Eventually he said quietly into my neck, “After we get this done in town, we’re comin’ home and, swear to God, anyone gets close to this house, I’m f**kin’ shootin’ ‘em.”
I pulled my head back, his came up but he didn’t drop his arms. Neither did I.
“Do you own a gun?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he answered. “You have a problem with guns?”
I thought about this for a moment and realized I’d never really thought about guns so I replied, “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about guns.”
“I’ll take you out shootin’,” Max decided instantly.
I had a problem with that. “I don’t think –”
“Later.”
“Max –” I started to protest.
“Tomorrow.”
“Max –”
His arms gave me a squeeze and his face grew attractively lascivious. “Maybe the next day.”
“Max!” I snapped, losing patience.
He grinned and changed the subject. “You bought a little pitcher, baby.”
I decided to let him change the subject as this one was safer and less likely to make me angry. I’d been angry enough that day for at least a week. Maybe a year.
“It’s a gift,” I informed him, “for taking care of me when I was sick.”
“You bought me a little pitcher as a gift?”
“Yes,” I said. “And a sugar bowl.”
He shook his head like I was adorable then he stated, “My gift was better.”
“Sorry?”
“The ring.”
I immediately pulled my hand from behind his back, placed it on his chest and stared at the ring he gave me that I hadn’t taken off.
Then I looked at him and said, “Yes, agreed, this ring is a whole lot better than a little pitcher even with a matching sugar bowl.”
He threw his head back and laughed, one of his arms sliding high up my back as he crushed my arm between us and gave me a tight hug.
“Are you saying you don’t like my gift?” I asked after he stopped laughing.
“I’ll like the one you’re givin’ me this afternoon a f**kuva lot better,” he replied and I shivered again in his arms before his face got close and I saw he was fighting a grin. “Go take a shower, honey, I’ll make breakfast.”
“I can make breakfast.”
He shook his head. “You take an age to get ready. You’re gettin’ a head start.”
He wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t one of those women who was ready to face the day after a shower and an application of deodorant.
Though I didn’t take “an age”.