My Grumpy Old Bear - Jayda Marx Page 0,42

you?” I chuckled as we turned ourselves around so our heads were on the pillows. Brooks tucked the blankets around us and pressed his warm chest and belly against my back. Within moments, his breathing turned deep and slow. I snuggled back into my honeybear and felt my own eyes growing heavy. My life is freaking perfect.

Chapter Ten

Brooks

My life is fucking perfect. Noah and I had been together for a little over a month, and spent nearly every day of it together. We talked and flirted at the cafe, we had dinners out as well as pizza nights in at my house. We went to the movies and had sizzling hot sex almost every night. I watched him perform at The Rhinestone Cowboy every Wednesday and Friday now; Robert booked him for two nights a week due to popular demand. Through it all, Noah couldn’t seem to get enough of my company and I sure as shit couldn’t get enough of his.

And now I waited just as eagerly as I did every time he came to pick me up; pacing in front of my door with a stomach full of butterflies. We were heading to the town’s Independence Day celebration together, with plans of spending the whole evening listening to the live music provided, eating from food trucks and then watching the huge fireworks display the city always provided.

I’d not attended the celebration before, even though I’d lived here for years. I was usually in bed by the time the fireworks even started because I was old, and avoided the crowds because I was a bastard. I’m really not that hard to figure out. But I wanted to experience everything with Noah, and do anything his heart desired. His heart desired food and fireworks, so that’s what my man would get.

A knock sounded on my front door and I inspected my outfit before answering. I was unsurprisingly wearing a pair of khaki cargo shorts and tennis shoes, but my top was different than my signature t-shirt. I’d chosen a short sleeved button-down shirt in red, white and blue plaid. It seemed to fit the occasion. I just hoped it wasn’t too loud or too young for me. I took a deep breath and opened my door.

Noah’s eyes sparkled and his grin stretched across his face when he saw me. “Honeybear, you look gorgeous!” he gushed. He brought one arm from around his back to trail his fingers down my chest. “I love the shirt; very festive and very sexy.”

“Thank you.” I was getting better at responding to his praise with thanks instead of disbelief, which Noah seemed to appreciate. “And you look incredible as always.” I was also getting better at giving my man compliments. He deserved them, and I loved the way his face dimpled when I gave them.

“Thanks.” He ran his hand down his own button down shirt, which was white and covered in blue and red firework bursts. He wore it with a pair of ripped jeans and those damn sneakers that he loved which had holes in the toes and parts of the soles unattached. I offered to buy him some new ones, but he claimed the more worn they got, the more comfortable they were. “Ready for your surprise?” he asked, bouncing his brows.

Noah always greeted me at the door with a gift of some kind. He’d given me everything from flowers to candy to framed photographs he’d taken of us that now hung in every room of my house, to little knick knacks he thought I’d like that now decorated my once decor-free home. I loved the presents, but told him repeatedly they weren’t necessary; that I just enjoyed being with him. He always waved me off and said it was his right as my boyfriend to spoil me. I didn’t fight him too hard; I loved being spoiled, and loved my sweet man even more.

“Ready.” He grinned and brought his hand around from behind his back, offering me a long, thin box. “Sparklers?”

“Yep! I thought they’d be fun to play with tonight while we’re waiting for fireworks.”

“That does sound like fun. Thank you, Sunshine; you think of everything.” I gave him a long, wet kiss and smiled at the throaty moan I got in return.

“Mm, you’re making me want to say ‘screw the fireworks’ and stay here and suck your dick.”

Fuck, that naughty mouth of his gets me every time. “Would being ten minutes late really hurt?” It was only five o’clock; we