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“Shut up,” I groan. “You said yourself you didn’t want to hear about anyone I’ve ever had sex with, so I’d like the same courtesy.”
“Touche. Fair enough. Although, I’ve been home a few weeks, and I don’t think you have to worry about it anyways. I don’t recognize any of these girls.”
“Good.” I ignore the joy that minor detail brings me and turn my attention back to the topic of him taking me on a date. “I haven’t been on many actual dates myself, but it doesn't have to be anything formal. I just want to get to know you again,” I say carefully.
“So just hang out and do shit together?” he asks.
“Exactly.”
He blows a breath through the phone, and then a tight laugh escapes him. “Fuck, I’m glad you don’t want me to put on a fucking suit and take you somewhere fancy. That’s what I imagined when you suggested dating.”
A real laugh bubbles out of me, and I can’t control the cackle that erupts. “A suit! My God, can you imagine?”
“No. Not even a little. Which is why I was fucking worried!”
“Where the hell would we even go that you would have to wear a suit? Do you even own a suit?”
Ringer’s tone sobers. “No, but I’d buy one if I had to.”
More butterflies tickle my stomach. It's then that I also notice I’ve gone from doodling little spiral circles to signing ‘Lilah Mack’ over and over again on my scrap paper. I shake off the emotions the silly act erupts in my gut and roll my eyes.
“No suits. Let’s just start with something small. Do you want to come by the bakery in the morning?”
“Will there be baklava?”
“I wasn’t lying when I said it gets made daily!” I say with a grin.
“What are the odds I can convince you to make two pans?”
A blush hits my cheeks, and I press my cool hands against the warmth. “I think I could make that work.”
A loud clang of metal pans hitting the floor in the kitchen pull me from the trance I seem to be in while talking to Ringer. “Shit. I gotta go. Come by around nine tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Bye, Ring.”
“Bye, Princess.”
I toss my phone towards my purse, let out a groan, and force myself to my feet to face whatever disaster I’m going to find in the kitchen. With luck, it’ll be something that will take time to clean up so I can further ignore the new changes in my life for a little bit longer. Because sooner or later, this will all blow up in my face. I just know it.
eleven
Ringer
If I saidthat my dad and Ghost took the news of my and Lilah's marriage well, I’d be lying.
Pops took it pretty damn well. He was obviously shocked as fuck, but fine nonetheless. It was Ghost who was a fucking douche about it.
Never once in my life did I ever imagine getting into a screaming match with my older brother about who I married. I guess I can understand it was a shock. Fuck, it was a shock to me when I woke up and realized that the whole fucking thing wasn’t just a drunken dream.
I haven’t had any freedom in nearly eight years, and within two weeks of being told when to piss and where to step every second of the day, I’m reprimanded like a child again because of my choices.
I walked away from the conversation before I punched my brother in the fucking face.
Now here I am, lying on the cement floor of the garage, tinkering with my bike. After storming out of Pop’s house, I sulked into the garage and called Lilah. As soon as she hung up, I threw all my energy into my bike.
It doesn’t really need shit done with it. The guys took great care of it while I was away, but the mindless activity helps.
