The Biker and the Loner (Oil and Water #3)- S. Ann Cole Page 0,26

a bed upstairs and that's all I need. Don't give a shit ‘bout anything else. But you’ll need to feel at home when you're here, so write down whatever you think’ll make the place comfortable enough for you."

"When I'm here?" I say dumbly.

"Peach,”—he pauses to swallow his last bite—“I can’t say I’m a fan of Cookie being next door, but it's a sweet pad. If it starts to feel like home for us, I'll buy it. If we hate it, we go somewhere else."

What's happening right now? I'm so confused. Why is he using words like we and us? "I, um..."

"Yeah, if you need a few minutes to process, take it, but make it quick." He moves in close and elevates my chin with his fist, making sure our eyes lock. "We’re happening, Ley."

That’s right, I do need a few minutes to process this. He's serious. He's not messing around. He's back and he's claiming me.

Heart is dancing like the lady in the red dress emoji, but Brain knows better.

Brain argues: So, he’s back, fresh from war with a bunch of battle scars to show. He’s suffered multiple near-death experiences and is no doubt going through survivor’s remorse. He's in a phase of extreme gratitude right now and he’s trying to take the “good” path, it appears. But soon enough, the phase will fade, and he will remember who he truly is and what he genuinely enjoys, and inevitably cast you aside.

See? Brain is logical. I can trust Brain.

That said, it's futile to argue with Scratch on this. He's alpha to the nth degree and will overrun me at every turn, so it's better to preserve my energy and just go along with it for now. In the same vain: Low expectations, no emotions.

With that, I turn and walk right out the door to grab a pen and a notepad from my glove compartment. When I return, Scratch is leaning against the kitchen island with his big, muscled arms crossed.

"Good now?" he asks.

With a half-hearted smile, I reply, "Great."

~

We’re at a home decor store shopping for a few of the things needed for the house. We’ve decided to get only the necessary furniture for now, which includes a couch set, a TV stand, and a coffee table for the living room. We agreed on the coffee table and TV stand quite easily. Until we got to the couch set…

Eighteen minutes. That’s how long we’ve been at it.

I contend, “I thought you said we would be getting what makes me comfortable?"

"Peach, for the love of God, we’re not getting a white couch. Spilled beer, barbecue sauce, ash from my joint... Sure, this set looks good, but it's not practical." Logically, he is right. "The brown leather set we looked at before is the better option. Easier to clean, stain-resistant."

I huff and pout, but only because he's right and I have no better argument. "Whatever." Turning to the exceptionally patient sales assistant who stood throughout our eighteen-minute long fight, I say, "We'll take the sectional leather set."

“Of course, Ma’am.”

As I start to follow after the assistant, Scratch catches me around the waist from behind and nuzzles my neck. “You’ll thank me later. Trust me.”

“No one likes to lose,” I mumble sulkily.

“Pete’s sake.” He chuckles. “Okay, you have free reign on whatever else we need to get. Happy?”

I spin in his arms and grin up at him. “Immensely.”

He shakes his head at me.

True to his word, he leaves me alone to pick the other stuff. Comforters, pillows, shower curtains, bathroom mats, towels, drapes, dishrags, cutlery, dinnerware, pots, and kitchen utensils.

After wrapping up with the payments and agreeing on delivery dates for the furniture, my car trunk loaded, Scratch asks, “Is that it? We about done with this house shopping shit now?"

"Hang on." I take out my notepad and check the list. "Yep. All we need now are some groceries and toiletries and we're good."

"Babe, those Danishes have already been obliterated from my stomach with all that walking we've been doing, you know."

"Stop whining," I say, punching his arm. "You asked for my help and I'm helping."

"Shit. Didn't think it’d take this long," he carps.

"Nope. You men never do."

We spend the next hour at the grocery store. Or rather, I spend the next hour at the grocery store, because Scratch starts to gripe after ten minutes into our shopping, so I send him to wait in the car. I’m a cooker, and if I’m going to be spending any kind of time at his