I shift uncomfortably. The lies are starting to fester inside of me, metastasizing and pushing up against the edges of this fantasy world we’ve made inside my dad’s cabin. But I like this. I like hanging out with someone who wants to fuck me—not the country star they saw in a music video on YouTube. And I’m really liking not walking around with a big-old case of dead inside. I don’t want anything to disrupt that. But I know in my gut everything will change the instant I tell her who I am. She will start acting differently. And I like exactly where we are.
“I’m more a Reaper in name only these days,” I answer carefully. “They don’t give me assignments.”
She must not know how motorcycle clubs work because instead of throwing me one of those adorable suspicious squints, she just says, “Oh,” like that makes complete sense.
Then she asks, “How about your father? You mentioned something about a business he wanted to go into with you and your brother.”
“He actually started it already,” I answer. “My older brother’s moved out to Vegas, and he’s almost switched over to running its day-to-day operations full-time. But the position my dad offered me is still open. And it’s not half bad. I guess you could say it’s kind of in my wheelhouse, and I think it could be…maybe not boring.”
“Not boring sounds good,” she says, flipping onto her side to look at me. “What’s holding you back?”
I shrug. “I guess because I know, in the back of my head, this is Dad’s way of controlling me. He wants me to settle down. Get married and start a family—just like my brother, who can do no wrong. But that’s not me. I don’t want kids. I don’t want paperwork. I mean, my parents had that, and look how that turned out.”
She makes a considering chuff. “I never thought of it that way. I guess because my parents were in love and dedicated to each other before they died. I’ve always wanted what they had. Marriage and kids—at least three. I hated growing up an only child.”
I think about how lonely I was without Geoff all those years I lived in L.A. and admit, “I hated not having siblings too—that’s a big part of why I joined the Reapers. I guess you could say Waylon and Hades are kind of like big brothers to me. But three kids...that’s a lot.”
She laughs and covers her face. “I know…and it’s boring. But I want what I want. First, I need to get all this rebellion out of my system, maybe use this passport I just got, then I’ll settle down and have some babies.”
Yeah, that’s all I am to her…a rebellion. It shouldn’t mess with my head. Still, the thought of her finishing up with me and moving on to some guy on the East Coast who wants to do the whole minivan and kids thing. That future isn’t what I want—like, at all. But my chest tightens with a weird, jealous ache.
“Hey,” she says, cupping my cheek. “We don’t have to talk about boring stuff. How about we do it right here on the floor, and you let me be on top?”
The ache gives way to a laugh. And I flip over on top of her to pin her down before she can attack me like she always does when she starts talking about taking the lead.
“You’re just going to keep on trying to make that happen, aren’t you? Let me explain this to you in Tennessee—ain’t never gonna happen.”
“That’s not Tennessee. That’s just any old Southern accent—” she starts to protest before I cut her off with another kiss.
We go on like this, and I get used to whiling away the days with her. Of waking up wrapped in her arms. She insists on calling this position “little spooning” me, no matter how much I punish her. But I prefer to think of it as a preamble for our morning wrestling session.
However, one day I wake up in bed alone. She’s not in the bathroom, and I don’t smell anything cooking when I come out to the hallway to investigate.
But the door to her bedroom, which has remained pretty much closed since she all but moved in with me, is standing open. I pad down the hallway—then scrunch my forehead when I find her in the guest room. That oversized tote she carries as a purse is sitting in the middle of the bed, and she’s throwing things into its big mouth.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stretching out in the doorway.
She looks up and squints. “Is there a reason you always have to look so delicious and naked first thing in the morning?”
“Is there a reason you're not naked this morning?” I ask back, dead serious. “And/or cooking me breakfast?”