In front of the room full of strangers, Grumpy looks over and crosses his arms again. “Baby, we’re going to need kids, two girls and a boy.”
“What?” I yell.
“Or two boys and a girl, if you prefer.”
“But I’m too young!” comes out before I can stop it.
“I’ll wait,” Harry says, looking down on me.
More people are gathering now, and enough is enough. I throw my ladle into the potato pot, and spinning in my non-hot apron, I give him hate-eyes.
“Look, you, me, we’re too much. We’re too intense. We don’t work, and you! You’re not a team player!”
“I’ll change more. I’ve already changed!”
I storm away into the quiet and dark area of the old building, away from the crowd. The crazy brute follows me, and I spin on him, fast. “So, what about work and being a workaholic?”
“Over. I just signed away most of my duties. I’m semi-retired.”
I huff, and I can’t believe it. I don’t know what to say, so I lift my chin. “And what about living in the now?”
“Look at me,” he says, all loose, free, and easy.
He has been sprayed with gravy and my potatoes, and he looks scruffy. Even casual.
“You’re just a mess!” I huff, pissed.
“Maybe,” he says, wiping potato from his shirt, then licking it, eyes on me.
“Don’t lick your finger.”
“Why?”
“Just don’t,” I say.
“Who’s bossy now?”
He is now close and getting closer and closer. My stupid body likes it, way too much.
“Anyway, you only have work clothes! You. Are. Your. Job.”
“Then buy me clothes.”
“That’s your job, now,” I say, hands on my hips.
“It’s yours because we’re a couple.”
“Was a couple!”
“Is! Anyway, I have another job now,” the dick says, looking serious.
“Right, and what’s that?” I ask, an eyebrow high.
“Worshipping you and making you come.”
“Phah,” I huff, my defenses crumbling.
“And this,” he says, stepping closer, “loving you.”
