"I know, I know." She sighed. "I've actually been thinking about doing some telecommuting from Ketchikan myself, just so I can see him more."
"That bar, those boys, the city...it all has a way of growing on you, doesn't it?"
"It sure does. Like fucking tentacles."
I laughed. "Exactly. But in this case, the tentacles are attached to a really hot, sexy, amazing man."
"And a beautiful city," Claire added.
"And a really kickass bar."
"And a shitload of sexy, funny, loyal brothers."
"It's kind of ridiculous, isn't it?" I leaned my head on Claire's shoulder. "How much awesomeness one little town in Alaska can hold?"
"For real, though," Claire tugged on my hair. "You're not really going to sit around and twiddle your thumbs all day, are you?"
"No, I'm gonna make him sandwiches and shuffle around the house in fuzzy pink slippers vacuuming with my Hoover." I slapped her shoulder. "No, dumbass. I'm gonna work at that marketing firm. I can manage the office in my sleep, and then I'll have the baby, and eventually I'll go back to work. Maybe eventually I'll buy in as a partner. For now, it's something to keep me busy until the baby gets here, and then I can take some time off. I'll need to learn how to be a mommy, and besides, the whole HR thing was just how things happened. It was never something I really wanted to do as a career for my whole life. I never really did know, to be honest. It was a job I could do, and it paid the bills, but it wasn't, like, my dream."
"That makes sense, I guess."
I labeled the box with a Sharpie, and then toyed with the cap, trying to formulate my thoughts. "But what's funny is, I can see myself being a stay-at-home mom and wife. It's weird, because I never ever thought that would be me, but I've been thinking about this a lot, and it doesn't sound so bad."
Claire stared at me. "Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"
I rolled my eyes at her. "Oh, shut up. I know I'm not some, like, domestic goddess or whatever, but...I can learn. I'm not gonna force myself into a career I don't love just because society says that's what the modern woman is supposed to want. What if I'm discovering that I want to stay home and take care of my husband and baby? What's wrong with that?"
Claire stood up, carried the box to the stack of boxes near the door, and then sat back down beside me on the floor. "There's nothing wrong with it, but I just...I can't fathom it for myself, that's all."
"You don't have to want the same thing I want. You just have to keep being my best friend, even if I never lose the baby weight and start watching daytime talk shows."
"I draw the line at The View, Mare. You start watching that, we're through."
I surreptitiously removed the Sharpie's cap, reached out, and swiped the black tip across the back of her hand. "You're stuck with me for life, ho. If you marry Brock, we'll be sisters."
"Hey now, I'm still getting used to the idea of dating him," she said, taking the Sharpie from me and turning my errant line into an interesting design.
"It's been three months, you lunatic."
"And it's still fucking weird."
"What's weird about it?"
She shrugged. "I don't know, everything. When I'm not around him, I miss him, but then sometimes I get the urge to do something impulsive, like I used to. But then I remember Brock, and I don't do it, but I'm still thinking about it. Like, I see a hot guy at the bar or something, and the instinct is to hook up with him, or do a bathroom B-J or something, just for fun. But then I remember Brock, and I don't. When I'm with him, I can't imagine life without him. And that's weird enough as it is. And sometimes we just...want totally different things, and I don't know how to reconcile the differences."
"Like what?"
She lay down on the floor and stared at the ceiling. "Sex, for one thing. When we're fucking, it's literally mind-blowing. But I like...other stuff, and he doesn't. He says he's willing to try new things, but never actually ends up trying anything with me. Or family, we just have different ideas about family. I'm estranged from my parents, mainly my dad, and Brock just doesn't understand how I won't take the first step to reconciliation. I get that he lost both his parents and would do anything to have them back, but that's not my situation. And he's always harping on it. It drives me nuts, because I didn't do anything wrong, so I'm not going to apologize, and that's what Brock keeps telling me I should do."
"If Brock is worth it, then you'll figure it out."
"It's not about him being worth it or not, it's just...in some ways we're completely different types of people and I don't know if we can bridge those differences." She sniffled, swiped a finger underneath her eyelid. "Which just sucks, because I really, really like Brock."
