“I’m a waitress.”
“Yeah, now. You think I don’t lose sleep wonderin’ what you gave up and wonderin’ when you’ll want it back and knowin’ I can’t give it to you?”
“Tate –”
“I got those demons in my head already, Ace, don’t need you throwin’ them in my face.”
“I –”
“In this town, people prioritize and the shit they gotta prioritize is not should they go to Paris for vacation or invest and buy themselves a condo in Vail. It’s a fuckuva lot different.”
“Tate…” He opened his mouth to speak and my hand clamped over it. “Let me talk.”
I could tell by his eyes he wasn’t a big fan of my hand over his mouth but I also could tell he was going to let me talk. How I could tell this, I had no clue. I just could. So I took my hand away and put it to the side of his face as he had his at mine.
“You haven’t had a lot,” I told him.
“Babe –”
“Please, honey,” I whispered, he shut his mouth and I went on. “Wanda, at the home store, when she was advising me, she told me to take care of my man. I was trying to take care of you not,” I said sharply when he looked like he was going to speak again, “to take care of you take care of you but to take care of you, like a woman should.” My hand left his face, slid down his chest and around his back. “Baby, you live in a crash pad. Maybe it was stupid and maybe too soon but I was trying to give you a home. I just wanted to give you something because…” I paused. “Because… I don’t know, but I’m guessing, not a lot of people have done that for you and I wanted you to be able to count on me to do it.”
“So you’re tellin’ me you’re takin’ advice on how to deal with me from some random, nosy chick at a home store?”
That didn’t sound good.
“Um…”
“Ace, your ex, not a man,” he informed me. “I know men who got jobs like him, dress like him who are men, but Brad?” He shook his head. “No man has to make anyone feel less than him to be a man. That makes him less of a man, less of a goddamned person. What you wanted to do was sweet, but, babe, no offense, you don’t know dick about dealin’ with a man.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“It isn’t that it’s too soon, you’re on the back of my bike, it ain’t too soon. You can buy sheets. You cannot install blinds.”
“Um…” I mumbled. “Can you explain the difference?”
“Sheets are chick territory,” he said without delay. “You gotta use tools, that’s dick territory.”
“Oh,” I whispered.
“Don’t tread on dick territory,” he advised.
“So, um… is a paintbrush a tool?” I asked cautiously.
“If you’re paintin’ the side of the house, yeah. If you’re painting mud colored paint in a room, no.”
“It’s terracotta,” I said softly.
“Whatever,” he muttered, his mouth twitching.
“Or, the paint chip called it Mexican horizon. The blue is dawn sky.”
“Definitely chick territory,” Tate replied, losing the fight with his grin.
“What about… pictures for the walls?” I asked.
“Chick,” he answered instantly.
“Um… could I ask that, instead of you getting angry and being a jerk, maybe you give me a head’s up when I’m doing something stupid?”
“Yeah, you can ask that and I’ll promise to do what I can do. But, Ace, since I was a kid, I had a temper. Tellin’ you that don’t mean I can’t compromise, just means I am who I am, I know who I am and you gotta take me as I am and learn to get over it.”
“Okay, then, can I ask, while I’m learning to be a biker babe, you try to be a bit more patient?”
The grin hit smile level and he let out a low chuckle before asking, “A biker babe?”
“I’m kind of in training, as you can tell.”
He burst out laughing so hard his body collapsed on mine but he rolled almost immediately so I was on top.
My face ended up in his neck, my hair in his face and he moved it away, sweeping it over my shoulders as my head came up.
Then, his eyes scanning my face, he murmured, “Martinis and manicures.”
“Dominic at Carnal Spa does manicures,” I told him. “He does really good hair. If his manicures are half as good, I’m covered.”
“Babe –”
“And I think Ned and Betty’ll let me use their pool whenever I want. They like me.”
“Laurie –”
“And martinis are bad for me. I get drunk on one and a half and I mean drunk.”
He smiled at me. “Then we’re hittin’ the home store sale.”
“We are?”
“Martini glasses. Fuckin’ you normal is hot. Make up sex is un-fuckin’-believable. Drunk sex might just kill me.”
“Tate –”
“Though, won’t mind dyin’ that way.”
“Tate!”
His face went soft and his hand slid into my hair.
“As cute as you are, tryin’ to be a biker babe and all, honey, I gotta pick up my boy,” he murmured.
I relaxed against him. “Okay.”