Chapter 18
Deejay
If Loretta hadn’t given me a heads up, I would have worried a hole in the floor waiting for Matt to come home. As it is, I know he stayed for the cage fights, but he’s late. It’s already nearly eleven, which shouldn’t bother me, because he is an adult already, but it does because I expected him to be gone for maybe two hours.
The upstairs has a veranda off the master suite that overlooks the side yard, but to the south looks out over the driveway. I sit on the low wall of the veranda, sipping soothing tea, refilling my cup as I empty it from a teapot on the table below me. I have a book, but I keep getting distracted, watching out for Matt.
When I finally see headlights, both relief and anger fill me. As I watch the door to the garage go down, I send him a quick text: On the veranda off my bedroom.
I put my phone into my pocket, disregarding the chime that alerts me to a response. After a few minutes when he hasn’t shown, I pull it out to see his response: Let me shower first.
I put it away again and pour the dregs of what’s left of the tea. While I wait, I stare out into the darkness, using the time to work through my anger. I have no right to be angry, and I don’t want to meet him with it in my heart or on my tongue. He’s an adult, he can make his own decisions and nothing about him staying out late should bother me especially because I knew where he was and what he was doing. I think, maybe, I’m angry because he didn’t communicate with me about his plans, but I can talk to him about that.
Figuring out where my ire comes from, helps me settle it, so I’m ready to face him when he finally comes out. He opens the door, shirtless in a pair of basketball shorts, still dripping. He’s battered and bruised from face to ankles, limping to the wall where I’m sitting. “What happened to you?”
I choke out, shocked that Loretta would allow any harm to come to one of mine.
He sets two jars of salve in the wall with a grimace. “I participated in the cage fights,”
he tells me. “I bought these with my winnings, would you get my back?”
he requests.
I stare at him in shock. “Fights? Multiple fights? Two? Three? How many did it take to turn you into one big fucking bruise?”
“I closed out the fights. I didn’t count how many, but I got three twenty-minute breaks, so maybe three hours? It was a good workout,”
he smiles…sort of. The right side of his face is swollen, making it difficult to form a full smile. “The last guy hit like a brick. I had to sacrifice my face to get him to the floor and ended up knocking him out because he just could not be pinned.”
“You had fun?”
I can’t believe how happy a man covered in bruises can look, but Matt radiates happiness.
“I did. I also made bank, but I figure that can go into the household funds, you know. It’d be nice to contribute more.”
He points to one of the jars. “I can do everything else, but I just can’t get my own back, and that shit’s expensive, so I don’t want to waste it.”
“How much did you make?”
I ask, picking up the jar and opening it as he turns his back to me. Gawd, it’s worse than the rest of him. Apparently the biters and claw-ers targeted his backside, leaving little of his flesh intact. Fortunately, the wounds aren’t too deep.
“Minus the expense for the salve, I brought home about ten grand,”
he brags, tossing a grin over his shoulder at me. “I’m going to go back next Saturday.”
I choke on the amount of money he made in one day. “You haven’t spent ten thousand dollars in three weeks. You can put it in a savings account for whatever.”
“It’ll cost more than that in lawyer fees just to adopt Cary; let me have this. You bought me a whole car, for crying out loud; that was way more than ten grand.”
“Is your name on the title? No. I bought me a car, that I happen to let you drive,”
I argue, rubbing the salve into one of the deeper gashes, making him flinch.
“Semantics,”
he snorts.
“If you want to put it into the household account, I will let you, but there really is no need, Matt; I am ridiculously wealthy and my income from interest on my savings accounts is more than I spend so I’m always up.”
I don’t want him under any illusion about the household financial situation, so I explain further. “I sold my company for twelve billion dollars. I literally have enough money to buy a small island and never work again for the rest of my very, very long life. So, like I said, if you want to add to the household account, that’s fine, but I encourage you to put it away for a rainy day instead.”
Matt stands silently until I finish with his back—it won’t even scar with the salve helping and looks a thousand times better now than it did a few minutes ago. I step around him, finding him frowning at the floor contemplatively. While I wait for him to work through his thought process, I start spreading salve over the rest of him. If I’m being honest, and I don’t want to be, I am thoroughly enjoying the excuse to touch him. He’s smooth as steel and hard as stone. His muscles stand out, defined by their bulk. He’s thick everywhere and feels pretty fucking wonderful under my fingers.
I’m so engaged in rubbing the salve into his skin it startles me when his hand grips me around the wrist. I shoot my gaze up to his face, finding him staring hard somewhere over my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
I ask cautiously.
“Inappropriate boner,”
he coughs.
Yes, I glance down; yes, he’s standing up proudly; hell yes, I want that.
“I see,”
I rasp, so very glad I am still wearing my jeans and they’re heavy enough to keep my chubby under wraps. “You can do the rest yourself, then,”
I suggest, holding up the salve for him to take.
He nods, but his grip on my wrist tightens rather than letting me go, then he wraps his other paw around my whole hand instead of taking the salve out of it.
“Matt,”
I warn him, feeling my defenses and walls starting to crumble.
His sharp obsidian eyes peer into mine, searching and I know if he really looks, if he can read auras at all, he’s going to find what he’s looking for. “I am going to bed because I know right now isn’t the right time, but we are going to talk about this,”
he rumbles, hitting the button in me that wants an aggressive, forceful partner.
I look up at him, feeling my eyes widen in response to his promise and nod mutely. I really can’t trust myself right now.
He drops my wrist, takes the salve, and grabs the other jar before stalking back inside. Relief and disappointment flood me as I drop my face into my hands.
We’re going to talk about this…