I hugged her. "Remember what you told me about keeping an open mind?" I squeezed her hard. "Time to take your own advice."
"I know. But advice is easy to give and hard to follow."
"Just take things one day at a time, and don't be a chicken."
"I'm not a chicken, I just--"
"Bock," I clucked, imitating a chicken, bobbing my head forward. "Bock, bock...bockbockbock."
"Shut up, stupid. That doesn't even sound like a fucking chicken."
"Bockbock, bockbock."
She swiped at me with the Sharpie, and I ducked out of the way, but then she was chasing me around the apartment, trying to draw on me with the marker. So I grabbed another Sharpie and chased her back, which turned into a Sharpie war...
When Brock showed up a few minutes later, both Claire and I were covered from fingertips to elbows in black Sharpie marks, with a few on our faces. He stood in the doorway watching as we chased each other around, cackling.
"Did I come at a bad time?" he asked.
Claire stopped, capping the marker. "Nope. Just having a little marker war."
He frowned. "You two know that's permanent marker, right? It's not going to come off for days."
Claire kept the marker behind her back, approaching Brock as if for a kiss. "It's just a little fun. It'll wash off."
"Eventually." Brock said, eyeing her suspiciously.
He should have been suspicious, too, because she was sneakily working the cap off as she sidled closer to him. And then, right as he was millimeters from her lips, she flashed her hand up and stamped a dot right on the tip of his nose.
"Gotcha!" she shouted, and then shrieked as Brock swept her off her feet in a snakebite fast movement.
He snatched the marker from her, pinned her arms to her sides with one arm, and bent her backward over his knee. "My turn," he said, his voice a deep, hot rumble.
"What are you doing?" Claire demanded, wriggling.
He tugged her shirt down, baring her tits. "Marking my territory," he explained. He signed his name with a flourish across the slope of one breast, and then the other. "There. Now it's official. Your tits are mine."
She glared at him, trying desperately to hold on to her stern, angry face. "You didn't need to write your name on them for that to be official, douchebag."
"No, but now every time you look at them, you'll be reminded."
She blinked up at him. "How much time do you think I spend staring at my tits, Brock?"
He shrugged. "It's hard for me to be objective being a guy, and one who's ridiculously attracted to your tits."
"You're an idiot," she murmured, clearly meaning it as an endearment.
"Yes, but I'm your idiot." Brock kissed her, and then stood her up on her feet, tugging her shirt back into place. "Now, let's get these boxes down to the truck."
He suited action to words, propping open the door, lifting two boxes, and carrying them out the apartment and down the stairs.
I couldn't help laughing as Claire stood in front of the mirror by the front door, and pulled her shirt down to stare at Brock's handiwork. "I can't believe he signed both of them. And he's not even famous!"
"I think he's pretty perfect for you, Claire," I said. "You may have some differences to work out, but from where
I'm standing, I'd say it'd be damn well worth it."
She glanced at me in the mirror, letting her shirt slide back into place. "Like I said before, some things are easier said than done."
Let me just say, moving is a hell of a lot easier when there are eight burly men around to help. My things were moved from the seaplane to the apartment over the bar in less than thirty minutes. Zane and I had agreed it'd make the most sense for me to live with him above the bar until we found a place of our own, so for now most of my things would go into storage in the basement beneath the bar, which was a tight, cramped space they only used for storing extra cases of liquor and as a workout room. My boxes filled it to overflowing, but it was only temporary, so Bast had said it would be fine.
Zane had condensed his clothes and stacked some in a few laundry baskets to give me room for my clothes, which was a sweet gesture, but fairly pointless, given the amount of clothing I owned. I would be able to fill the drawers with the essentials, hang up my favorite jeans and blouses and dresses in the half of the closet he'd given me, and I still had three contractor bags and two suitcases left over.
Zane pointed at the bags. "So, what's in those?"
I hung my favorite sweater in the closet. "More clothes."
He pointed at the suitcases. "And those?"
"Clothes."
He scratched his scalp. "Then...what's in all the boxes down in the basement?"
