got to be a hundred flameless candles all over every inch of space in his living room, even in a path going towards his living room, keeping the harsh light to a minimum and the glow absolutely cozy and beautiful.

  “Michael?” I shuffle inside his place, looking around at every inch of space covered with those candles, looking like something out of a fantasy that I could have had when I was younger.

  “Is this for me?” My throat tightens up as I look around and then look back to him, his shoulders practically hiked up to his ears, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, and he’s fidgeting in his boots, not having taken them off yet. “Michael?”

  “I…uh, I wanted to celebrate an early Valentine’s Day with you, because we’re both going to be busy on the day, so I thought this was a good idea. Was it not a good idea?” He’s shuffling on the spot, and he’s looking around as if now realizing that he might have gone overboard.

  “Come here,” I say, crooking my finger at him, something trembling in my chest, ricocheting off my ribs on a swell of affection and love I have for this guy, holy shit. It’s unreal.

  “Come here, please,” I ask again, waving my hands to try to get him to move faster. He toes off his boots, and shuffles towards me, trying to make his giant frame smaller, as if I’m going to scold him.

  I hold both of my hands out, waiting for his big paws to fit against mine while I walk us backwards, leading him into his living room. “I can’t believe you did this for us. It’s so beautiful,” I say, my voice trembling.

  Michael looks up from his feet, alarmed at the sound of my voice.

  “I can’t believe sometimes that you make me feel this way, that you love me, you know? Look at this place, it looks magical, and I want to stay here forever. I didn’t know you were so romantic.”

  Michael shrugs, bashful, still, and all I can do is squeeze down on his hands in a reassuring grip. “I love it, I love all of this. This is the best Valentine’s Day ever. You know I’ve never celebrated with a boyfriend before? You’re my first.”

  “No way,” he says, voice huskier now as he moves closer to me, winding my arms around his waist so I have to lean back (and back) to look up at him. “I don’t believe that.”

  “It just never worked out—timing and all that.”

  Michael laughs, rolls his eyes. “I’m never going to get you to forget about that, huh?”

  I smile at him, snuggling in close. “No way, I’m gonna use it forever.”

  “Yeah, okay, I deserve that, I guess. But if you really think about it, timing brought us here, right? So it can’t be that bad.”

  I shake my head, laughing as I press my ear over his chest, listen to the drum beat of his heart there. “No, guess not. I guess not. Look at this place, holy shit, just look at it. How long did it take you to do this?”

  “That is not a secret I’ll divulge right now. Why don’t we sit down? I’ve got beer and wine in the fridge, and really good food, the kind I can eat.” Michael’s starting a harsher cutting phase right now, restricting his calories to lean out, and I’m appreciating the view of seeing all the tiny muscles that make up his big body (seriously, he gives Thor a run for his money).

  Although it does suck that he doesn’t get to eat what he wants, and I’m going to miss those round cheeks as he gets deeper and deeper into his cutting phase, and the way every ounce of body fat’s going to melt right off his big frame.

  We bring our salads and steaks with boiled potatoes to the living room, eating right off the coffee table, and we’ve got sugar-free Jell-O for dessert, and I’m not complaining. I’ve got a secret stash of Golden Oreos in my pantry back home, so I’ll be okay if my own sweet tooth won’t be satisfied after all this food I’m about to eat.

  We watch Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, sharing food, with me giving most of it to Michael because he’s hungry and needs to fill up on salad since it’s got basically zero calories except for the vinaigrette.

  “I want cookies,” he says, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. “Shit, I want cookies.”

  “I know, drink some water, and we still got the Jell-O.”

  “It’s not the same,” he groans, practically whining, and honestly, I get it, I do. I’d been previously warned that he’s going to be really cranky when he’s cutting out foods and trying to reduce his body fat, getting leaner for his competition, but so far, so good. We haven’t really been in it for long, and I’m going to have to deal with his mood swings.

  I mean, shit, if someone told me I couldn’t eat my favorite foods while cutting out everything else that I love? I’d be a downright whiny baby, too.

  “I know, Superman, I know.”

  Michael sighs, leaning against me now, sighing again when I run my fingers through his hair. I press a kiss to the top of his head, losing my mind a little that he’s so big and bulky, but he basically wants to be cuddled all the time now. I know that Michael’s going to be feeling colder as we get deeper into cutting season, but it just means I’m going to be a human blanket and I’m A-OK with it.

  I went from having no one in my place, to having Michael come over there, or me being over here more often than not, gaming when I need to, keeping up with my socials when I need to, and making my money through my job, and working out to feel healthier and stronger day by day.

  I also have a boyfriend, my very own Superman who’s saved me twice.

  We’re lucky that after he got hit by a car, he was in such excellent shape that there wasn’t lasting damage, even though he needed some physio sessions to loosen up tense muscles, and a whole lot of massages to get him back to where he is now.

  I’ve been nervous about touching him, not wanting to accidentally hurt him just because I want to be close, but the way he’s been carrying me around today without any sort of pained expression or laboured breathing has me thinking that he’s missed me touching him, too.

  I don’t see the last half an hour of the movie—but we all know Indiana basically saves the day—and my lips are swollen and tingling from Michael’s kissing, his hands roaming over my body, tugging me close to him so I’m somehow in his lap.

  It’s like waking up from an excellent dream when I open my eyes, when I lean back to catch my breath, glancing around at the (fake) candlelight. Michael’s glancing up at me with so much love that it makes my heart want to break out of my chest and attach itself to his.

  I lean down and kiss him some more before getting up and to my feet, holding out a hand while the movie plays out in the background.

  Michael stands up, too, frowning at me, but I lead him into his bedroom (the exact backwards layout to my own place), looking at the dresser with some change and cash on the top of it, a couple of bottles of cologne that I will need to memorize later, catalog all the things that he likes and dislikes because honestly, I don’t know if I’m ever going to measure up to this glorious almost-Valentine’s Day.

  Not that I have to measure up, just that I should keep doing things for him because I want to, because he’s my boyfriend and I love him and care about him.

  “The bed’s not made, sorry,” he says, scoffing a little on a weak laugh as I glance over to the mattress now, taking note of the rumpled sheets and blanket.

  “That’s okay,” I say, squeezing down on his hand and tugging him closer to me. “We were just going to mess it up anyway.” I lead him to the bed, where he takes a seat, a couple of flameless candles on his nightstands the only light in the room.

  Michael puts his hands on my hips as I stand between his spread legs, leaning down to kiss his kiss-swollen lips, swollen because I made him that way. I sigh against his mouth.

  If timing brought both of us here, then I’m okay with it.

  It took two fainting episodes and a secret identity being found out to get us here, but we’re here, and that’s all that matters.

  “I love you,” I murmur against his mouth in sweet, delicate kisses that turn heated.

  I show him how much I love him, in every way I know how.

  TWENTY-ONE

  New Year’s Eve…One Year Later…

  Max, the Max Prewitt I’ve known my whole entire life, isn’t wearing any makeup, like zilch.

  Which, of course, is fine, obviously, but this is Max.

  She basically has eyeshadow in her blood, and to see her without it in a crazy winged, negative space type thing? She isn’t even wearing any eyeliner or mascara, and alarm bells keep going off in my head.

  There’s something seriously wrong.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I ask, tugging down on my dress because it was way shorter than I thought it was gonna be, but here we are, me being uncomfortable, wearing Michael’s suit jacket that just makes me look like a floating head and a walking pair of legs, so win-win, I guess?