“Stop scratching your arse. People are going to think you have the clap.”
I glared at Charlie. “I don’t think the clap makes your ass cheek itch. And anyway, this is your fault.”
He dropped his jaw. “My fault? I wouldn’t be caught dead with a tattoo on my arse, not to mention a tattoo of a fecking four-leaf clover. How cliché can you get?”
“Forgive me for wanting to commemorate the moment I met the love of my life,” I muttered, trying to scratch it without attracting his attention again. It was impossible.
“Do we need to go in the lavatory so I can put some cream on it, Love?”
I twisted around to see if there was a line by the lavatories. “Forget the cream. Can we do other things in there?” For once, it didn’t even occur to me to consider the germs in the place. If Charlie was game for mile-high sexcapades, it would be worth the hazmat-level decontamination required afterward.
“And risk throwing the entire plane off balance? I don’t think so. Sit there and be still. Say your final prayers or whatever you need to do to make things right with your god before this all goes pear-shaped. Plus, I threw away your last bottle of hand sanitizer.”
Lucky for me, I’d hidden an extra one in—
“And the one I found in your sunglasses case. It’s like you think I don’t know you at all.”
“Did you take your pill?” I asked.
“Yeah. A couple of times. Just to be sure.”
Umm…
“Say again?” I asked.
“It’s fine. West told me I can take a handful.”
“Babe, West said you can take a pill before you get on the plane with a handful of water from the bathroom sink. We were talking about not being able to take a drink through security.”
“Oh.”
“You’re going to make a scene, aren’t you?”
“No, I promised you after last time. Besides, I’m fine with flying now,” Charlie said. I detected a slight slurry softness to his voice already.
“You need to get used to it if we’re going to keep going back and forth like this.”
“’Snot my fault the baby got his first tooth.” He closed his eyes and slid his head onto my shoulder. Long ginger hair fell across my white shirt, and my fingers immediately went for it. I loved playing with his hair. Sometimes in front of the TV he’d let me brush it and braid it. I wondered if we’d ever have a little girl with long red hair like his. Charlie wanted kids as much as I did, but we were both keen to wait until we’d been together longer and had our home life in Hobie a bit more settled first.
“I’m not sure your sister was thrilled with us popping in to see Mackie’s new tooth. She looked put out.”
“Only because the flat’s so small. They need to move back to the pub with Dad.”
“Donny said he’s trying to start something with a couple of mates so he can work from Doolin. I think Cait has designs on your cottage,” I said. His hand had fallen on my leg and was sneaking its way higher and more inward. My dick was acutely aware of the sensual invasion. “Stop,” I warned, but there was no heat in the word.
“Make me,” he mumbled.
I laughed at the idea he’d be awake long enough to cause trouble. During the last flight we’d taken, he’d tried to suck me off under the blanket. Unfortunately he’d banged his elbow on something sharp and screamed bloody murder, which had essentially ratted us out to everyone around us.
He shifted until his lips were against the bare skin at my throat. “Did you hear back from Bruce about the thing?”
“Yes. I already told you this. You forgot because you’re high.”
“Tell me again.”
“You’re finally the official owner of Fig and Bramble US. Congratulations on your lifelong commitment to getting people drunk.”
“Shut it. I’m a publican,” he slurred. “It’s what we do.”
“That word has never sounded right to me. I keep thinking you’re saying pelican.”
“And we’re going to build a ranch,” he added.
“We’re going to build a house on the existing ranch,” I corrected. I slid down a little in my seat, pulling him with me and getting more comfortable.
“And now that you got the brewery stuff up and running, you’re going to think about what you want to do next, but not in Dallas. And not with long hours. Farming probably.”
I refrained from reminding him of the differences between farming and ranching. Farmers planted crops, ranchers raised livestock. I was beginning to think he mixed up the two terms on purpose just to fuck with me.
We’d spent many hours researching Delaine Merino sheep for their hardiness in warmer climates. I’d decided to start with a specialty sheep herd so Charlie and Mama would have something to play with. He was also determined to make a sheepherding dog out of our new puppy, the coon-collie, or coolie as Doc called it, that we hadn’t been able to part with from Mama’s litter.