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I leant over and caught her lips in a kiss. Thank fuck I could do that again since her pain wasn’t as bad. I needed those lips like I fucking needed air. “You should get your ass out of this car and see for yourself. I bought some damn furniture.”
Her eyes widened. “You did? When?”
I shook my head at her. “Fuck, always with the twenty questions.”
“You’re lucky you’ve got bruises and shit on you or else I’d smack you right now.
”
“My bruises are nothing, Tatum.”
She cupped my cheek, looking at the marks on my face. “You keep saying that, but I know he would have hurt you worse than me. Why do you keep shutting down on me when I bring it up?”
“Because I won’t give that motherfucker any more opportunities to hurt us. Yeah, he hurt me, but it was nothing compared to the pain of watching him hurt you. I won’t talk about him with you again. That part of our lives together is done.”
“Our lives together… I like the sound of that,” she said softly, almost as if she wasn’t sure what it meant or didn’t fully believe it.
“Make no mistake, I intend to spend the rest of my life with you, Vegas.”
Her hand moved to curl around my neck. “Look at you all bossy and shit. Do I even get a say in that?”
I’d heard of men thinking they owned women and I’d never bought into that bullshit, but sitting there, with my woman in front of me asking if she got a say in me spending my life with her caused some part of my brain to fire weirdly. As far as I was concerned, she was mine. No other man would ever touch her again; I’d make fucking sure of it. Jesus, if I could have laid her out on the back seat and shown her who she belonged to, I fucking would have. Instead, I showed her with my mouth, and when I was finished, I growled, “You always get a say, but if you think I’m ever going to listen to anything but a yes, you’re kidding yourself. I’ll fucking follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to. You were made for me and I was made for you.”
She beamed at me. Fucking beamed. And then she made my whole fucking life when she said, “I was. Now shut up and show me where I can put my clothes. And it better not be just a drawer. I’m gonna be needing a wardrobe for the shit I’m moving in.”
46
Tatum
“Gone, Gone, Gone” by Phillip Phillips
Six weeks later
“Oh God!” Posey exclaimed as she doubled over with laughter. “I can’t believe you said that to him, Monroe.”
Monroe lifted her mimosa to her lips and drank some before saying, “It was true, though. Look, if a guy’s gonna get his wang out after boasting about how big it is, it better be big. His wasn’t. So I told him.”
“I have to agree with Roe,” I said. “Don’t brag about shit you have no right bragging about.”
Posey wiped her tears from her eyes and drank some of her wine. “You know, Friday afternoon drinks is the highlight of my week. Thank you for letting me join in.”
Monroe lifted a brow. “Even if it’s Milo Friday?”
I smacked her arm. “Shut the fuck up. I told you why it had to be Milo Friday this week.”
“I just hope that Nitro doesn’t think it’s gonna be Milo Friday every damn week.”
“This has nothing to do with h—”
“I don’t know anything about Milo Friday,” Nitro said, joining us at his kitchen table. His eyes met mine and although he wasn’t smiling, they held affection.
“Really?” Monroe asked, perking up as if there was some juicy gossip to be had.
I sighed. “Okay so maybe I left some details out,” I admitted, not wanting to be having this conversation in front of Nitro. Damn Monroe and her bullshit detector.
“Spill, sister,” she demanded.
Nitro settled in with his arms folded across his chest. He knew I reserved every Friday night for the girls and had been surprised when I said it wasn’t on this week and that he should keep the night free to hang out with me.
