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“And you can visit,” I told him.
“And fuck you on your dinner break?” he asked, smirking down at me.
“Still not sick of me, huh?” I asked.
“Don’t think that’s possible, babe,” he said, rolling off of me, then making his way to the bathroom.
Again, they weren’t, you know, love words.
But that was not the kind of man Slash was.
They were close enough for me, though.
“What?” I asked when Slash walked out of the bathroom, giving me a strange look as he approached the bed.
“If you didn’t work at the bar, what would you do?” he asked, surprising the shit out of me.
“I… honestly, I haven’t ever given that any thought,” I admitted. “There had never really been any other option, y’know? There was no money for me to go to college, and my grades weren’t good enough for a scholarship. So I went into what was familiar to me, something I knew I would be good at, and that would pay the bills. Since then, I’ve been working too much to think of other options.”
“I get that,” he said, nodding.
“It’s probably stupid,” I told him. “Let’s face it, I can’t tend bar forever. Some day, not anytime soon, but someday, I won’t be young and perky and sexy enough to be raking in the tips like I do now.”
“Babe, you’d be sexy at eighty. It’s not just about looks,” he told me, making a warm feeling move through my chest. “What about settling down?” he asked, voice a little tighter than usual.
“I never really had the option,” I told him. “I thought Czar was controlling me, so I didn’t think the whole getting married and having kids thing was even possible for me.”
“Now that you know it is?” he prompted. “An option,” he clarified.
Did he mean that in general?
Or with him.
My heart swelled at the idea that he meant him.
But I refused to let myself get my hopes too high.
“What are we talking here? Me as a housewife?” I asked, clicking my tongue, considering it. “I don’t know. I think I’d want something that got me out of the house and into the world. Even if it was very part-time. I’m also not a great cook,” I told him.
“Lucky for me, I’ve got Detroit,” he said, smirking at me.
I wanted to return that smirk, knowing how much I’d been enjoying the fact that Detroit seemed to genuinely enjoy cooking and cleaning and even shopping for the ingredients.
But I was too busy feeling my belly do a flip-flopping thing at his words. Because there was no gray area now, no way to misinterpret him.
He was planning a future with me.
One where he relied on Detroit to cook because he knew I wouldn’t do it.
“You want kids?” he asked a moment later.
“You know, I never really gave it thought when I was younger. And I guess I just couldn’t see that far into the future. But I’m really loving spending more time with my nephew. And, I dunno. I wouldn’t mind one of them. Maybe two. Max,” I said, holding up a hand.
I knew the Murphys planned to breed like bunnies, but I didn’t like the thought of being outnumbered by my offspring. Especially if they inherited both my and Slash’s stubborn, independent, a little impulsive natures.
I mean… teenage versions of us would benightmares. To the town. And their parents.
“Yeah, no more than two,” Slash agreed, nodding.
