Page 46 of Smith

Too much.

In too deep.

That was a lot of ‘toos.’ Three too many. But I’d never quit anything in my life. I sucked it up, made the best of it, then moved on when the time came. I didn’t have time to wallow. I didn’t have the disposition to sit back and feel sorry for myself.However, saying that, I knew Smith leaving would be different. Still, I wasn’t going to stop this.

My eyes were open, I could see the future. I was going to ride this out with the understanding if I fell in love, even if it was for a week, having that would be better than not having him at all.

Something I was happy to learn upon entering the house from the garage was the walls were well-insulated and sound-damping, My proof was heavy metal blaring from upstairs.

Jonas.

“We’re going to have to find a compromise,” I warned Smith as we made our way through the house. “He’s got two songs of this crap before I throw him out a window.”

Smith laughed from beside me before he used a hand at the small of my back to propel me forward, allowing me to go up the stairs first.

“He’s fucking with you, baby. Jonas listens to country.”

Well that was a relief. Country I could do. Heavy metal, hard pass.

I stopped in the doorway of the room we were preparing to demo and looked around at the empty space that was not empty when I went downstairs to wash my hands.

“I didn’t know if you were planning on saving the hardwood.” Jonas explained the thick painter’s tarp he’d covered the floor with.

“I wish, but the wood in the other bedroom is jacked beyond repair.”

All the original hardwood in the house had been covered in carpet, with the exception of the two bathrooms—those had been tiled over. Three of the bedrooms’ hardwood could be sanded and refinished. The fourth bedroom could not. It looked like something had spilled on the carpet and seeped through the padding, staining and rotting the wood beyond what I could sand out.

I bent down to lower the volume of the Bluetooth speaker and asked, “Can you please change this god awful racket to something not quite so angry?”

“Your phone’s right there,” Jonas pointed out. “Change it.”

I snatched up my phone, unlocked it, and glared at the screen.

Jonas, had changed my Spotify playlist.

“How’d you get into my phone?” I paused the song and asked.

“Trade secret.”

“I’ll trade secret your ass if you break into my phone again,” I huffed and found a country station.

“Kinky,” Jonas shot back.

I heard Smith growl, which of course sent a happy thrill down between my legs, making my clit pulse.

“If your idea of kinky is me kicking your ass, then yes, you can call me mistress and take your punishment.”

“Darlin’—”

“You finish that and you’ll taste my size twelve,” Smith rumbled.

Oh yeah, total clit spasm.

I wasn’t fond of jealous men. To me, that showed insecurity. Possessive men, now they were a different story. Not that I’d ever found one in real life, but I was beginning to understand the perks of having one was far better than reading about it.

“Good you had the foresight to lay down the tarp before you provoked bloodshed,” I told Jonas.

I had yet to process the bewilderment before his bearded face broke into a smile.

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