Page 86 of Bidding War

“You picked on girls?”

“Bullies,” he clarifies. “Grandma did not like that, either. Said she did not make soup for me to hurt women. She gave me roses from her garden to go apologize with.”

“And what happened then?”

He smiles slyly. “Well, not then, then we were too young. But ten years later, I married the one who pushed me.”

I laugh so hard that I worry about my stitches. Worth it, though. “You married your childhood bully?”

“Da. Life has been interesting ever since.”

I can’t help it. His story pulls on my heartstrings and makes me think of June. Could I ever convince her to do the same? To overlook the boy I was and marry the man I am now? “What convinced you to marry her?”

“How could I not? She was all I could think of for so long. Then she blossomed into a great beauty right before my eyes … ” He sighs, like talking about his wife is the only thing he ever wants to do. I understand that feeling. “My wife grew up knowing only violence in her family. They were connected. It’s why I never share this life with her. We have agreement. I tell her nothing, give her a good life with our daughters. She asks nothing, gives me the best life I could ever ask for.”

The love in his eyes lodges a lump in my throat. I clear it away. “You two sound like a perfect match.”

He nods. “We are. She is the love of my life.”

“And she doesn’t mind the strip clubs?”

That earns his devilish grin. “I always shower as soon as I come home. If I go there, if I don’t go there, always shower. This way, she is not suspicious of when I shower off glitter.”

“And your other women?—"

“What other women?” He shakes his head like I’ve offended him. “I see the tits and ass at the club, yes, but I do not do more. Maybe a lap dance, but that is all. I like pretty women, true. But I do not stick my cock in them.”

Crass but honest in his own way. I notice the milk sitting on the counter is wet from sitting too long and reach to put it away, but the moment I lift it, sharp pains stab at my middle, and I growl through the pain. Moss finishes stowing the remainder of the groceries. “Thanks.”

“It takes time, Anderson. When your lady friend comes, do not think to fuck her?—"

“Moss!”

“I am serious. You heard doctor say no strenuous activities for at least four weeks.” He pauses. “Unless how you do is not strenuous?—"

“It’s strenuous enough that I’m not going to.” My middle throbs with my pulse. “I doubt I could even get it up right now, fuck.”

He nods knowingly, then pulls up his shirt, exposing a rounded scar near his liver. That’s not the only thing I notice. Moss has knife wounds and burns along his abdomen, as well. The guy’s body has seen some shit. And a gym. For a man who looks like a retired football player with his clothes on, the dude has a spare tire that has its own muscles. So odd.

He explains, “It took me five weeks when I got shot in the liver. And that first time was … let’s just say, the word gently became my new favorite word for long while.”

I chuckle at that, trying to stop from laughing harder. “Understood.”

“I should go,” he says, checking the time. “June comes soon, and I do not wish to dampen her enthusiasm for seeing you. I will call off home nurse and tell your father you wish for a day of quiet.”

“Thank you for that. And everything else.”

“Of course, Anderson. Anything you need.” He claps my shoulder on the way out of my apartment, and I have a few minutes to myself before June is supposed to arrive.

God, I have missed my place. It’s dark and cool and feels almost like home. But I know what it’s missing. What it’s always been missing. Her. Even though she has never been here, I know she is the piece that will make my home complete. Funny to think I know I won’t feel alright until I see her face.

But it’s always that way when we’ve been apart. She could walk out of the room and come right back, and she’s gone for too long as far as I’m concerned. Obsessive? Maybe. But it’s my obsession, and no one will stand in the way of it. Not even my father.

I meant what I told her. He can go fuck himself.

Getting shot has been a revelation, which, honestly, I’m almost sad I can’t thank Jonesy for it. My priorities have shifted completely. I’m young. I can remake my life, and I want to remake it around her. If she’ll have me.

My heart pounds when I think of starting a proper life with June. It’s all I’ve ever really wanted, and it took me a shamefully long time to grasp that fact. Now, I want to make that a reality. But I can’t push. She’s about to see me at my lowest. It feels like a test for the future. Can she handle me at my weakest? Some people can’t do that kind of thing. No judgment—it’s just that some people are not caretakers.

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