Page 33 of Bleeding Heart
“It seems a little mean of me to leave you like you are,” she says once we finally start using full sentences again instead of single words.
“Consider it my comeuppance for acting a fool. Next time, I won’t be as kind.”
“Next time?”
“Oh, yeah. And I have a little secret I want to share with you. Next time, you’re going to come. On my hand, my fingers, or my face, I don’t care. But I’ll get you there. It’ll be your just desserts for the number of times you’ve made me hard.”
Paisley inserts her hands into my back pockets, grabbing my ass. “You sound awfully sure of yourself.”
“Are you arguing with me?”
“Maybe. Maybe not, if you get off of me and walk across the room.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I’d like to see you from behind in these jeans.”
“From behind, ormybehind?” I ease off and my feet land on the floor.
“I thought you said you were turning over a new leaf and listening? Do as you’re told.”
I place a hand on her thigh, using the leverage to boost me up. “There’s a difference between hearing what you say and taking orders from you.” I waltz across the room, looking over my shoulder when I’m near the kitchen. “Is my butt everything you wanted it to be?”
A smile dances on her face. “Yep. Now come back over here and tell me what exactly you think we need to figure out, since we’re stuck together, Elmer.”
I’m surprised by the throaty chuckle that escapes me, and we bicker through laughter about whether Pais can nickname me after glue. She lets me win. She’ll keep calling me “Jake” to my face and “asshole” under her breath. This woman.
I order us lunch, not giving her an option of restaurants because I’ve grown to know what she’ll choose, anyhow. Waxy cartons of lo mein won’t make up for the meal we didn’t finish at Royce’s, but staying home makes sense.
We sit on stools at Paisley’s kitchen island. The cut on her hand stops Paisley from using the wooden chopsticks that came with our takeout. We have another amusing tiff. I tell Paisley it’s a sacrilege to get a fork from the utensil drawer and feed her noodles and veggies out of my box. Taking bites myself while she chews.
“I want one of those,” she says of the mini corn I’ve popped into my mouth.
I root around, finding one. She wiggles the vegetable between her teeth. I lean in to kiss her, snapping off half, and tasting the sweet and savory sauce.
I feel a twinge of guilt for buttering her up.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Her full belly makes the news I’m about to deliver palatable. “I messaged my guy, Dusty. He should have the boutique’s window replaced in the next hour. We can go downtown to take a look at his handiwork.” While we’re at the shop, I’ll make sure that nothing else needs tending to.
“I notified maintenance to take care of it. You went behind my back!” Her voice is sharp, but Paisley’s features are soft.
“We’re going to have to compromise somewhere,corazón. It’ll be easier if you let me take care of you… When you need me to.”
“That wasn’t me. It was my business.”
“That got a brick through the window because of me.”
“Again, you give yourself far too much credit.” Paisley takes the chopsticks. With effort, she manages to wind a noodle around it. Holding it up, she eats it like a shark.
A cute, little, determined baby shark.
But damn, she’s gorgeous with her messy hair and pajamas covering every inch of her.
I glance at the bouquet I brought. A tad worse for wear, it sits in a crystal vase nearby. She explained how to trim the stems at an angle and we worked as a team on a mundane task. Everything about the past hour feels domestic and the only way I can describe the current vibe is bliss.
“Do you think Sloan and Holly will find anything at the boutique to wear to the hospital gala?” I change the subject.
“I don’t cater to Hol’s style much.” Paisley shrugs. “Sloan could go either way. Prom season is coming up, but I’m not stocking floor-length formal wear. Women go glam for the benefit. Even I order my dress from someplace else.”