“Food isn’t love, Tate,” I teased him with his own words.
He bent over where I was sitting on the ledge, wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and kissed my forehead.
He didn’t let me go but he looked me in the eyes when he whispered, “I was wrong about that, Ace. I get it now. The way you make it, it is.”
Then he let me go and I stared at him as he walked away.
Then I shouted at the door he disappeared behind, “I could make better pie-type love with a new stove!”
I heard his disembodied voice shout back, “Dick territory, babe. Don’t even think about it unless I’m there.”
“Chick territory,” I kept shouting. “A stove’s in the kitchen!”
“It’s got a plug and weighs over fifty pounds. Totally dick,” he shot back on his own shout.
I gave in, turning to the plants while giggling.
Totally dick.
My old man was funny.
*
And that was it. Some of it big, some of it bigger.
But nothing mammoth.
And I liked nothing mammoth.
I especially liked it after the mammoth, life-altering, heartbreaking, soul-shattering day at Bubba’s, and, worse, after Tate and I went home to share what had happened with Jonas.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hold On
“Three Budweiser bottles, honey,” I said to Tate, looking down at my pad.
“Babe,” Tate called.
“Yeah?” I answered, pulling my pencil from behind my ear.
“Ace,” he called.
“Yeah?” I answered again, scratching on my pad.
“Baby, look at me,” Tate said softly and I looked at my clean-shaven man.
We’d had a fight that morning mainly because he’d shaved. Perhaps my reaction was a wee bit over the top but he was now in no doubt how I felt about his beard considering I’d threatened him with zero access to certain parts of my body unless he grew it back. Tate had found this amusing, not annoying, and I knew this because he burst out laughing and continued to do so even after I repeatedly told him I didn’t think anything was funny. Then he proved to me I would not be able to carry out my threat of zero access to certain parts of my body and he did this by gaining access to those very specific parts.
Even so, I was pretty certain my point was made, but if it wasn’t, I also didn’t much care. Truth be told, he was hot with or without the beard. I just liked the beard.
“What?” I asked when my eyes met his.
“Come here,” he ordered and I noted he had his arms wide and he was leaning into both fists to the bar. I’d seen him like that before and the last time he was angry.
“Um…” I mumbled. “I am here.”
“Closer,” he demanded.
I got closer, putting a hand to the bar.
“Closer,” he repeated.
“Tate, what on –”
“Now, babe.”
I sighed and leaned into him, putting both forearms on the bar.
He leaned in too, put a forearm beside mine, hooked me behind the back of my neck, pulled me closer and his head slanted right before he laid a long, wet, very hot kiss on me.
I had one hand curled around his forearm, one hand curled around his neck, both I was using to hold me up, when his lips moved from mine.
“That should do it,” he muttered, his face still super close.
“Do what?”
He didn’t answer, instead he stated, “Need to put a fuckin’ ring on your finger, Ace.”
I quit breathing and my legs wobbled.
“What?” I breathed.
“Those boys you been servin’ ain’t from around these parts. They stare at your ass or tits when you’re comin’ or goin’ one more fuckin’ time, we got problems. I figure I just made my point you’re mine. They do it again, I know they want problems so I’ll give them to ‘em.”
I didn’t hear a word he said. I was back at his earlier statement, therefore repeated, “What?”
“Lauren?” I heard from behind me and I knew that voice. I knew it and I couldn’t believe it. It was so shocking to hear it, Tate’s throwaway comment, which was anything but throwaway to me, flew out of my head and my entire body froze as I stared into Tate’s eyes.
He looked into mine, his brows knitted and he didn’t let my neck go nor move away as his eyes went over my shoulder. I saw them move down then up then he grinned huge, like something was tremendously funny before he whispered, “Fuck me,” and let me go.
I turned woodenly and stared at my nemesis from Horizon Summit, the woman who pretended to be my best friend while she was fucking my husband, the dreaded Hayley.
“Hayley?” I whispered and stared at her.