"Stuff? My snow globe collection, my mugs, photo albums, folders of paperwork, my coffeemaker, books, DVDs. Just...stuff." I looked around at his room, which I just now was realizing contained very little by way of personal effects. "You really don't have anything but what's in this room?"
He lifted a hand. "I was a Navy SEAL, Mara. I was either on assignment or on base, so everything I owned all fit into a footlocker and a duffel. Never got in the habit of acquiring knickknacks."
I eyed the open drawers, and then the closet. "And those are all the clothes you own?" I did a quick tally. "Six pairs of jeans, eight long sleeve shirts, ten undershirts, three button-downs, a dozen pairs of underwear, the same amount of socks, one leather jacket, and two sweaters?"
He followed my gaze. "Um, yeah?"
"We need to go shopping. You don't even have one pair of jeans for every day of the week!"
He gestured around at the tiny room. "And where are we gonna put it, babe? Not even all your clothes are gonna fit in here, much less more of mine."
"Well then, we'll just have to start apartment hunting soon, won't we?"
He sighed. "I guess so. But, just so you know, I've never done that."
I glanced at him as I refolded underwear and stacked them in the top drawer. "Done what?"
"Bought an apartment."
I laughed. "You don't buy apartments, usually, you rent them." I tilted my head. "And you've never once lived in an apartment?"
He shook his head. "Nah. I grew up here, and then joined the Navy. I lived on an aircraft carrier for a couple years, and then on bases wherever I was stationed."
"Oh, I guess that makes sense," I said. "Well, it'll be fun. We'll pick something nice together."
He eyed my leftover clothes. "Something with a lot of closet space?"
I laughed. "The kitchen can be so tiny it's nonexistent, as long as there's a lot of closet space."
He nodded, musing as he sat on the bed, watching me toss my thongs into the drawer. "I did some poking around the area while you were packing. I have a few ideas."
I abandoned the unpacking for the moment and pushed Zane onto his back on the bed. "Honestly, babe, I'm not in a hurry. I lived with Claire for three months and I never fully unpacked. I can live out of bags and laundry baskets for a while."
He curled an arm around my neck and rolled me so I was beneath him. "We're gonna need space when the baby gets here, and we're not gonna want to feel like we just moved in, either. We're gonna want to be settled. And if I'm gonna follow through on this idea I've got, then I'm gonna have to get started."
"What's your idea?"
He kissed me slowly, and then backed off a little. "You trust me?"
I nodded. "Yeah, why?"
"Because I'd like it to be a surprise, for now."
I giggled breathily as his fingers stole under the waistband of my yoga pants. "Just...just so you know, I've been doing some reading on pregnancy, and I'm going to start nesting before too long."
"What, you're gonna turn into a bird?" He teased, sliding a finger into me.
"No, dumbass. I'm gonna start wanting to make my home ready for the baby. Decorating, organizing, things like that. It's some kind of maternal drive we get, apparently." I had to gasp then, because those talented, sorcerous fingers were doing their dark, hot, dirty magic to me, making my hips writhe.
He slid his other hand under my shirt, scraping my nipples over the fabric of my bra. "Can you give me...three months?"
"Probably?" I breathed. "Oh...oh god. Right there..."
"I'll be like six months pregnant by then, so probably getting pretty big. Not sure I'll be much help moving."
"There are eight of us, remember?"
"And I'll need help decorating."
"Dru and Claire would love that, I'm sure."
"We'll need a nursery," I said. "A little one, at least."
"When do we find out the gender?" Zane asked, now tugging my pants off completely.
"Um...between sixteen and twenty weeks, I think?"
"So another month or two?"
"Yeah..." I reached between us, finding him naked for me, bare, ready. "Why?"
"Well, if I can make this work, you'll be able to decorate the nursery right around then."
He slid into me then, and I clung to him.
"I'm gonna get a nursery?"
"And a huge closet, and everything else I can give you."
"What are you planning?" I demanded, palming his face and gazing into his deep, liquid, expressive brown eyes--he'd learned to let me see his emotions in his eyes, and I loved him for that all the more. "Tell me!"
