Page 11 of Age Gap Wolf's Second Chance Mate

I guess I really am getting domesticated.

And despite all of my attempts to prevent it, damn if I’m not loving every minute of it.

Chapter Eight

Mara

It’s a fucking tough day.

I mean, just one of those days.

The really irritating thing about the day is that I can’t point to anything particularly bad. You know what I mean? There’s no big crisis or any single insurmountable thing at all. It’s just that it feels like nothing goes smoothly all day.

A dozen paint sprayers are returned by a painting contractor and he somehow forgets the filters. So, a five-minute check-in turned into half a return and then a bunch of paint sprayers in the office until he got back with the filters left in his warehouse. A bulldozer is returned but without fuel.

The guy pays the fee, so it’s no big deal monetarily but we’re short-staffed staffed so I have to juggle when to send someone to get it filled up.

Just little things.

A bunch of them one right after the other. There just reaches a point where I want one damned thing to work out exactly like it’s supposed to. To tell the truth, I think I’d be satisfied if there was just one thing that was bad instead of irritating.

Dealing with something bad would at least make me feel like all of the effort I’m expending is warranted!

Thank goodness this isn’t a typical day. There are some standard irritations in this business just like there are with any business but today was so over the top. I mean, I can deal with contractors begging me to rent to them on credit even though they owe me eighteen hundred dollars.

I can deal with all of that drama but when it’s just a petty irritation, damn!

What is that thing? The saying about lots of little things? Is that the death of a thousand cuts saying or is that some martial arts thing? Anyway, it feels like today is a thousand little irritations, and I’ve reached my limit. I swear it feels like I’m just going to blow.

And I somehow miraculously managed to make it until closing time. I swear I feel certain the door lock isn’t going to work or something. But the door locks fine. So naturally, my car won’t start. But it does. In fact, all of the employees’ cars start and the gate closes when I leave the yard.

So, I have guarded confidence as I drive home. I mean, it’s guarded. I expect to run out of gas, to be cut off, to hear a funny sound from the engine, or some other minor irritation. I have to admit I’m pretty damned happy when I make it home without any of those things.

It does flit through my mind when I see Jonah’s truck parked at my place that he’s there to break up with me or something. That’s pretty damned stupid. He’s there because he’s always at my place and he’s off until his next four days.

I need to get my head screwed on straight. I hate it when I’m like this. It’s just fucking insane, really. I’ve had a bitch of a day but I don’t want to be a bitch of a… um… girlfriend? We’re past that now, right? I’m not a fiancé, though. Not officially, anyway. Hell, not even informally.

See, that’s exactly the kind of crap I don’t want to be thinking about, damn it! That’s exactly the sort of thing that will turn me into girlfriendzilla if I let it. (And fuck all, if people can do bridezilla, I can do girlfriendzilla.) I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I remind myself the death of a thousand cuts is behind me now.

And the moment I open the door, everything, all those little irritations start to fade because there is Jonah down on all fours playing with the puppy, and there is a wonderful smell coming from the kitchen and I see wine glasses set out on the table.

Yeah, I know Mrs. Frans from ninth-grade English will be pissed about the run-on sentence but hey, it comes at me like that. I could almost cry from the relief I felt not to see something on fire or broken or Jonah packed and walking out the door. My troubles seem to have stalled, and I finally smile.

Jonah notices me and walks over, our little mutt following and nipping at his heels. “Hey there, beautiful, ready to eat? I made my famous firehouse ribs.”

I let him pull me close and just the feel of him makes things better. I press my face into his chest and sigh. “God, I’m so glad to be home!”If he notices how relieved I am, he doesn’t embarrass me by asking about it. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

And I am. I’m hit by an absolute need for Jonah, and my casual deflated hug becomes much more as I tilt my head up and go on tiptoes to kiss him. I move quickly, moving down to kiss his neck while tearing at his shirt with clumsy fingers.

Jonah doesn’t say a word. With perfect understanding, he takes my blouse and pulls it over my head. He kisses my eyes, my nose, my mouth, all while continuing to undress me. I feel my unhappy day fall away as each piece of clothing drops to the floor.

Wow. I’m excited to be fucked out of my bad mood.

Wow.

I mean, isn’t that some kind of a masculine cliché?

I don’t care. It’s what I want right now. It’s what I need, and if I’m setting back the cause of feminism a few decades, well, it’s just for me and Jonah.