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“Skulking?” he snorted, pulling pajama pants out of the dresser. “Hardly.”
Sir, you need to go right back in that dresser and get some boxers because I’m weak!
“Let me get a good look at you,” I sighed, leaving the bed.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay, Grumpy Grant,” I teased, earning a heated glare from the man.
“Make it quick. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.”
This whole time, I thought Grant’s attitude came from his mother…nope.
I lightly traced a finger over his injuries, starting with the deep scratches that marred his handsome face. They were red and had begun to scab over. My finger left his face and caressed his split lip before I continued my journey down his neck.
“Why didn’t you want to come home?”
“I didn’t want you to fly into a rage and hunt her down.”
I kissed my teeth. “I have a little more self-control than that,” I muttered under my breath. Jonathan shot me a look of disbelief. “She was talking about my baby. Any mother would’ve reacted the way I did. She should consider herself lucky because it could’ve been worse.”
He finally cracked a gorgeous smile and led me to his bed. I could see the heat in his eyes. He had amazing bedroom eyes—dark and smoldering with silent promises to leave you trembling on his soaked bedsheets.
“Have you always been a fighter?” he asked, laying me down and wedging himself between my thighs.
“No, not—”
He interrupted me with a kiss filled with passionate need.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, confused by my lack of participation.
“I was talking, and honestly, I would like to save the “self-care” for our date tomorrow night.
Jonathan groaned and cupped himself through his grey and white flannel pajama pants. “I can’t wait,” he said, kissing me gently before sliding off me. I rolled onto my side, and we faced each other.
“Good things come to those who wait, Jon.”
“I know. Back to our conversation, have you always been a fighter?”
“No, not before Rory. I was very much a ‘let’s use our words’ type of person, but the crowd Rory hung with was a different breed. They were the ‘we’re gonna talk with our fists’ type of people.”
“I’m sure you have an interesting story or two,” he said, smiling as he fluffed a pillow.
“It’s so embarrassing.”
“You don’t think getting my ass kicked by my ex-wife isn’t embarrassing?”
“That’s different, Jon, and you know it. You have no reason to be embarrassed. I’m sorry to say this about the mother of your children, but she’s a fucking loser. She took you for granted and certainly didn’t appreciate or respect you. She lost out on the chance to raise her children and forfeited a lifestyle that some people could only dream of. You did the right thing by not fighting back. You could’ve karate-chopped her in the neck, but you didn’t.”
He chuckled and fell back against the pillow. I couldn’t help but join in—he was infectious like that.
“Sometimes, it sucks doing the right thing,” he commented wistfully.
“Yeah, but you’re better for it in the end. Some people just aren’t worth your time and energy.”
“You’re right,” he sighed. “I just want to pay for her to disappear, you know?”
“Ummmm…disappear how? Like pew pew disappear?” I asked, wondering who I’d been sharing a bed with.
