Page 128 of Bad For A Weekend

Walking back inside, I open the door to the garage attached to the kitchen. Owen’s car is parked inside, but he’s not here.

“Must be in one of the bedrooms.”

I follow the hallway, peeking into each room. Two will be used for storage, but the third will be my office. I’ll graduate soon, and I’ve already been offered a lifestyle journalist position for a media group based in New York. Thankfully, I’ll be working remotely. It isn’t what I want to be writing about, but it will get my foot in the door.

Owen isn’t in any of the spare rooms, leaving the primary at the end of the hall.

“Must be in there,” I say into Julien’s neck, giving him a kiss and setting him on the ground.

Turning the knob, I push the door open to find Owen fluffing a pillow and tossing it on the bed. It was the one new piece of furniture we purchased. While I wanted to bring Dad’s decorator in to spruce up the place and fill it with new furniture, Owen put his foot down because he couldn’t pay half. So instead, we brought over all the stuff from my apartment and plan to slowly replace it with stuff that fits the space better.

Money is our biggest source of contention. He has some manly need to contribute, and I have an endless supply of cash, so I don’t understand why he can’t let it go. But we’re learning to compromise.

For example, I wanted this gorgeous bed with a taupe tufted headboard and footboard, so we compromised. We got the bed but agreed to use the nightstands and dresser from my old room.

“You made the bed,” I say, dragging my finger along the soft white bedspread.

“I figured if everything else is going to be a mess, at least we’ll have somewhere comfortable to sleep tonight.”

“Smart thinking, but I hope there’ll be more going on than sleeping tonight.” I strut closer, wrap my arms around his middle, and crane my neck to look up at him.

His eyes darken, and he licks his lips. “The new bed won’t christen itself.”

He picks me up so I can wrap my legs around him, and we kiss for a long moment. My heart thuds loudly, and my clit pulses the way it always does when he has his lips on mine. I run my hands over his muscular shoulders and am ready to say, “screw unpacking,” when he pulls away and drops me to my feet.

“Don’t start that.” He swats my ass hard as he walks toward the door. “We have work to do.”

“Daddy,” I whine in a last-ditch effort to get him back here.

“Work first, Baylor.”

I huff like the brat I am, but once that man has made his mind up about something, there’s no changing it. So I roll up the sleeves of my flannel and follow him out.

“What’s this?” he asks when I find him in the kitchen.

“An espresso machine.” I pull out the tamper and a stainless-steel shot cup. “So we can make lattes and cappuccinos.”

“Thank God I brought my Mr. Coffee.” He digs around until he finds another box. After slicing through the tape, he produces a small black machine with a glass carafe. “Now this is a coffee machine.”

I laugh. “Just you wait. Once Brandy teaches me to use this thing, you’ll be begging for me to make you espresso before work.”

“We’ll see.”

We bicker as we unpack, arguing about utensils he deems useless and how many tea towels one house actually needs. We’ll never have the kind of relationship where we finish each other’s sentences or instinctively know what the other is thinking. Our lives will be full of misunderstandings and fights about stupid shit, but that’s what’ll keep our spark alive.

“I told my dad we’d come for dinner on Sunday. Is that okay?” I climb onto the kitchen counter and unload plates into the cabinet.

“What are you doing?”

“I can only reach the bottom shelf. Good thing I’m a good climber.”

“That’s not safe. You could fall.” He hooks me under the armpits and sets me back on my feet.

“There aren’t enough cabinets that I can reach to store everything.”

“Then ask me.” He sets the rest of the plates on the shelf.

“What if you’re not here?” I tap my lower lip. “I guess we can get a stepstool.”

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