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She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t try to convince me that if Mark or Brandon came in with a bone to pick, she’d send them on their way with that bone lodged in their ass. That lets me know that she appreciates the gesture.
We eat, the moonlight illuminating everything. It’s beautiful, and from here the curve of the hills blocks the light of the gas station and subdivision. It feels like just me and Tiffany, sharing a romantic moonlit picnic.
“Thank you,” Tiffany says after a few minutes, “for trusting me. I know that’s . . . hard for you.”
“I know I’m not wired like most men,” I admit, “and I’m a handful to deal with. But you’re special, Tiffany. Patient, fiery . . . forgiving. I can’t help but love you.”
“You forgot something,” Tiffany says, smiling in the moonlight. “I’m hot as fuck, too.”
I laugh softly, rubbing her nose with mine. “Yes, you are.”
With every bite, I feel like I’m getting to breathe more deeply. Stress flows out of me with every chew of my coleslaw, and after taking a long drink of lightly sweetened tea, I sigh happily.
“I look at this scenery every day and never once thought of doing this,” I tell Tiffany, reaching out and taking her hand. “Thank you.”
“You said you had work to do,” Tiffany says, giving my hand a squeeze back, “and I’m on board with that. But you have to take care of yourself too.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” I ask her quietly. “Taking care of me the way you do everyone?”
Tiffany wiggles around until she’s between my legs, leaning back against my chest. I wrap my arms around her hips, laying my hands on her thighs. The feel of her body against mine is just what I need, and holding her is a slice of paradise.
“Of course I’m taking care of you right now,” she admits, putting her hand over mine, “But you take care of me too. I think that’s what we’re supposed to do. What love is, and what a good relationship is. It’s not always 50/50, it’s 100/100 most of the time. But sometimes, it’s 100/0,” she says, patting my hand before patting her head, “and when you need something, I’m here. And when it’s 0/100, you’re here for me.”
“When was it 0/100?”
“I do believe you not only mopped up dog water for hours, but then washed me and tucked me into bed instead of giving me some midnight booty call,” she points out. “You gloriously got me coffee and food . . . and then booty called.”
I laugh, inhaling the scent of her hair. “I like your booty.”
“Good, because it definitely likes you,” she admits, squirming in a way that makes her booty rub up against me.
We’re quiet for a moment, enjoying each other and the stars. Tiffany breaks the silence with a question. “So, today was a lot, but skipping over the crazy craziness of ninety-nine percent of it, can we talk about the last part? The part in my office?”
“Being open?” I clarify, and she nods.
“You said that it’s to protect me, but in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t usually give a fuck about other people’s opinions of me. I do what I want, when I want. Mostly.”
“That’s true, mostly,” I agree, “but consider it carefully. Like I said earlier, it will change how people see us both, especially at first. There will be more Pauls and people judging us, thinking they know something about our relationship that they don’t.”
“So we’ll show them. Or tell them. Or tell them to fuck off,” Tiffany replies sassily.
I laugh at her easy confidence. “We do need to talk about Elle, though. How much have you shared with her? Because I won’t love you behind her back. I don’t need her permission, but I do want her to know from both of us.”
“Already taken care of,” Tiffany assures me. “She’s known since . . . well, the first time I met you, honestly. But when I decided to chase you, I made sure she was okay with it.”
“What?”
“You think I’d go behind her back? She’s my girl, so no way would I do her dirty like that. What about you?”
New tension works through her muscles, replacing the relaxed chill of a moment ago.
Repeating her words, I say, “You think I’d go behind her back? I talked to her ages ago too.”
We look at each other in the moonlight, realizing that Elle is probably the best secret keeper anyone could have. A private conversation with her is locked behind a firewall, with no shared connections, not even between the people we’re talking about.
“So, I’m good to scream from the rooftops . . . I love Daniel Stryker! And he loves me too! Especially my booty! Booty . . . booty . . . booty . . .” She mimics an echo, and the teasing tone of her laughter is infectious, bringing a smile to my face a split second before I’m laughing too.
