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“You really think you’re gonna win an argument with that woman?” he asked, smirking.
I knew he was right.
But the part of me that was interested in make-up sex with her made me want to try.
“I know,” I said, shaking my head. “And I know she won’t accept money so she can stay out for a little longer, either.”
“Independence is hot, but frustrating in times like this,” Cillian agreed. “She can come back, though. We’re always here. It’s public. No one is going to attack her here.”
That was true.
It was what Nyx had insisted.
And she had bills and shit to pay. Furniture to replace. I understood.
That said, some selfish, almost caveman part of me wanted her to stay in the clubhouse and never leave. Just always be there with me.
I didn’t understand that urge. But then again, everything with Nyx was new to me. I was surprised by the almost immediate sense of possession, this innate urge to protect and take care of her.
I’d never considered myself a caretaker type. Sure, I handled the club and the issues that arose, and all the financial shit that came with being a home and land owner.
But the more touchy-feely shit? That wasn’t for me.
Except, it seemed, when it came to Nyx.
As if I’d summoned her, my phone started to ring in my pocket.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah? That’s how you answer your phone?” Nyx said, and I could practically hear her eyes rolling.
“You calling just to give me shit?” I asked, hearing Cillian let out a snorting laugh.
“While that would likely bring me a lot of joy, no. I want to come with you to my apartment.”
“I can grab your shit, Nyx,” I reminded her.
“You know, you say that. But then you’ll forget important shit. Like my hairbrush. And underwear.”
“You won’t be needing those,” I told her.
“See? You can’t be trusted. Come get me.”
To that, I let out a sigh, just for effect since I was actually smiling.
“Yeah, I’ll scoop you up. Be ready in five.”
“You’ll wait as long as you need to wait,” she told me, just to be difficult.
Then she went ahead and made me wait five extra minutes while she stood in the front window, petting the damn dog. But she was right. I’d wait as long as I had to for her.
“What are you doing?” she asked when I climbed off my bike as she finally came out.
“We gotta take the SUV if you’re planning on packing half the shit you own,” I told her.
“Panties and a hairbrush is hardly half of what I own,” she said, but made her way toward the SUV. “But you have to promise me to take me out on the bike someday.”
Her on the back of my bike, legs glued to my sides, arms wrapping me up? Yeah, that sounded like fucking heaven.
