He laughs throatily. “And what else?”

“She should be funny, and of course, drop-dead gorgeous. She should also be able to throw a decent punch and have a good stash of curse words to use when needed.”

His hand goes up and slides along my cheek. “Anything else, sweetheart?”

“She should really like sex,” I whisper, meeting his eyes. “And she should definitely be pregnant.”

He grins and slowly, right in front of my eyes, lowers to one knee. “I think you’re all of those things and more, little wingman.”

I smile through the tears stinging my eyes at the use of my nickname.

“I think I might be too,” I rasp.

“And I think if I don’t snap you up right now, someone else is going to.”

“You’re probably right.”

His eyes grow serious, and for the first time I can see the love and admiration in them. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring. The entire bar falls silent. “If you promise to marry me and put up with my bullshit forever, I’ll promise to love your hamsters, always respect Mrs. Mufflepuff and always, always be your best friend.”

Tears leak down my cheeks.

“If I promise to marry you, I’ll promise to always be the reason you laugh and I promise to try and never be the reason you cry. I promise that I’ll always include you in my evil ploys and that I’ll always, always be your wingman.”

He laughs and opens the box, showing me a gorgeous ring. “Well, what do you say? Will you marry me, little wingman?”

“Oh, hell yes!”

The entire bar bursts to life, clapping and cheering as Reigns slips the ring on my finger. Then he stands and scoops me into his arms and swings me around in a circle. I have everything I could ever want: a sexy, yet broody man, a best friend who is free and happy, protection given from a bunch of unruly, gorgeous bikers and their old ladies, who I’ve become very fond of, and of course, there’s the happily ever after at the end of all that.

And who knew that the wingman, or lady, in my case, could actually get the guy?

Now that shit is how stories should truly end.

THE END.