He ignored my demand for a few minutes, and then grinned down at me as we both neared climax. "You'll see, babe. You'll see. Just trust me."
I came around him, then, biting his shoulder to muffle my screams. When I could breathe, when I could speak, I whispered in his ear. "I trust you, Zane."
He kissed me through his own climax, which came hard on the heels of mine. "You won't regret it, babe. I promise."
I clung to him as we shuddered together in the afterglow. "I know," I whispered. "I know."
Epilogue
It was six in the morning, it was mid-December, and I was sandwiched in the back seat of the Silverado between Xavier and Lucian, with Bax up front. The bed of the truck was full of power tools, tool boxes, sheets of drywall, buckets of drywalling mud, piles of two-by-fours, boxes of nails and screws, screw guns and charger packs, enough building materials to build...well, a house.
Zane was driving, an XM hard rock station on low. At least we had coffee in hand, although I still maintained it was too damn early for this shit.
"How far is this place, Zane?" I asked.
"Not far."
"And does that mean two minutes or ten minutes? My legs are going numb."
He swiveled his head to glare at me. "Three minutes, pussy."
"Shut up," I snapped. "I didn't sleep much last night and I'm too tall to be sitting in the bitch seat." I tried to adjust my legs, but they were wedged in so tight I couldn't even flex them.
"No shit, you didn't sleep much last night," Bax said with a derisive laugh. "You and Claire were up all night banging." He slammed his fist against the door of the truck, mimicking a high, breathy groan. "Oh, oh, oh, oh, Brock, oh my god Brock!"
I reached forward and slugged him on the shoulder. "Shut the fuck up, dickhead."
"What? That's what she sounds like," he said, twisting in his seat to slug me back. "Not my fault you guys are loud as fuck when you're fucking."
"Yeah, well,
I haven't heard much noise coming from your room, I notice," I taunted.
Bax just smirked. "Maybe I do my playing elsewhere."
"Yeah, like in the bathroom with Pornhub and a family size bottle of Jergens," I said.
Bax just laughed. "Hell yeah. I saw this video the other day, man...this chick took a cock so fucking big it was a miracle she didn't pop her jaw out of socket." He dug his phone out and brought up the video he'd mentioned. "Check that shit out."
"Thanks, but no thanks," I said. "Don't need to see that."
He frowned at me. "When'd you turn into a prude? We used to text each other porn links all the time."
I shrugged. "I'm just not into that as much anymore."
"Since you met Claire, you mean," Bax said.
I nodded. "Yeah, exactly. I don't want it, and I don't need it. I get everything I could possibly want from her."
Bax handed the phone to Xavier, who watched the video with a slightly horrified expression on his face. "Good for you, I guess." He laughed when Xavier handed off the phone with a queasy expression on his face. "Speaking for myself, I don't know what I'd do without porn."
Zane laughed. "Find the right girl, and you'll understand."
Bax snorted. "Not likely. It's not like I'm going through a dry spell, I get laid plenty. I just don't bring girls back to the apartment."
"So constant sex isn't enough for you?" Xavier asked. "You need pornography as well?"
Bax shrugged. "Need? No, I don't need it. I just really like it. And just because I get laid a lot doesn't mean I don't also need to jerk the turkey, if you know what I mean." He winked at Xavier. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you, bro?"
Xavier blushed furiously. "I am familiar with the meaning of your vulgar colloquialism, yes."
"What kinda porn do you watch? Vanilla shit? Straight fucking? Or are you into kinky shit like bukkake?"
Xavier shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Bukkake? Is that an anime thing?"
Zane choked on his laughter, while Bax guffawed loudly.
"No, kiddo, it's not an anime thing." Bax tapped at his phone, selected a video, and handed it to Xavier. "That is bukkake."
Xavier watched, his expression growing increasingly disgusted. "What the...? What's the purpose of that? I genuinely do not understand."
Bax laughed again. "Different strokes for different folks. Or, in this case, a lot strokes for one person." He took the phone back. "Not your thing, huh?"
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