Lift You Up (Rivers Brothers 1)

"You're a dick."

'Yep," he agreed, smirking as he walked away.

I had thought it was actually pretty clever for someone I would have figured as allergic to the finer things in life like poetry, like good manners.

Inappropriate, sure, but that was Nixon.

He had no filter.

For better or worse.

And, well, since that cast was off, all we had been doing was falling into bed. We were careful of her ankle still, but there was no clunky cast to get in our way.

Being back inside her felt like coming home, like it was where I had always belonged. And, well, I couldn't get enough of her. Luckily, she had been likewise afflicted. I was pretty sure I lost a couple gallons of sweat that first week, feeling constantly dehydrated and aching in all my muscles.

Every inch of my apartment had seen us in all sorts of ways. Me on top, her on top. Soft, sweet. Rough, hard. Making love. Straight up fucking.

We were insatiable.

I had maybe stopped in for a lunchtime quickie every single day. And was somewhat disappointed at not having that opportunity today.

But this was life.

It was time we got back to it.

We couldn't live in the fantasy forever.

And she loved her store. I couldn't begrudge her wanting to be back there, making sure everything was running smoothly, training the three new kids Harry had hired since they lost their only part-time employee being closed for so long. I had been the one to insist on two extra employees, knowing there was no way Savea should be on her feet that many hours a day when she was still getting her strength back.

Alright, fine, it was only that in part. The other part was me wanting my time with her. I think she knew that. And I was pretty sure she wanted it too.

It was midday when she came in to take Padfoot home with her, looking a bit worn around the edges, eyes a little pained.

"Pushed it a little too hard?" I asked, pulling her in, pressing a kiss to her lips.

"My ankle is throbbing a little. I just need to get it up for a little bit. Will you be home for dinner?"

It was such a simple, normal question. But for some reason, it really hit me right then, realizing there wasn't a distinction anymore. About it being my place or hers. It was home. And she wanted to know when to expect me.

My heart, already sure, felt the knowledge even more intensely.

She was the one.

"Yeah, but let's order in. I don't want you on your feet if your ankle is bothering you."

"I'm not going to argue with you," she agreed, reaching down to latch a leash on Paddy, grabbing Petunia, tucking her under her arm. "Come on, babies. Let's go take a nap. I know," she said, leaning down to pat Paddy's head. "But he'll be home soon. We'll have a bully stick while we wait. Well, you'll have a bully stick, I'm gonna have a coffee and two Advil."

With that, she was out.

I wasn't sure I let my breath go until I heard the alarm beep then disengage again.

It didn't matter that I knew she was safe, that the guys who had taken her, while they escaped with their lives, knew that they could never come anywhere near this town again.

I was still a little on-edge about her being alone in the apartment.

I had been thinking for a while about how to suggest that maybe we start thinking about fixing up her place, making it a home. A livable home. Get the fences up for the dogs. Maybe consider an edition even though there wasn't a pressing need for one at the moment. The place would be tight, but only slightly smaller than my place that had felt plenty big enough.

I was worried it was too soon.

To talk about things like moving in.

It had only been, what, ten, eleven weeks? Something like that.

Most people would say that was way too soon to move in together. But we had been living together already. For that whole time.

And it wasn't like we could learn too much about each other that we already didn't know. You got to learn the ins and outs of a person when you were responsible with helping them with all aspects of their life.

Late afternoons were when she got grumpy. Especially if she was hungry. If you handed her a snack without her asking, she was a different person.

She was always soft and sweet before sleep, more open, more likely to say cute little things.

Like she had been obsessed with the way I said her name from the first time I did it.

Like she loved it when I talked dirty to her.

Like she thought I would make a great father someday.

Little nothings that felt like big everythings, that made my heart squeeze, a completely foreign phenomenon before she came into my life.