“Yeah.”
Excellent.
Still.
“Keep hold of some of that aggression, baby,” I purred. “You got a woman who’s all in to help you work it out.”
“Brat,” he replied, but his tone was a lot lighter. And I knew he was over it when he said, “Don’t let Hound win that fight about the tile, Rynnie. I’ve been over to his and Keely’s house more than once. And every time, it takes me half an hour to fight getting dizzy before I get used to it.”
I suspected this, considering what I’d seen of Hound’s vision.
“Thanks for the inside advice.”
“Anytime. But just to say, it’s your house, so you pick what you want.”
I was going to do that. I was just having too much fun watching Joker and Hound fight about it.
“Okay, honey.”
“Okay.”
“I best go, because they are actually carrying knives.”
I knew he was totally over it when I heard his quiet laughter.
“Later, Boone,” I said when it was done.
“Ryn?”
“Yeah?”
“Pack a bag for tonight.”
“Of course.”
“And don’t eat, I’m making us dinner.”
“I hope you’re a better cook than me.”
“I am.”
I burst out laughing.
When I stopped, he ordered, “Bring a silk scarf. A long one.”
I cast my eyes down as I experienced another private quiver.
“Yeah, baby?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“Later, sweetheart.”
“Boone?” I called quickly before he rang off.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for looking out for me.”
“Anytime,” he repeated.
And that…
Now that was a knight’s vow.
* * *I chewed.
I swallowed.
I looked to my guy.
And stated firmly, “This sucks.”
His brows went up. “You don’t like your steak?”
Oh, I liked my steak.
A thick juicy fillet, grilled to perfection (that being medium rare), and as if that wasn’t enough, also topped with this crazy-good bleu cheese sauce.
This with some Brussels sprouts Boone roasted in oil with bacon pieces, bits of onion, and he’d seasoned them to perfection.
And some boiled new potatoes that he didn’t just boil, drain and serve.
Oh no.
He tossed them in some buttery herbed concoction that made them heavenly.
So he could seriously cook.
But that wasn’t it.
He lived in a freaking Lowry loft.
One mammoth room (outside laundry and bath).
Whitewashed brick.
Big windows.
Clean-lined, modern, comfortable-looking furniture.
Great rugs.
Massive bed.
And he had a kickass Dyson fan pointed at the bed, so I knew he was a white-noise-while-sleeping man—I mean, did we fit or what?
He even had a gallery wall that, when I gave him a look after checking out all the kickassedness that was framed on it, he shrugged and said, “I get into art.”
Yeah, he did, and he had an eye.
He even had a dining room space with an actual table.
Like a grownup.
Which was where we were, eating his awesome food.
“No, my steak is awesome,” I told him. “What sucks is that you’ve totally got it way more together than me.”
“Babe,” he muttered, before shoving more sprouts in his mouth.
“Please tell me your mother, or even some ex-girlfriend, decorated your house,” I begged.
He chewed and shook his head.
“So you’re good at interior design too?” I squeaked.
“I can pick a couch,” he stated.
“And rugs. And art. And freaking coffee table books.”
He grinned at me. “I like Annie Leibovitz.”
I shook my head, speared a new potato and chewed on it angrily.
“I don’t get why this is an issue,” Boone noted, watching me chew.
“Well, you wouldn’t, because you’re the together one in this relationship.”
“I wasn’t the last three days.”
That shut my mouth.
“My woman had it together,” he went on. “She reached out. She kept us connected, even when she wasn’t getting anything in return. She had it together trying to keep us together. And I was a dick.”
“Boone, you weren’t a dick,” I said quietly.
“I was a dick.”
“Okay, you were a dick, but then you stopped being a dick and that’s all over. It’s behind us.”
“Your pad is kickass too,” he pointed out.
“I am dark and you,” I motioned with a wide swing of my fork, “are way light.”
“Can’t have light without dark, can’t have dark without light. Fit seems perfect to me,” he muttered, forking into a piece of steak he cut.
I watched him put it in his mouth.
God, how, even after our dramatic snafu, did he keep getting better?
“Got an answer for everything, don’t you, baby?” I whispered.
He was slightly bent over his plate, so it was sexy as all hell when he lifted just his eyes to me, swallowed and said, “Yup.”
“Just so you know, all that was my way of saying I dig your space and I dig you can cook.”
“Got that, Rynnie.”
I smiled at him.
He smiled back.
Then I stuck my fork into some Brussels sprouts, informing him, “You do know this means you’re doing all the cooking.”
“Don’t mind that,” he said.
“I’m hell on wheels in a grocery store though,” I shared. “So I can do that.”
“Nope, grocery shopping together,” he declared.
“But I can take that chore.”
“I like the idea of being out with you.”
Well, that was sweet.
But.
“It’s just the grocery store.”
“Ryn, you’ve had boyfriends.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve had Doms.”