Stretching up, he rubs his nose against mine. “You know I love a good challenge.”
I roll my eyes, knowing I’ve just thrown down the gauntlet.
“And I’m a persistent fucker when I want something,” he adds, grasping both sides of my face. “And I want you in my bed every night and every morning.” He flashes me a confident smile. “I’m not going to stop asking until you say yes.”
“What happened to letting me think about it?” I narrow my eyes at him.
He smirks. “I’ve changed my mind.” He tweaks my nose. “Sometimes, we don’t know what’s best for us until someone points it out, and on this occasion, that someone is going to be me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kent
It’s been more than two weeks since Presley and I got back together, and I ask her to move in with me every single day, but she’s still saying no. She has outlined her reasons, and I understand the commute is a big concern because it’s not so easy to move between her job and my house on public transportation.
Which is why I’m presently outside Ramshackle, waiting for my girl to finish her shift so I can show her the car I bought her. I fully expect her to be mad, but she can suck it up because this removes a big obstacle, and I’m confident she’ll see that once she’s calmed down.
When she doesn’t appear after a few minutes, I lock the car and saunter inside, winking at Bugger as I shove past him. Dude still doesn’t like me much—unless I’m flashing him hundred-dollar bills, and then I’m his best buddy.
I walk across the empty bar, frowning when I don’t spot my baby.
“Relax,” her friend Imogen says, noticing my frown. “She’s in the back getting her stuff.” She finishes wiping down the counter before straightening up, folding her arms across her chest, and leveling me with an unfathomable look. “She told me you asked her to move in.”
“I did. Several times. Daily.” I pull myself up onto a stool as I wait. “Did she also tell you she’s the most stubborn woman this side of the Atlantic?”
Imogen shakes her head. “It’s not stubbornness. It’s called protecting her heart.”
“Her heart is safe in my hands. I promise.”
She cocks her head to the side. “You mean that.”
“I do.”
A genuine smile crawls over her face. “I’m glad to hear it because that girl has been through enough heartbreak.”
“I agree, and I’ve no intention of adding to it.” There’s still a small flicker of fear at the back of my mind that says I’ll find a way of fucking it up, that this is too good to be true, but I ignore those thoughts, refusing to let them derail me.
“Good. By the way, thank you for last weekend with Kady. She had a great time.”
“She’s a good kid.” Presley had agreed to watch Kady last Sunday afternoon, so we hit the park and a pizza place before heading back to Presley’s apartment to watch some cheesy teen movie on Netflix.
“Also, Ford said to tell you thanks for the purse. Michelle loved it.”
“I owed him.”
“For what?” Presley asks, emerging from the staff room with her bag on her back and a suspicious look on her face.
“He helped me with some stuff, and in exchange, I got a Miranda Fanning purse for his girlfriend from Red.” Red, aka Rachel—Brad’s wife and Faye’s bestie—works for one of the hottest designer brands in New York. It pays to have contacts in the right places.
“What stuff?” she asks, planting her hands on her hips, letting me know she won’t let this go.
“Ford was the one who gave me your cell phone number and your address, and he might have informed me you liked pumpkin spice lattes and suggested which flowers to buy.” Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t figured it out for herself by now.
“That little shit. I’m going to kick his disloyal ass.”
Mo laughs, accepting the bag Presley hands her. “Considering where you’ve ended up, I think you should be thanking him for interfering.”
“I second that opinion,” I say, slinging my arm around Presley’s shoulders when she comes out from behind the counter. “Remind me to thank him when I see him next.”
