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She ignores me and grabs two plates from the cabinet. My hands continue to roam over her backside as she sets two lamb chops on each dish. She adds a side of simmering vegetables and sprigs of rosemary. Then she drops the tongs and turns to face me.
I immediately take her mouth. She moved in a month ago, and I can’t get enough. It took more than a year of court bullshit to end the guardianship and restore her rights. More than a year of only seeing her on the weekends or when I took a day off work, fondling each other in the group home’s garden but never going farther because of prying eyes. We went on a few dates, but a state-mandated caregiver was always with us. It annoyed the hell out of me.
It was also a struggle to get my body in working condition after the gunshot hit my liver, cracked a few ribs, and tore up my soft tissue. My liver and ribs healed, but the damn soft tissue is taking its sweet-ass time. Still can’t do long core workouts.
What surprised me most was the mental damage. Bad dreams. Flashbacks. Loud noises, like weights slamming on top of each other on machines at work, making my heart race. I’m happy that fucker is dead, but I heard gunshots in my sleep for months after that night. Had nightmares of Paige getting hurt while I was trapped somewhere, helpless to stop it. Going through therapy and having Paige here, where I can keep her safe, made the nightmares fade. My body is also less jumpy. We made it through just like I promised, and both our wounds are healing.
I’d go through all this grief again, get shot multiple times, just to save her. No question.
I lift her onto the kitchen counter, and she touches my jaw.
I push my thumb between her legs, finding that sweet spot beneath her yoga pants that makes her squirm. I rub circles in the fabric. “Dessert first,” I say against her hair. “After dinner, I was thinking we start the evening with music track six. End with track nine?”
A playful grin lifts her cheeks.
“Twenty?” I say before licking the side of her neck. “My goddess must be horny.”
She giggles and nods as my other hand cups her breast. Her fingers twist through my hair.
“Holy fuck,” Amber says behind us, dropping a bag on the tile. “Ew. How many times am I going to catch you two doing this? Seriously, calm down already.”
I straighten myself with a sigh as Paige hops off the counter. “You could learn to knock,” I say, “and stop acting like you still live here.”
She hugs Paige and then waves a dismissive hand at me with no other response. I love that she moved out so Paige and I can have space, but she could’ve moved farther than three spots down. When I told her our neighbor Jacklyn was looking for a roommate, I was only thinking about getting Amber out. I didn’t think about how often she would still be around.
Paige sets our plates on the table and asks Amber,
“Sure,” Amber says at the same time I say, “No.”
Amber frowns at me. “Go put a shirt on, tubby.”
I make fists. I am going to demand she give back her key to my place. That’s what I’ll do. Amber is officially banned from my house for good. Tubby? What the hell.
Paige looks happy about Amber joining us, so I stalk to my room and cover myself with a shirt. I’ll demand the key back later. When I return to the kitchen, Amber has made herself at home and pours one of Paige’s sparkling ciders into a glass.
Paige asks, motioning to what Amber brought.
I sit at the table with them and taste the lamb. It’s fucking delicious. “Thank you for dinner, honey. I love it.”
Paige beams at me.
“Oh,” Amber cuts in, pulling Paige’s focus back to the bag, “just some vintage items I got from a classmate. I’m trying to convince a coworker to give me some stuff, too. Just doing my part to help fill that new inventory shed you two stuffed in the backyard.”
“No problem. Are we still on for dinner with Frank this weekend?”
“Yup,” I say, cutting through the meat. Frank had his own legal hell to get through this past year. In the end, shooting that man was ruled self-defense.
Amber picks at her vegetables with shifty eyes. “So, uh, Brody. You heard from Miguel at all?”
“Miguel? Yeah. We work together. I see him every day.”
“Oh, I know. But, like, how is he doing?”
“Fine. Keeps bugging me to go to the club even though I told him those days are over for me.”
Amber rolls a carrot around her plate, eyes downcast. “Oh, he still goes to the club?”
