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“Yes, you are,” I exhale.
He laughs, then releases me and takes a step backward, his gaze searching my own before he turns to the kitchen. “Sandwiches,” he announces.
“Sandwiches,” I whisper.
I’m not even sure how to make a good sandwich. I take out some bread, mayo, and mustard, but the rest, I don’t really know. Thankfully, Kyle doesn’t point out that I’m completely lost. Instead, he gets tomatoes and lettuce from the fridge, along with cheese, pickles, and meat.
He sets everything next to me and starts to load the bread. I watch the way he works, taking mental notes about how he layers everything, feeling completely incompetent. I’ve felt inept a lot of times, but this is a new level.
I can’t believe I don’t even know how to make a sandwich. It seems like it would be easy, like a kid can probably do it, yet here I am, eighteen and married, with no idea of how to do something that should be so simple it’s ridiculous.
Once the sandwiches are done, I look around the kitchen at the mess that’s been left behind and cringe. At least there is one thing I can do. I can wash a dish while Kyle stands with his hip against the counter and takes a bite, his eyes focused on me.
I eat mine, too, watching him and chewing in silence. Then I decide to ask him a question I’ve already asked him once.
“What do I do when you go back to work?”
“Whatever you like,” he says.
Frowning, I look down at my food in my hand, then lift my attention back to meet his. “Not whatever I like,” I murmur.
“Within reason, always.”
I hum, unsure of what to truly say. He keeps telling me that I can do what I wish, that I can figure the future out later, but I don’t think that’s true. It can’t be. I am his contracted wife. He owns me. There is freedom in this relationship, but not that much.
“Seriously, babe. Whatever you want within reason. You want to work, go for it. You want to stay home and take care of everything in here, do that. Whatever the fuck you want.”
“I’m not sure I should stay home and take care of everything here when I can’t even make a sandwich.”
He lets out a bark of laughter. Then he shakes his head a couple of times. He acts as if I’m the funniest thing he’s ever heard in his life. His eyes find mine, but they don’t look away; they connect andstay connectedright before his phone buzzes. Only then does he break his gaze and look down at his device.
I watch as he picks up his phone, sliding his thumb across the screen before he lifts it to his ear. “Itch,” he states.
He doesn’t say anything right away, but he does turn around, his back facing me. “Yeah, tonight?Fuck. Okay.”
He ends the call, shoves his phone in his back pocket, then turns to me. I expect to see a frown on his face, especially with the way he ended the call. His tone didn’t sound all that happy, but he’s got a smirk on his lips.
“Tonight, we party. I got some shit to do at the clubhouse, but then we’ll continue the celebration. I want to show off my new old lady.”
“Kyle?” I whisper. “I’m so sore.”
My cheeks burn confessing those words. When he says show me off, I don’t know if that means he wants me to do things in front of his men, like the sweet butts do. I know I shouldn’t have said anything, but even breathing aches at this point.
He doesn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed, though. A huge smile plays on his lips. He appears almost proud, his chest puffing up slightly. I’m glad he isn’t angry, so I watch him, waiting for him to say something.
“Won’t fuck you tonight if you need a break,” he says on a chuckle.
That shouldn’t bother me. But it does. I’m not in a confident enough position at all to know what to expect from him—from this. I feel like I’m nothing but a gigantic ball of nerves all the time. Every minute of every single day.
ITCH
“Shipment is fucked,” Legacy barks.
Lifting my hand, I run my fingers through my hair. When Legacy said I had to come down to the clubhouse and it concerned a shipment, I thought for sure that Raul was here to end me. But that’s not the issue at all. The grower we buy our locally sourced weed from just got raided by the Feds.
“So, what happens now?” I ask.
“That contact you get Raul’s shit from, he have weed?” he asks.
