When he got off the phone, he said to me, “Mom says ‘hi’ and she’s lookin’ forward to meetin’ you.”
I stopped myself from twirling, giggling and shouting, “Squee!” and just grinned and kissed him.
Then he kissed me.
Life was good. Even if I expected things, I’d never expect it to be as good as this.
And Knight gave all of it to me.
He came out with his mug and did what he did every morning when we sat out on his balcony. Therefore my chair was already in position because I quit the hassle of moving it back which also saved Knight the hassle of adjusting it when he made it to me.
He sat in a chair facing the Plexiglas-sided railing, hefted his long, muscled legs up to the top and crossed his ankles. My chair was angled to his so it was easy for him to hook an arm around both my legs and that was what he did before tossing them over his thighs.
I held my coffee aloft in another effort to avoid spillage until he leaned back in his chair and sipped so I knew it was safe. Then I leaned back in mine and did the same.
“Decided what I want for my birthday,” he stated and I blinked.
“Your birthday was over a week ago, Knight,” I told him something he already knew and his neck twisted so his pure, vibrant blue eyes were on me.
I’d never get used to those eyes, ever. And I hoped I had eternity to prove that true.
“You kicked my birthday’s ass so good, baby, I’ve decided to celebrate all month.”
A smile curved big, but on the inside.
On the outside I gave him a false frown.
“I could barely walk for three days what with you ‘doin’ me all the ways you could do me’, Knight. I’m still recovering.”
His brows went up.
“I f**k you hard thirty minutes ago?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“You suck me off in the middle of the night?” he pressed.
“Yes.”
“That last one, babe, your idea.” He looked back to the Front Range muttering, “You’re good.”
I so was.
“Whatever,” I muttered back, loving our banter, not about to tell him that and bringing my coffee to my lips. “What do you want for your birthday?”
“You’re movin’ in.”
I choked on coffee and his eyes came to me, brows drawn and he leaned toward me.
“You all right, baby?”
I patted my chest, swallowed and wheezed, “Yes,” then, “You want me to move in?”
He stared at me.
Then he said, “Babe, your ass has been in my bed every night for three months, you got a whole dresser to yourself and more than half the f**kin’ walk-in already. For a bitch who had no money, you got a f**kload of clothes.”
This was true. All of it. Though the last was partially his fault.
“How much is the rent?” I asked.
“Nothin’ considerin’ I own the place.”
“Okay, how much is the mortgage?” I amended.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because, if I move in, I need to know what my half is so I can budget,” I answered and instantly his head tipped back and he looked at the bottom of the balcony above us.
Then he chanted, “Jesus, f**k, f**k me. Jesus, f**k, f**k me.”
“Knight!” I snapped and his eyes sliced to me.
“You’re not paying half the mortgage,” he declared.
I opened my mouth but he moved quickly, his arm coming out, hand cupping my jaw, thumb pressing firm on my lips and I saw his eyes were deadly serious.
“This is not a discussion. On this you yield. You put in notice. You dump the shit from yard sales or that’s got rips in it or anything you bought on f**kin’ sale or anything anyone f**kin’ gave you unless it has special meaning. The rest of the shit, we’ll find places for it. You get me?”
He removed his thumb and I kept snapping, “That’ll take a box to move since everything is from yard sales, got rips in it, I bought it on sale or someone gave it to me.”
“Good, then it’ll take about an hour to move you in. We’ll do it today,” he returned immediately.
That was when I looked at the bottom of the balcony and asked, “Please, deliver me.”
“Anya, eyes,” he ordered and I cut my eyes to him but they were squinty. He ignored that and growled, “Yield.”
I didn’t yield.
I announced, “I can’t move in. The limited stuff I have that doesn’t fit in one of those categories is girlie and it won’t match your décor.”
“Babe, I live in a f**kin’ museum. Please, God, inject some personality in it.”
I blinked.
“Not flowers or pink,” he added then continued, “Or any of that white, chipped shit you got goin’ on.”
I stared at him.
Then I asked, “Anything else, Knight?”
He stared at me.
Then he answered, “Far’s I’m concerned, you can lose it all. The only thing I give a shit that you move permanently is you.”
That was a really good answer.
Still.
“You know, when you bring bossy into life and get so super generous I’ll be wracking my brains for a millennium for ways to be bad to give payback and it pisses me off, it then pisses me off more when you get sweet so I can’t be pissed anymore.”
“You know that didn’t make a f**kin’ lick of sense,” he told me.
I glared at him.
Then I turned my head and glared at the Front Range, muttering, “Whatever.”
Then I sipped coffee.
Then I heard, “Notice in and move your shit, Anya.”
“Okay, Knight.”
“Jesus, f**k, f**k me,” Knight muttered.
I took another sip of coffee. I did this calmly. But again, inside, I was twirling and screeching, “Squee!”
Then I announced to the mountains, “I feel a night out with Sandrine coming on.”
“Christ, she sucked me off in the middle of the night, I ate her and f**ked her half an hour ago and she’s sittin’ in my tee, no panties, drinkin’ coffee, tryin’ to get me hard,” he griped.
My eyes went to him. “Your rule, honey. I can go put panties on.”
His eyes came to me. “You do, I get the strap.”
My legs shifted restlessly.
He stared at me.
Then he turned his head and muttered to the Range, “Fuck, I created a f**k monster.”
I felt my eyes bug out.
Then I burst out laughing.
* * * * *