He was pushing a wagon in a supermarket for Christ’s sake and he wasn’t even complaining, not one bit…and we were in the produce department too.
After we showered together this morning, he insisted we go shopping for a mattress. Riggs’ bike was out of commission and since I had sold my car, we were walking the streets of Brooklyn. We stopped first at Sleepy’s, where he insisted we roll around on every mattress they sold. Finally, he picked one perfect for us and it was being delivered the following day.
Afterward we walked along 86th Street when he turned and asked me to wait outside for a minute as he went into one of the many dollar stores that lined the busy street. I didn’t question him, I loved that Riggs was full of surprises, and waited outside while he delivered the most thoughtful gift I had ever been on the receiving end of. Five minutes later he emerged from the store, his grin firmly secured to his face as he waved a bag over his head.
My face hurt from smiling so much.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine before handing me the bag. I opened the bag and pulled out a pair of socks that had kittens all over them.
“You bought me socks?” I asked, looking back inside the bag to see it was full of all different kinds of funky socks. Some had kittens, some had superheroes; there was even a pair of Christmas socks in there.
“Make sure you wear them too,” he said, draping his arm over my shoulders. “Can’t have those feet of yours ice cold anymore, especially when you’re rubbing them on me in the middle of the night,” he added.
“You bought me socks,” I repeated.
“So?” He kissed the top of my head and dragged me into the supermarket.
They were only socks to Riggs, not a big gesture in his book, but in mine they were the sweetest gift anyone had ever given me. He was taking care of me without even trying.
And how did I repay him? By forcing him to eat fruits and vegetables. I looked down at the celery in my hand then back at Riggs who appeared bored as he stared at the apples in the wagon.
“What’s your favorite thing to eat?” I asked, watching his head lift and his eyes snap toward mine. He grinned mischievously at me and I laughed out loud. “Not what I meant,” I said. “What’s your favorite meal?”
“One could argue that what I had for breakfast this morning was in fact a meal,” he pointed out.
“Food, Riggs. Tell me your favorite food,” I clarified.
He took a minute to think about it, then straightened his shoulders and smiled at me.
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” he said, smiling as he pushed the wagon.
Another surprise.
“Really? I took you more for a meat and potatoes kind of guy,” I said, a bit bewildered as I bit my cheek. It just so happened that I made the best meatballs and while I preferred them fried, I could definitely throw together a little marinara sauce. “I want to cook dinner for us tonight,” I blurted, throwing a couple of heads of garlic into the wagon.
I could feel him stare at me as I grabbed the basil and added it to the cart. When I lifted my eyes to his, I saw a slow grin work its way across his lips.
“You can cook?”
“Of course I can cook,” I replied, feeling my cheeks redden I nervously repositioned my glasses on my face and looked back at him. “It’s my God given right,” I offered.
“Because you’re a woman?”
“Because I’m Maria Bianci’s daughter,” I corrected. “I know she may not be your favorite person, but she can throw down in the kitchen,” I informed him, lacing my arm through his as we walked through the supermarket. “Stop smiling at me like that, you’re making me blush,” I ordered. He continued to push the cart and I noticed from the corner of my eye he was still smiling.
“I like it when you blush, Kitten, like it a whole lot,” he whispered.
I’m whipped.
And for lack of better words and all puns intended, I am one hundred percent pussy whipped.
The sickest thing of all was, I didn’t give a fuck.
Lauren was my dream girl, sweet when she wanted to be, ferocious when she needed to be, and fucking wild in the bedroom. Plus she could cook. She made my favorite for dinner, something someone had cooked for me a long time ago, before Bones’ mom passed.
I watched her from the living room, barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen—I couldn’t help but chuckle. Lauren didn’t share my amusement and dragged my ass into the kitchen, insisting I help her. She taught me how to make the perfect meatball and I now knew Maria Bianci’s secret ingredient. I wouldn’t hesitate to leak that shit if that woman should find the need to piss me off.