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“You do that.” So much laughter is in his voice. Bastard.
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m thinking this conversation would be much more fun if I were there to shut you up.”
“I’m thinking I agree. Depending on your method of shutting me up, of course.”
“I can’t tell you in advance. It’s impulsive. You know that.”
“No, I’m the impulsive one in this relationship. You’re the planner one.”
“I like hearing you say that.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “What? That you’re a planner?”
“Don’t be difficult, you awkward bitch. You know what I mean.”
“Oh, yes. The relationship part. The thing that makes me your official bitch. I should get that on a badge. ‘Tyler Stone’s Bitch.’”
“I can arrange for one to go on your next birthday card if you’d like,” he quips.
“You’re about five months too late for that, honey.” I grin. “Perhaps I should just get a shirt printed.”
“You should. And you should wear it all the time.”
“Sheesh. Honey, if you get any more territorial, you’ll be pissing on my legs.”
“If my cock is that close to your legs, it won’t be peeing on you. It’ll be between them and coming inside you. Just so that’s clear.” His voice takes on a husky quality that makes me shiver.
Yikes. Okay with me…
“Aren’t you supposed to be all romantic now that we’re in a relationship?” I ask, holding back my laughter.
“What, do you want me to send flowers and shit?”
“Flowers are nice. Handcuffs are nicer.”
“Then I’ll send you a bunch of flowers secured by a pair of handcuffs.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me. Goodnight, Liv.”
The line goes dead. I stare at the screen dumbly.
Why do I believe he would?
I rub the lingering sleep from my eyes as I park my car outside the bar. The new bar. Aaron’s bar.
Kind of my bar.
It’s an odd feeling, knowing that, in twelve days, the bar will be ready to open and I’ll be the guy—er, gal—in charge. The only thing I’ve ever really been in charge of before is my freakin’ cat, and considering his lack of canned food, he’d argue that I do a pretty crappy job.
I pause in the middle of the sidewalk and set a reminder to go to the store and get Angus some food. And food for me because my cupboards are seriously skinny right now.
Tucking my phone in the pocket of my sweater, I walk into the bar, now named Indulgence. Not much has changed since Aaron brought me here a few days ago. There’s still dust everywhere despite the use of dust sheets, and I’m still given a bright yellow hard-hat before I can go more than five steps.
At least there are a million black marble tiles stacked in the corner ready to be laid on the floor.
