your life I can’t touch, because I don’t have anything you can’t be a part of.”
He’s quiet . . . not just a quiet that is an absence of words, but a quiet that gives him space to think. He’s turning it over in his mind, the things I’ve said, and I’ve known him long enough to leave him with his thoughts for a while. He’ll come back to it when he’s ready.
“Look.” I take his hand, loosening the tension of the last few moments. “I would never assume I know what it’s like, but I know rich, entitled assholes. I grew up with them, and that one is after you. You gave him ground he should never have.”
I shake my head, bewildered by the idea that he would allow himself to be in that position.
“Why did you get so angry? What did he say to you?”
A wall of ice falls over his face and his lips pull tight at the question, at the memory.
“Let’s go.”
He starts walking again without waiting for me. I stay right where I am in the middle of the sidewalk, and he’s several feet ahead before he realizes I’m not trotting after him like some cocker fucking spaniel. When he glances over his shoulder and I’m where he left me, his shoulders stiffen and swell with a breath I’m sure he draws to keep himself calm.
Good luck. That shit rarely works for me.
He heads back with swift strides, his eyes a dark maelstrom, nostrils flared, and all I can think about is the amazing make-up sex we’ll have after this fight.
“What?” Hands locked at his hips, the leather jacket fitted to the ridges of his chest, his expression a study of irritation. I just want to shake him up like an Etch A Sketch and jar that look off his face.
“My feet hurt.”
“Your feet . . .” He shakes his head as if to clear it. “What are you talking about?”
“You said we’d be fine walking home, but my boots have four-inch heels, and my feet hurt.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have worn four-inch heels.”
“And maybe you should have called for a car like I suggested.”
“For four blocks?” He rolls his eyes, but the brackets around his mouth disappear. His shoulders, all rigid muscles moments before, drop just a little. “We’re New Yorkers now—we’re not taking a car for four blocks.”
“I’ve been a New Yorker all my life, and I never had a problem taking a car four blocks wearing four-inch heels.”
He cups my neck, his thumb caressing my cheek, his eyes filled with a familiar exasperation and affection reserved for me.
“How many fights do you want to have at one time, baby?” he asks.
“That depends.” I smile and nod to his shoulders. “Are you giving me a ride?”
“A . . . a ride?”
“Piggyback.”
His truncated laugh rides on a puff of frigid air. “You’re joking.”
“Is that a no?” I keep my face neutral. “There’s only a block and a half left.”
“Exactly.” He throws his hands up. “You can walk a block and a half.”
I look at him. He looks at me. I’d rather our wills clash over something this trivial than what we were wrangling about moments ago. Those things had weight and depth, not suited for sidewalk conversation. Those things should wait until we get home.
“Hop on,” he finally says grudgingly, but with the tiniest flicker of amusement buried in his eyes.
There aren’t many people out as we get closer to our place, and the ones walking past don’t look too closely. They’ve seen odder things than some guy carrying his girlfriend piggyback.
“You’re choking me,” Grip says, but it’s a lie. Just to tell him I know it is, I tighten my arms around his neck.
“Ow.” He laughs. “As if it isn’t already hard enough carrying you.”
“Are you calling me fat?” I inject indignation into my voice. “Keep it up and you’ll find yourself on the couch.”
“First of all, there are three bedrooms,” Grip says. “Second of all, if I slept on the couch, you’d be on top of me when I woke up.”
I smack his head.
“What?” His shoulders shake under my arms as he laughs. “You love couch sex. I mean, you love all sex, but especially couch sex.”
“Oh now I’m a nympho?”
“Only for me.” He pulls my hand from where it’s hooked loosely at his throat up to his lips for a quick kiss. “And that’s totally acceptable.”
For the last block, we don’t speak much, there’s less need to. We feel the things