Page 67 of Property of Tacoma
I lick my lips. He’s going to make me pay for that, and I can’t wait.
Turning back to his baby girl, he gives her her marching orders, “Go put your pajamas on and brush your teeth, and I’ll come up and tuck you in.”
I climb off the couch. “I’ll go tell Jagger it’s time to come in.”
After the first night Tacoma and I spent together, I tried to go back to my RV because I didn’t want to confuse his kids, but Tacoma wasn’t having it.
He had a prospect park my rig next to his house, insisting that he wanted me in his bed, and that’s where I was going to be.
His kids would have to get on board or get over it.
I knew this was a big deal because he has consistently shown me how protective he is of his children.
This isn’t just a fling for him.
And admittedly, that scares the shit out of me a little bit because being here feels right.
It’s the first time in a long time that somewhere has felt like home.
“You all right, baby?”
I shake off my thoughts and force a smile. “Yeah, just tired.”
Before I can take a step toward the door, Tacoma grabs my hand and tugs.
“Ack!” I squawk, falling into his lap.
Tacoma pulls me close, and my breath catches when I see the look in his eyes.
It’s the same one I see every time I look in the mirror—the look of someone who’s loved up and often.
“Hi.” I bite my lip.
He pulls me closer and uses his free hand to tug my lip free. Then he kisses me soft and slow.
When he pulls back, his eyes dart back and forth to mine. “Hi, Angel,” he whispers against my mouth.
He pecks another kiss on my mouth, then rises from the couch with me pressed to his chest. “Go get the boy, baby. I’ll make sure Say didn’t get sidetracked.”
I nod, still feeling a little dazed.
His lips tip up at the corner. “Gonna make it?”
Shaking off the kiss-drunk feeling, I blow out a breath. “I sure hope so.”
Chuckling, Tacoma swats my bottom to get me moving and heads for the stairs.
Good lord in heaven, that man is lethal.
With a head full of crazy thoughts about staying here forever and a belly full of butterflies, I head outside to the RV.
I find Jagger sprawled on the couch, headphones on, playing some game on his phone. I knock on the side of the door to get his attention.
He pulls off his headphones. “What’s up?”
“Your dad says it’s time to come in,” I tell him. “School tomorrow.”
He sighs dramatically but gets up without argument and turns off the TV.
