“I know that you love me and I trust you,” he said, words that meant more to me than I could possibly express. “So why not have a little fun? Sometimes a guy just wants to be pinned to the bed and fucked hard.”
I just sat there staring at him in shock for a few minutes. “If you’re uncertain…” the guy beside me said, snapping me out of my daze.
“Fuck you.” I got off the stool and pulled Josh behind me as I made my way to the exit. I couldn’t believe Josh wanted to go to a hotel instead of his own home. I knew how fastidious he could be about certain things and beds was high on the list.
“Pick a good hotel though, babe. I don’t want sheets so thin I can see through them or a lumpy mattress.”
I took him to the nicest hotel in the city and didn’t even grimace when the guy behind the reservation desk swiped my card. It was worth the three Benjamins to know that the pillow beneath Josh’s face would be soft, the mattress would have the correct amount of firmness, and the sheets had enough thread count that they didn’t tear when I fucked him into the next month.
TWO WEEKS LATER,I was standing in the middle of Gabe’s living room looking around with my hands on my hips. There wasn’t a need to buy another TV because his big monstrosity could go into the living room at my–our–house and my current TV could go into my–our–bedroom. The rest of his furniture though…
“Don’t worry about it, Sunshine,” Gabe said when he entered the room behind me. “As ugly as the furniture is, it’s functional, new-ish, and will fit nicely in the living room.”
I slowly turned to face him. I did want Gabe to share his life with me, but what I meant was him, his clothes, and his dog move in while the rest of his things didn’t. The clothes and dog we had already moved. Gabe asked me to look around to see if there was anything I wanted in the living room and kitchen before he gave it away.
“I was just kidding,” he said quickly when he saw the look on my face. “I have a box of things in the hall closet upstairs that I want to grab so why don’t you take a look at the movies and then there are some kind of ancient iron pots and pans that my grandmother passed down to my mom, she gave them to me when I moved and…”
I didn’t wait for him to finish. I headed straight to his kitchen cabinets to see if he meant cast iron skillets. I loved cast iron skillets and finding really good ones was hard to do. It seemed like it took forever to season new cast iron cookware. I opened the cabinets closest to the stove, which was where I’d store the skillets and pots, but not my guy. I searched every cabinet in the amount of time it took him to retrieve a box of stuff from the hall closet. Don’t think I wasn’t searching that box before I let him put things out and about. There was a balance to my home that I needed to maintain. That was a battle for another hour, right then I just wanted to know where the fuck he was keeping the holy grail of cookware.
“Don’t tease me, man. Where are the cast iron skillets and pots?”
Gabe almost looked afraid when he pointed to the oven.He kept them stored in the oven?I released an excited breath and opened the oven door slowly. There they were, the bastions of true Southern cooking stacked inside the oven. There had to be at least three Dutch ovens and ten skillets in various sizes.
“The lids are in the drawer below,” Gabe said.
“Baby, do you have any idea what I can do with cookware like this? Have you ever had a steak seared and cooked on these bad asses?” I saw an image of me standing in my kitchen spooning butter over perfectly seared meat while a potato dish was baking in the oven and Brussel sprouts were sautéing in a garlic butter and herb sauce in a separate skillet on the stove. “We need to stop at the store on the way home.”
“You already have some of those pans, don’t you?” Gabe asked. I noticed his ignored my comment about going to the store. I suspected he’d rather undergo a root canal.
“God love your heart, Gabe,” I said shaking my head. “They’re not the same quality and these pans have already been seasoned with love for decades. There’s just no comparison.” I pulled a skillet out of the oven and looked at it. “It’s beautiful, as will be the food I cook in it.”
“I have no doubts about that, Sunshine. You’re the best cook I’ve ever known.” He pinched my ass and I turned to look at him. “Don’t be telling my mother I said that.”
“Oh my God! I make one little mistake with the mushrooms and suddenly I’m a blabbermouth who tries to destroy your relationship with your mother.” Okay, he didn’t really imply that, but it was fun to harass him all the same. “You wound me, Gabe.” I gave a fake sniff.
“Sunshine, however can I make it up to you?” he asked, playing along.
“Let me think about it,” I said, setting the skillet back in the oven and closing the door. “How about we have a final farewell fuck in your house. I’m sure the next tenants won’t be nearly as exciting for these old walls to witness.”
Gabe gave me the good hard fucking the situation called for then we packed up the rest of the things. I learned that most of the stuff was getting donated, but someone actually wanted the boring old living room furniture. My guess was they wanted it for a man cave, which was fine because only other knuckle-draggers would see it there.
We stopped by the grocery store so I could buy the items I needed to fix the steak dinner from my imagination. I was all for being treated like an equal until it came time to lug that heavy-as-fuck cast iron cookware upstairs. I let Detective Weightlifter handle that. I even told him he could thank me later for helping him get in an extra workout. I heard him grumble about working something out in my ass, but I let his comment slide.
“What are you going to do with those apples?” Gabe wanted to know. “Going to serve them as a side dish?”
“No,” I told him. “I’m going to make apple crunch in the oven withourcast iron skillet.”
“Sunshine, you say the sexiest things,” he said, pressing himself against me where I stood at the counter slicing apples. “You know all of my weaknesses.”
“Hmmm, I’m sure you’ve hidden one or two, but I’ll figure them out. And when I do,” I pressed my ass into his groin, “I’ll own you.”
“You already do,” he said gruffly in my ear.
The steak, potatoes, and Brussel sprouts turned out better than I imagined. Gabe gave his usual grunts and groans while he ate, which warmed my heart and challenged me to find new recipes to please him. The smell of the cinnamon, apple, and butter began to invade all corners of our home by the time Gabe started pulling items out of his box from his house.
In all honesty, I would’ve gladly put out anything Gabe wanted in his home. I wondered how important they could’ve been since they were in his closet and not on display though. I was expecting old football trophies or accommodations of some sort. Instead, they were family pictures. My heart ached in my chest when I saw his brother’s smiling face in several pictures of the two of them together eating an ice cream cone beneath a big shade tree, riding bikes, or playing in a treehouse. My favorite by far was of them as little kids dressed up as superheroes for Halloween. I noticed that his brother had been dressed as Superman and I remember Gabe saying that Dylan had been his hero, his champion.
I bit my lip to keep from crying. Once I had a handle on my emotions, I turned to face Gabe and asked, “Why didn’t you have these beautiful pictures displayed at your house?”
