I hopped into the rental and backed the SUV into the garage. I grinned when I saw my Fat Boy covered with a white tarp. That was damn thoughtful.
When Jagger pulled his truck into the driveway, got out, and came into the garage, he pushed the button to let down the door and stepped in front of me. “The code is eight-six-zero-three. This is so you don’t have to get out to open it.” It was a garage door opener.
“Thanks.” I put it in one of the saddlebags on my bike before following him into the house.
“Let’s get your things from the porch. For now, we can put your bags in the extra bedroom. I didn’t notice any furniture when I got your stuff out of the back seat. Do we need to go back to Carson City with a box truck?”
With a hearty laugh, I turned to him. “No. No box truck necessary. I gave my landlord a hundred bucks to let in a homeless shelter that picks up furniture, and they’ll haul away my old stuff. What’s in that rental is all I’ve got.
“I thought maybe I’d sell my bike to buy a truck. I need to find a job so I can get out of your house and…”
Jagger stopped and spun in front of me so fast I nearly ran into him. “You’re gonna do what?”
“You said you were okay to store stuff for me, which I appreciate. I don’t want to wear out my welcome and drive you up a wall.”
Jagger didn’t move, so I stepped around him and went to the front door to grab my bags. When I walked inside with them, Jagger took the suitcase from me and headed toward the stairs as I followed him.
“Dresser’s empty in this room, as is the closet. Feel free to unpack your stuff if you want. You want a drink?”
I was stunned for a minute. “Is there something wrong?” What had I missed? What the fuck had happened while I was gone?
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you wanna come down.” Jagger started down the stairs before I could grab his hand.
I hurried to unpack my stuff, tossing it into drawers and hanging a few of my shirts in the closet before I raced downstairs to join him.
Jagger sat at the kitchen table with a cold beer as he scrolled through his phone. It appeared to me that he’d just thrown a minor temper tantrum, but as I watched him, he seemed nonplussed. I’d thought the two of us were retiring to Jagger’s bedroom to rekindle our smoldering connection, but apparently, that wasn’t the case.
“There’s beer in the fridge.” He didn’t even look up.
I shook my head. “What the hell is going on, Jagger? Did I do something wrong?” I walked to the fridge and opened the door, snagging a bottle of the IPA we both liked. I twisted off the cap and stared at him, waiting for an answer.
He tossed his phone on the table and took a glug from his bottle before staring at me. “I thought you were going to come home to me.”
Glancing around the kitchen, I shrugged. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“For now.” He finished his beer and put the bottle under the faucet, turning on the water to rinse it out before putting it in the draining tray.
“What do you…? Why do you rinse and drain the empty bottles?” Seemed like extra work for no reason.
“I can’t stand the smell of garbage. I have the recycling bin and the trash bin scrubbed by a service once a month. You can just leave your bottles in the sink. I’ll do it since it’s my weird quirk.” He opened the fridge and pulled out two more bottles before stepping to the pantry and returning with a bag of pretzels.
Did he plan to actually talk to me? “You’re pissed, and for the life of me, I don’t know why.”
“When you left for Carson City, I thought we had an agreement.” He twisted off the cap of his beer and took a sip.
“An agreement about what?” I remember asking him if I could store some stuff—including my bike, which was already there—in the garage. He commented that he had room for me and my stuff, which was a relief because I didn’t want to stay in a hotel. I wanted to be with him.
“You moving in. I said I’d store your stuff and you could stay too. I thought that meant you were moving in.” His expression was unreadable.
I was a bit stunned. “I thought you were just being nice to me. It’s only been a little bit since we reconnected, Trooper. I guess I didn’t think you’d want to play house yet.”
He scoffed. “I don’t play at anything. If you’re not interested, fine. I don’t force myself on anyone.” Then, in true childish fashion, he grabbed his beer and went into the living room. I heard the television turn on, and it seemed as if that was it. No discussion at all.
I returned my unopened beer to the refrigerator and finished my open one, rinsing it as he’d done before I walked into the living room. “I’m going to bed. The way I see it, you didn’t ask me anything. Neither of us is doing ourselves any favors by not plainly saying what we mean.”
Stomping up the stairs to the spare room reminded me that I wasn’t acting very maturely either. Fuck if I wanted to have a stupid fight, but I was as prideful as Jagger.
I hadn’t been taught to back down in the infantry.
