Page 117 of Tulips and Lost Time

“Yes, but I’m not in a relationship with Jess and Laine.” I turn from the mirror and walk the five steps from one side of the room to the other. Then I spin her around and grin when her hands come up automatically to push her hair out of the way. I grab the zipper of her dress and gently bring it up. “I’m in a relationship with you. And you, my beautiful little pain in my ass, are gonna be the reason we’re fuckin’ late. Again.”

“Oh please.” She peeks over her shoulder, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “You make it sound like I’m one of those girls who can’t get their shit together. I’ve been late once in my life, and you think you get to make it my whole personality.”

“Says the chick whose alarm clock now reads seven.” I release her zipper and slap her ass, forcing her forward with a squeak and a growl. “Shoes on. If we’re not sitting at our table by seven fifteen, we lose it. Then we’ll have to get burgers and eat in the car.”

“Which is a perfectly valid date, just so you know.” She wanders all three feet to the bed and sits down with a grunt. Then opening her legs, she drags the blankets up and searches for her shoes beneath the bed frame.

We’re classy like that.

“Heels?” she ponders. “Flats?”

“You can go barefoot for all I care.” I drop down on the bed beside her and snag my boots from beneath the bed. “But you have thirty seconds to get your ass out the door before I smack it.”

“If we didn’t have so much shit scattered across six hundred square feet, maybe I could find a hairbrush easier. Or shoes. Or a whole outfit. Or!” She decides on a pair of pumps and slips her feet inside. “If your shower was larger than a port-a-potty, maybe we could shower together. Save time and money.”

“You mention saving money, but you ask for a luxury bathroom big enough to fuck in.” I grab her face and smack a noisy kiss to her lips. “You’re high maintenance and needy.”

“And you’re an asshole.” She shoves me off and pushes up from the bed, then she snags her phone and a tiny purse from the top of our drawers. “You’re being a jerk. In fact, you’ve been a jerk for the last few weeks.” She stalks through the door and makes a beeline for the living room. “Stress is a cute excuse, Lenaghan, but we both work demanding jobs. You only get that pass for so long.”

I follow her out and head to the front door, holding it wide so she can move through. “Or maybe you’re being overly sensitive and critical?”

She swings around with no care for the fact that she could overbalance and topple down the stairs. No care because she intends to tear my heart out and stab it with the heel of her shoe. “Excuse me? Overly sensitive?”

“What?” I slide my arm around hers and lead her downstairs. A fight is a fight, and that’s all good and well, but we’ve got somewhere to be. So we’ll call this a drive-thru domestic. “We’ve been together a while now, Bear. So I know when you cycle.”

“Cycle?” Her eyes widen, feral and ready to rumble. “Did you slip in the shower and hit your head? What the hell, Luc?”

“What?” I move to the car—it’s safer than a bike, allegedly—and open the door. Then I practically toss her in and skip around to my side. “Women cycle, babe. It’s okay. It’s completely normal.”

“And sane, smart men know not to blame natural monthly cycles for how women express their feelings. I mentioned our small apartment, and now, according to you, I’m hormonal?”

“You mentioned hormones, not me.” I fix my seatbelt and kiss the tips of my fingers. Before she has a chance to argue, I slap them to her lips and clamp down on my own when she growls. “Love you, Care Bear. All the way to the stars.”

“Let me out!” She makes a grab for her door, but I switch the car on and slam it into reverse before she gets the chance. Then speeding onto the street, I chuckle, almost completely silently, and reach across one-handed to snag her seatbelt and buckle it up.

“Luca!”

“You’re so pretty.”

“You’re a jackass! What the hell changed between, ‘I’m going to have a shower: we have a date,’ and this?”

“You changed.” I slow at the end of the block, glancing to my right so I catch her fiery eyes. But I only smile and continue around the corner. “You shouted from the shower because you hit your elbow.”

Scowling, she cups her elbow in her palm and rubs. “It hurt.”

“The shower has been the same size since its date inside a manufacturing warehouse. Nothing changed, Bear. Except you became less tolerant of the small space we have.”

“So instead of agreeing with me, you thought picking a fight and invalidating my feelings was the smarter choice?”

“I think being with you every single day is all I need to be happy.” I take her hand, prying her fingers apart and sliding mine between instead. “I don’t care that my back rests against the wall when we’re in bed. And I don’t care that my elbows hit the taps in the shower. I don’t care that your hair tangles in my toes because you don’t clean it out of the drain. And I sure as fuck don’t care that we keep clothes on a rack in the hallway.”

Her entire face wrinkles. Her chin, nose, lips, and brow. Like a little kid who was told ‘no’ to dessert, she scowls and says nothing.

“I care that I wake up beside you.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss the top. “I care that I get to have you, openly and for the world to know. I care that that douchebag Roy at the hospital is afraid of me, so he doesn’t openly flirt with you anymore.”

She coughs out a small, almost silent giggle.

“I care that you want to be with me. And that, even though we live together and practically work together, you still say yes when I ask you out to dinner.”

---