“Do you like this house?” he asked, waving around.
“I definitely like the grounds. I think I was so accustomed to living on top of other people before that I never knew how nice it could be not to even have to see anyone when you are heading out to work. I definitely want land. The house… I don’t know. It’s beautiful. I mean, for that price, it better be. I think, right now, I am thinking of it as my father’s house, so I can’t really picture myself in it. What about you? Just gun-running and partying, or…”
“Always saw myself getting a piece of land. A woman. Maybe a kid or two. Real feral kids.”
“I don’t think it would be possible for you to produce anything else.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
“I’m sure you are,” she agreed.
“You want kids?”
“That’s… a big question,” she said after a minute. “I think that I always thought my life was going to involve a lot of struggle. And I didn’t want to raise a kid in that, perpetuate that toxic cycle. But if my future isn’t going to be like that, then, yeah, I think I could see myself being a mom.”
“You already love children’s movies.”
“And, believe me, after babysitting for years, learning to not only tolerate, but enjoy, the same damn movie played on a loop nonstop for weeks or months is truly a good chunk of the battle,” she said, smirking. “And eating puff treats when they offer them to you,” she added.
“They’re good, man. Don’t knock ‘em until you try ‘em. Except the sweet potatoes. Those are fucking nasty. But the fruit ones are good.”
“I have a feeling that you’d be eating them all then acting like the baby did it.”
“I mean, they can’t talk. And they wouldn’t get punished. It’s sort of a win-win.”
“You’d also let them have a brownie before dinner.”
“Not my fault brownies are banging,” I said, shrugging, trying to play it off, not let her know that my mind was starting to do some weird shit.
Like imagine a future where there were little ones toddling around with her eyes and my reckless nature, getting into all kinds of shit that she had to, on principle, pretend to be mad about, when I knew that all she wanted to do was laugh.
I hated the fact that I was going to need to break up an otherwise pleasant time with her by bringing up the shit I’d learned about her car.
Which was why I dragged my fucking feet about it all through eating, then getting back to her house, getting all the shit for the kitten out of the car, and setting it up. Hell, even while we played with the toys with both Marie and Rosita, as we fed them their food.
“Where are you going?” she asked when I made my way over toward the steps.
“You never gave me a full tour of the place,” I reminded her.
“What? You didn’t go up there to look around when you broke in?” she asked, brow raised.
“Nope. But I did snoop around your bathroom drawers,” I told her, watching as her mouth fell open slightly, likely trying to go through an inventory of the contents. “Don’t worry. My competition wasn’t in there.”
“How do you know I keep… competition on hand?”
“Don’t you?” I asked. “If you don’t, I’m gonna have to sicc Billie on you. And then she will come over, make you all sorts of uncomfortable talking about pussy eggs and tantric fucking, then drag your ass over to Phallus-opy and show you each and every product she has personally tried—which is all of them—and what her experiences are with them.”
“Phallus-opy?” she repeated, lips twitching.
“Billie’s mom’s sister owns it. The local sex store.”
“I don’t need to go to Phallus-opy,” she insisted.
“I mean, going manual is good too. But toys… toys are fun.”
“Toys tend to be more efficient than actual, living, breathing men,” she shot back. “Do you really want to risk me going there with Billie?”
“I’m pretty confident in my abilities,” I told her, reaching out, grabbing her at both sides of her neck, and yanking her forward toward me, getting close, but not quite making contact.
And when I tell you this woman fucking melted.
“What are you doing?” she squealed a moment later when I released her only to duck down, pushing my shoulder into her midsection, and starting to toss her over it. “You can’t carry me!”
“Seems like I can,” I told her, reaching up to slap her ass hard..
“The stairs are dangerous even when you’re walking up alone.”
“Then I guess you’d better hold on,” I said as I walked us up the steps.
At the top of the landing, I put her back onto her own two feet, and the little smirk on her face told me that she didn’t exactly mind a little manhandling.