22. TIFFANY
This wasn’t my home.
Not really.
He’d called it ‘our place’ before, but it hadn’t been. It was his. It still was. But damn, it felt good to be back here.
Nothing was how I’d have decorated, but everything matched and felt right in here. The way he had the massive armchairs instead of a sofa to watch TV on, the modern kitchen and stove that, somehow, helped me not burn things. The squeaky front door screen, and the wooded copses that I could see from the kitchen window.
“Where are you?”
I snorted. “Not that many rooms for you to look in to find me,” I hollered back.
“Saves me time.”
“You’re all about efficiency, are you, hmm?” I called out, then, when he made an appearance in the living room, I waved a spatula at him, a part of me still taken aback by how swiftly he’d shaved his beard off. His cheeks were as smooth as a baby’s butt now, where before he’d been all lumberjack—surprisingly cute with it too. “I’m making something to eat,” I informed him.
He arched a brow, but his interest was clear. “What are you making?”
“Quesadillas.” I didn’t wait for him to reply, just twisted on my heel and returned to the stove.
I’d stacked pesto with cheese to make a delicious quesadilla—I’d already eaten one while he was doing whatever had taken him so damn long in the garage.
Of course, I knew that was his way of giving me time to cool off.
I didn’t blame him.
I didn’t.
But the rage that had filled me at the sight of that bitch touching him?
Irrational.
Mostly because she’d been the one I’d seen him finger fuck that first night.
I winced at the memory, hurt filling me, even though it wasn’t his fault.
I knew that.
That was why I considered these dumb feelings irrational, because I wasn’t about to get jealous over women in his past, not when I had men in mine. Sure, not as many people as he did, but some.
I was no innocent, and I didn’t want to be. I sure as hell didn’t want him to be inexperienced, because what he could do with his body was beyond epic, and it made me cream my panties when I thought of all the stuff he’d learned along the way.
Lessons that came to my benefit.
But I was still riled up, still on edge, and he’d known it.
It pissed me off though, because I’d missed him so fucking much, and a few hours after he was back, I was spoiling shit.
The thought had me downing the spatula and putting my hands on the counter to grip them.
My temper wasn’t that difficult to rile, but I was a very sensible person, preferring to rationalize something rather than argue for the sake of it.
But these emotions were complicated. These feelings inside me were hurt and anguish and fear for the future.
I was going to get fat.
Trixie, Dixie, Lixie, whatever the fuck her name was, well, she wasn’t going to get fat, was she?
Me? I was about to blow up like a balloon.
Why would he stay with me then?
Christ, I really needed to not be so insecure. Not only was it fucking unsexy as hell, but the truth was, I wasn’t this person.
Not usually.
The trouble was, I was vulnerable.
In more ways than just the situation with Sin. My family was decimated, and now, for the first time, I was falling for a guy who could have any pussy he wanted in the clubhouse.
But I wasn’t this woman.
This pansy assed moaning cow who took shit lying down.
Earlier, I’d smacked that bitch’s hand, and I’d do it again. They’d learn, and they’d realize that I wasn’t going to let them touch my man without paying for it.
Him too.
The thought solidified in my gut, a bit like the first quesadilla I had in my stomach, and when he approached me, I didn’t turn around, just let him slide his arm around my waist. Of course, he surprised me.
He grabbed the tip of my stubby ponytail and tugged it all the way back so that my head rolled on my neck and I was peering straight up at him.
“When did you get so tall?” I asked him softly, before he brushed his lips over mine from that angle—looming over me like Lurch from the Addams Family or something.
His lips moved. “You only just noticed? Damn, my pride hurts.”
“Yeah? I can elbow you in the gut. That’d hurt more.”
“Yeah, you could, but you won’t.”
“Why won’t I?”
“Because you know I’ll fuck your ass and spank it?—”
I moved my elbow, getting ready to dig the pointy bit right in his gut, but when I did, he grabbed my arm and laughed. “Feed me first, woman. I haven’t eaten in hours.”
“You mean pussy juice didn’t sustain you?” I granted him a mock gasp. “I’m stunned.”
“You can’t survive on pussy juice and cum.” He sighed. “I researched it when I was a kid.”
“As far as I remember, from the scientific world of Facebook, there was a meme floating around with all the calories and nutritional info on jizz.”
“Babe, hate to break it to you, but as fine as this ass is, and as much as I want to bone the ever-loving fuck out of you, I ain’t gonna be able to sustain you on cum.”
I snickered, unable to stop myself, and because my head was rocked back the way it was, the snicker came out as a weird snort. When he let go of my hair, I let out a raucous chuckle, as did he, because that snort? Meme worthy.
The pair of us laughed our asses off, but as we did, his hands were on my hips, my ass nestled against his front, and truthfully?
I’d never felt closer to a guy than I did right at that moment.
Unable to stop myself, I turned around once I’d stopped giggling, nestled into him, and on a sigh, apologized, “I’m sorry for being uptight.”
Like usual, when I thought he’d rub salt in the wound or get mad, he didn’t. His calm retort soothed me in ways he’d never know. “You’re not. It’s a big adjustment.” He shrugged, then reached up and tugged on a strand of my hair that had fallen loose from my ponytail with his tussle. “You handled yourself brilliantly.”
“I did? I could have really hurt her wrist.”
“I said no. She could have backed away, but she didn’t. Now she knows otherwise. Law of the jungle in that clubhouse, angel. Remember that, and you’ll be okay.”
“That seems harsh.”
“It is. Hard life, but we’re a family too.” He reached up and bopped me on the nose, his eyes filled with a kind smile that made me feel like my heart was being embraced. “And I wasn’t necessarily talking about you. You’re different.”
“I am? How come?”
“Because you’re not a clubwhore. You’re my baby momma and you’re gonna be my Old Lady.”
I swallowed at that, and my eyes narrowed as I stared at him, trying to burrow into his gaze, figure out what he was thinking.
And what I saw had hope filling me.
I sank into him, trusting him to support me.
“You mean it?”
“Of course, I do. Was going to brand you as mine, even before you told me you were pregnant. Was just waiting until I could get home.”
“Or haul me down there?”
“Yeah, or haul you down there.” His lips twisted. “I knew you wouldn’t have liked Ohio, so I didn’t focus on that as an end result. Knew you’d want to be close to your family and Lily too, so I figured out a way. It’s done now, and I’m home to stay.”
I swallowed back all the emotions that were flooding me and, finally, I had no choice but to just rest my forehead against his pec and whisper, “I want you to be my Old Man too.”
“No teasing?” he jibed, but it was tender. Not mean. “No joking around?”
He knew I tended to ease uncomfortable or awkward moments with humor, but nothing about this was either of those things.
It was perfect.
This was his way of getting down on one knee and asking me to marry him.
Though I wanted to blame them on hormones—I wasn’t sure if you could do that when you were only two months pregnant though, and shit, I really needed to get some books on pregnancy—my eyes pricked with tears.
But they felt good.
Different than the ones I’d been shedding since Daddy had died.
I released a shaky breath, feeling his support, his strength, and let it sink into me.
No, we hadn’t had the most orthodox of starts, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t have an unorthodox ending. A happy one. And that pretty much summed us up.
Happily.
Ever.
After.