“You know,” Nero starts, the second I step out of my Suburban. “We could’ve done this over the phone.”
“I heard you the first two times you said that.”
He cocks a brow, “And yet, here you are.”
“Would you shut the fuck up and let me in?” I don’t slow my stride as I approach Nero’s front door, where he’s leaned against the door frame.
“By all means,” Nero steps back. “Come on in, bring your shitty mood with you, ruin everyone’s night.”
“Sounds great, will do.” I stomp past him.
When Nero shuts the door behind us, a bark echoes through his house, and then his goofball dog comes skidding around the corner. The dog barks again, and when his paws get purchase on the smooth floor he barrels toward us.
“Hey, Toto,” I greet the mutt that Nero and Payton rescued last fall.
Nero claps his hands as he crouches down, and the thirty-pound dog bounces in response to his owner riling him up.
I shake my head. Toto’s a nice dog, but he’s no guard dog. And compared to my Duke, he’s as intimidating as a bunny
Before I left the house to come here, I went to the studio to tell Savannah that I was leaving, but through the glass in the door I saw that she was completely zeroed in on a painting, and Duke was passed out on the floor by her feet. So, I decided to leave a note for her on the kitchen counter, rather than interrupt her, saying I had some nefarious work to do and that I’d be back late.
I’d already transferred two of my security team members across the country and punched a third in the face over her. So, I knew I needed the space to calm down.
“Who’s a good boy?” Nero baby-talks to his dog and it makes me want to shove him over.
“I thought you guys were gonna start training classes with him?” I ask.
“We did.” Nero says.
“We went to one,” a female voice replies.
Nero, the dog and I all look up to see Payton as she climbs down the stairs toward us.
“Still counts as going,” is Nero’s retort.
Payton rolls her eyes, “One of the other dog dads said hello to me, and Nero decided we would never go again.” She stops next to her husband and smiles at me. “Hey, King.”
“Hey, Coconut.”
Nero punches me in the shoulder, hard. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you to stop calling her that?”
“At least once more, apparently.” I rub at the spot even as Payton smacks his chest. “Or you could quit being such a little bitch, and let it go.”
A few months ago, I was over for a dinner and Payton mentioned that she never had a nickname growing up, and since it’s a well-known fact that Payton’s favorite drink is a coconut honey latte, her nickname was born.
It’s stupid but Payton thought it was funny, and it helped her to stop being so scared of me.
Plus, it’s a fun little bonus that it gives Nero an aneurysm every time I say it.
“How about I give your wife a cute little nickname,” Nero growls. “See how you like it.”
“Wife?” Payton’s eyes widen.
And mine do too when I realize he hasn’t told her yet.
“How about something like…” Nero taps his finger against his lower lip.
“What do you mean wife?” Payton’s looking between us.
Nero holds his finger up. “Motel.”
“Motel?” I step into him. “If you call Savannah––”
“See?” He shoves a finger into my chest. “You don’t like it either.”
I slap his hand away. “Motel isn’t a cute little nickname. It sounds like you’re calling my wife a whore.” I jab my own finger into his chest. “I already punched one man today for disrespecting her. Wanna make it two?”
I was already spoiling for a fight, and I came over here to calm down. But if he tries to push any more of my buttons, I’m gonna deck him.
“Would love to see you try,” he taunts, and I’m about to do it, when I’m stopped by pebbles.
A handful of multicolored glass pebbles striking us both.
As I’m sure was the purpose, we stop arguing and turn toward Nero’s annoyed wife.
“Alright,” Payton says, one hand propping Toto up on her hip, like a toddler, the other hand in a clear vase filled with the colorful pebbles. “Will you two stop bickering for two minutes and tell me what exactly you mean when you say King’s wife?”
“King got married,” Nero states it like he’s getting one up on me.
Payton gasps, turning to me. “What? When?”
I cross my arms. “Ask your husband. He officiated.”
Nero glares at me as Payton whirls on him.
“You’re ordained?” Her voice is higher than usual when she asks this, and I’m almost tempted to laugh.
Nero sighs. “So, technically, yes. But that’s only because this dickhead,” he gestures to me, “forged the paperwork.”
“When?”
“Four days ago,” Nero answers.
And while he tries to explain how he forgot to tell her, I’m stunned silent over the answer.
Has it really only been four days? Or was it five? No, we met five days ago. The wedding was the day after that.
I think.
How is that possible? I feel like I’ve known her for…so much longer.
“What’s her name?”
“Savannah,” I answer, the same time Nero says, “Motel.”
My teeth grind, but Payton beats me to the punch, so to speak, by throwing another handful of pebbles at Nero.
When did women start throwing things?
Nero moves to Payton and takes Toto off her hands. “Might as well do this over dinner,” Nero grumbles, walking away from us, still carrying the dog so he doesn’t have to walk on the pebbles, even though they’re rounded and not sharp.
Payton and I fall into step behind him.
“So, how’d you meet?” Payton asks me.
I open my mouth, but Nero opens his faster. “He kidnapped her from a murder scene.”
Payton makes a sound of disbelief, before a single blue pebble bounces off my temple.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, I pull the blankets back on my side of the bed and crawl in, next to a sleeping Savannah.
I didn’t mean to stay at Nero’s so late but it actually felt good to talk it all over with him and Payton. They haven’t been together long, practically just got home from their honeymoon, but they’re solid. Insane, but solid.
And the more time I spend with Savannah, the more I suspect she might be almost as twisted as I am. So insane people’s advice might just work.
And the advice basically boiled down to, forget about the kidnapping stuff and show her how good of a husband you can be.
This was, of course, after an hour of Payton grilling me, asking why I forced her into marriage in the first place. And the more she dissected it, the more she made me start to believe that maybe I just wanted an excuse to keep Savannah.
I’m not sure if that’s true, but what’s done is done. And no matter how valid or not my reasons were, Savannah is my wife now and keeping her is exactly what I plan to do.
My wife makes a sleepy sound and so, like a moth to a flame, I scoot over toward her warmth.
And like her subconscious recognizes me, when I lift my arm, she automatically snuggles into my side.
Today was…a lot. And I feel like a piece of shit that she had to come face to face with one of my past hookups.
That wasn’t fair, not in her home.
But then I’m reminded that I’ve also come face to face with one of her past conquests. And yeah, we weren’t married yet, but the memory of her walking into that fucking house with Leland, is enough to make me want to dig up his corpse and send it through a wood chipper.
Her left hand flexes against my chest, like she’s trying to comfort me in my sleep.
She likes me. I’m sure of it.
I gently lay my hand over hers, craving the extra connection, and for the first time think about the fact that her hand, specifically her ring finger, is bare.
Closing my eyes, I decide I’ll start tomorrow with a little shopping.
