Nine
Luke drove the borrowed truck as fast as the speed limit would allow to Danica’s rented house. In the weeks since the marriage, Danica had spent nearly every night at his place, but she still maintained her own place. Finally, he’d put his foot down. It was important this marriage had all the appearances of a real one when Nestor returned to town. She needed to be in full residence at his place, not ping-ponging between two addresses. It surprised him how much he looked forward to seeing her clothes in his closet. Her books on his bookcase. He liked knowing there would be physical proof she was ensconced in his life.
He certainly didn’t mind having Danica there at the end of every day. He’d never lived with anyone before—it had never made practical sense—but the longer he spent with Danica, the more the situation appealed to him. Already he could sense his house, purchased for its investment value, becoming a home. A place where he wanted to be, rather than a building in which to store items and sleep. Things were falling into place, neatly and orderly.
Except one. He couldn’t tell if Danica wanted to move in as much as he wanted her to. The fisted knot in his stomach tightened. After the lunch with his parents, she had been quiet. Too quiet. He knew it had been a bad idea. But he’d calculated the risk and took it anyway. He’d figured the odds were in his favor, because she had a way of making even the most onerous obligations seem achievable and fun.
Then his parents had had to behave like, well, his parents. As long as he lived, he would always be grateful—and knocked off his feet—that Danica had stood up to them. No, strike that. She’d stood up for him. She’d gone toe to toe with the Demon Czarina of Bay Area society and the passive-aggressive charm offensive that was his father—and won.
Luke fought his own battles. He had ever since he could remember. He enjoyed it. He relished the strategy, the countermeasures, the surprise attacks. He thought fifteen steps ahead and eighteen months into the future. By the time his opponents gathered to attack, he had moved onto the next battlefield.
It was unsettling to have a champion. Unsettling, but triggering an almost painful warmth that swelled inside his chest.
He pulled the truck in front of a small, nondescript house. A chain link fence surrounded a patchy yard, littered with children’s toys. Danica ran down the front path to meet him. Raising an eyebrow, he indicated the plastic dump trucks and naked baby dolls. “Something I don’t know?”
“My roommate occasionally babysits to make extra money,” she said, after accepting a kiss. “She has a good job as a pediatric nurse, but costs have skyrocketed the last few years.” The front door opened directly into the living room, and she ushered Luke inside. The late afternoon sunshine barely pierced through the curtains lining the windows and did little to dispel the shadows. Still, he could see the room was well kept, even if most of the furniture had seen better days. Several cardboard boxes were stacked neatly against a wall.
“You didn’t tell me you shared a house,” he said.
“When I moved here, I didn’t realize how expensive it is to live in the Bay Area. I was lucky Mai needed someone to rent her spare room and we hit it off. It worked out well. So, um...” Danica played with the bracelet on her wrist. “Thanks for coming over. But I was happy to call movers.”
She was being tentative. Just like she’d been after the lunch with his parents. “Glad to help. Besides, I keep missing my trainer appointments. Someone, not naming names, keeps me occupied in bed in the early morning.”
She laughed, and he relaxed. Maybe it was just nerves. They were legally married, but living together was a big step.
It didn’t take long to load Danica’s possessions from the front room. Mai owned most of the furniture, so it remained with the house. He frowned after they placed the last box inside the truck.
“What about the bedroom?” he asked. The ever-present spark when he was near Danica ignited even though now was not the time. No doubt the bed was stripped of its sheets and pillows. Too bad, because he couldn’t think of a better way to recuperate from a short afternoon of moving medium-size boxes than by snuggling under the covers. And by snuggling, he meant hearing her breathily scream his name at least two or three times before burying himself in her warm depth.