Chapter 19 #2
There’s a stable-type door that leads out into the backyard, which is overgrown with decidedly dodgy-looking fences. Another task before I sell is fixing the boundaries. I sigh with all the jobs mounting up, but mentally doing the calculations, I still think I’m on to a winner.
“Want to see upstairs?”
She gives me a smile, then, instead of waiting for me to escort her, excitedly goes to the stairs with Trip traipsing behind her.
I follow in their wake, slightly amused to feel like a visitor in my own house.
Truthfully, I’d rather she felt comfortable here.
After all, that was the point of moving them out of the clubhouse.
“It might need a clean,” I tell her, as she opens the bathroom door. There’s a tub with a shower over it, but the cobwebs, dirt, and dead insects will need clearing out. It doesn’t seem to faze her.
As if she’s on a mission to find out what works and what doesn’t, she flushes the toilet, sporting a look of satisfaction when the bowl empties. Then, just like downstairs, she tries the tap. It works. Cold water for now. I need to fire up the boiler.
Next come the bedrooms, one large, one smaller, but those too seem to pass muster.
“This is your room, Trip.” She points to the one that’s only just large enough to hold the queen-size bed I’d requested, which the prospects had already delivered and set up. “And that will be mine.” She indicates the other.
I don’t correct her then, but if I’m going to have to stay in this house, I’ll be taking the king-size bed and the bigger room, thank you very much.
My days of sofa surfing have long been left behind, and fuck knows what kind of tatty furniture the prospects will be able to scare up.
As yet, they haven’t returned with the shit for downstairs I’d asked them to find.
Unless she wants to share a bed with me. Fuck, I should hit myself around the head, though that would be nothing to what Saint would do if he even suspected that kind of thought was going through my mind. Virgin, I remind myself.
But hell, it’s hard. Seeing this side of her isn’t helping at all.
She’s no spoiled princess and doesn’t expect everything on a platter.
She’s got a practical viewpoint and would make the right person a good partner.
It’s getting harder to keep my distance, despite all my thoughts about us being the world’s most unlikely and most disastrous match ever.
Bron’s easy on the eyes, has the type of figure I’m attracted to, albeit in a smaller package than the majority of the women I’ve been with before.
But her reaction to this house? Well, I’ll be fucked, she’s got a similar eye to mine, and instead of being a prima donna, really seems excited to live here, and able to overlook the obvious setbacks.
For a moment, I have a vision of us doing this place up together, then inwardly swear at myself. Whether or not she returns to Doc’s, I’ve rightly been warned off. This is only temporary, a space for her to be able to plan her next move.
Admittedly, I’d been worried about Trip and how he would react to the tour of the strange house.
Not that I expected he’d have been looking with a critical eye like Bronwyn and me, but the kid’s been uprooted.
From what I’ve seen, he is probably discombobulated more than most about leaving the familiar.
So far, he’s been tagging along, keeping himself to himself.
I’m beginning to get used to the blank expression that is permanently affixed to his face.
So far, he’s been no trouble. But it seems my good luck has finally run out when he walks into the middle of what Bron’s just told him will be his room, drops to his knees, and starts worrying with his hands at the frayed carpet.
He makes an animalistic grunt and stabs his finger down.
I’m about to tell him the carpet is already torn enough when Bronwyn joins him on the floor and then looks at me with excited eyes.
“Wooden floorboards, just like downstairs. Good spot, Trip.”
My eyes open wide. The kid can’t communicate, but perhaps that doesn’t mean he’s got nothing going on inside his head. Bronwyn’s got a good point. Sanding and polishing good boards would be far cheaper than re-carpeting the house. And in the Arizona climate, it makes far more sense.
I’ve no time to wonder further about Trip’s intellect, as it’s then I hear a large truck pull up. Looking out of the window, I see the prospects have arrived at last.
For the next couple of hours, it’s all action, as we bring the rest of what they’ve brought into the house.
The beds they’d previously installed wouldn’t have been my first choice, the mattresses in them being sagged and worn, but I’d noticed they looked clean enough.
The sofa they’ve just unloaded? Well, I’d already had my doubts about that when I saw it on the truck, and I was soon proven right to suspect the corner unit they brought in would have springs jutting out.
The recliner? One of them at least showed some sense, and they’d selected a model that looked almost new.
They must have realised that was for me to use.
They jump into action, fixing the television to the wall, which, at least, met my requirements, while Bronwyn goes into the kitchen and empties the grocery bags. Belatedly, I remember to turn on the fridge, which, after a bit of groaning, starts to whirl to life.
When Heathen finally produces a six-pack of beer and a coffee maker out of the truck, I’m so damn happy I could kiss him. I do no such thing, of course.
After storing the groceries, Bronwyn disappears upstairs to put the monstrosities of the bedding they’ve chosen onto the beds.
When I raise my eye at him, Knight grimaces. “The floral pattern was the cheapest.”
Of course, it was. Nobody else would have wanted it. But I can’t criticise him for not overspending my money on what’s only going to have temporary use.
We give the prospects shit daily. It’s part of their initiation to prove to the club they’ll make brothers we can depend on.
Today, though, I’d be an ass to find anything to criticise about the job they’ve done for me.
It leads me to compare how their enthusiasm for even the lowliest task contrasts with the attitude of our ex-prospect Griz, who wouldn’t have stopped complaining.
I wonder again how he managed to stay under our radar for so long, and how we didn’t lose patience and cut him loose, like we should have done months earlier.
But then, I suppose we would never have found out he’d been a plant, or had been forewarned about the info he’d leaked to the MDMC.
By the time Heathen, Knight, and I finish the man’s work, and Bron has made a good dent in the cleaning, it’s heading well into the evening. After the effort and time they’ve put in, I don’t have it in me to haze them. Instead, I shake both the prospects’ hands and thank them.
Without further words, they disappear into the night.
My stomach growls. Hell, it’s been hours since breakfast, but Bron’s never complained. And surprisingly, even Trip, who likes his routine, hasn’t indicated he’s hungry. Maybe it was that large, unaccustomed breakfast that had filled them.
Now, though, it’s time to eat. “Hey, Bron? I’m going to order pizza,” I call up the stairs. “Any special requests?”
Her head appears at the top, her eyes sparkling. “Whatever you want will work for us.”
Taking her at her word, I order three giant meat feast pizzas and cheese sticks to go with them.
Later, when they arrive, they sit on the sofa with plates balanced on their laps, while I ease myself back onto the recliner and kick my legs up.
Bronwyn attacks her dinner, appreciative moans coming from her mouth, which makes me have to shift my groin to take the pressure off my dick in my pants.
I surmise she’s had pizza before, but perhaps not often.
Trip though? I’d put good money he’s never tasted anything like this.
Intrigued, I watch as he deconstructs his meal, moving the meat to one side in piles.
Obviously, he can’t do anything about the base, but once he decides he can’t separate the cheese from the dough and the tomato sauce, he gingerly takes a slice to his mouth.
There’s a twitch to his lips when he gets a taste of the flavour.
To encourage him, Bron picks a slice of pepperoni off her meal, and makes sure he’s looking when she puts it into her mouth. He copies her.
I’ve never seen actual bliss before, just from someone eating the food I take for granted.
If I wasn’t watching carefully, I might have missed Trip’s first ever smile. Or that I’ve witnessed, anyhow.