Page 84 of Wild Side
I’m glad I have some money saved up from my job, especially since I doubt I’ll be working. That also poses an issue, because we haven’t talked about finances yet. I know he’s paying the rent here, but I can’t expect him to pay for everything.
Smoothing the skirt of my dress down, I look at myself in the full-length mirror that is hanging on the door. I can tell the dress is a little too tight. It’s also probably a tad too short, but it’s what I have, and while I know The Copper Pot isn’t fancy, we’re celebrating, and I want to look my best.
A buzzing sound causes me to pause. Turning my head, I look over to the bed. Chase’s phone is sitting in the mess of rumpled sheets. Reaching for the device, I start to place it on the nightstand so I can straighten the bed, when it buzzes in my hand again.
I shouldn’t snoop.
I know I shouldn’t, and yet when the screen lights up again and I see there is a new message from Goose, I stupidly slide my thumb upward. I don’t expect the phone to unlock. No code, no facial recognition, nothing. That’s weird for sure.
Immediately, the text thread comes into view. I don’t scroll through it. That would be another level of an invasion of privacy that would be beyond wrong. Although I can’t justify that even this much is right. But the moment my eyes see the screen, I know I can’t look away.
GOOSE: clubwhores cleaned bathroom and bedroom as requested all ready for zadie
The bathroom door opens, and I turn my head, watching as Chase walks out, a cloud of steam following him. He walks over to the closet, where he tugs a T-shirt off a hanger, then moves toward the dresser, opening one of his drawers before he takes out a pair of boxer briefs.
I don’t move.
I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the phone or the message. Chase makes his way over to me, calling my name as he does. Turning my head, I drop the phone, and it makes a rustling noise as it lands on the sheets.
“Honey?”
He reaches forward, and I silently watch as he picks up the phone. Then he grunts but otherwise doesn’t speak. Turning toward him, I tip my head back slightly as I look up into his eyes.
“You’re upset,” he states simply.
I’m not sure how to respond to that. I open my mouth, then close it, chewing on the skin at my cheek. He arches a brow, his eyes searching mine before he says anything. I don’t know if he’s waiting for me to speak first, but I don’t even know what to say.
“You saw this message,” he says, continuing his thought about me being upset.
He would be correct. I did see the message, and I am indeed upset. But I don’t know if I should be. I really don’t know what to think. I’m trying to process the way I feel. I don’t want to just fly off the handle, but at the same time, the club girls cleaned his bedroom. I think that’s what I’m most hung up on.
So, that’s what I decide to say.
“I’m upset they were cleaning your bedroom. It reminds me that they’ve all likely been in there with you. It’s the past, I know it is, but at the same time, I don’t want to be reminded of it.”
Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out slowly. I’m trying hard to be reasonable, when that is the last thing I want to be. I wait for his response, but he doesn’t say anything. His gaze stays focused on mine, unwavering, unmoving.
Silently, he moves toward me, closing the distance between us before he cups my cheeks and touches his lips to mine in a single hard, chaste kiss, then rests his forehead against mine.
“They will never step foot inside our room again, honey.”
“Our room?”
Chase’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Our room, Zadie. We’re together now. You’re my old lady inside the clubhouse, and my woman outside it.”
My heart pounds against my ribs. It slams against them as I look into the eyes of this man. I cannot believe this is my life. I cannot believe he wants me this way, wholly. I feel like the luckiest woman in the entire world.
“I like the sound of all of that,” I whisper.
He laughs softly, his hand falling from my face before he takes a step backward, holding said palm up and waiting for me to slip my hand in his. “Let’s celebrate our new adventure, honey.”
The moment I place my hand in his waiting one, he curls his fingers around it, and together, we walk out of the house. Thereis only the bike in the driveway, and I realize that his pickup is probably still at the clubhouse.
“We’ll go to dinner on the bike. Your last hurrah on it until after the babies come, then we’ll pick up the truck,” he murmurs.
“My first and last hurrah,” I point out.
I haven’t been on the back of his bike yet. I’m his old lady, and I haven’t even been on the back of his bike. I’m not sure I should be riding back there being pregnant, but he’s right; it’ll probably be the last time.
