Cream of the Crop
Page 89
“It’s a good bed.”
“And speaking of beds, we’ll need to make some changes at your place. I’m willing to bet your last dollar that Missy picked out every piece of furniture and country cow art in that house, yes?”
“Yes,” he said, the grin getting larger by the minute.
“Luckily for you, I happen to know all the best furniture designers in Manhattan, and we’ll be taking advantage of the discount I get. Just nod, Oscar.”
He nodded, looping one finger through my belt loop, tugging me closer. “Any other compromises I need to agree to?”
“I hate that sweater.”
“Okay.”
“Lose it.”
He tugged it off over his head, revealing his bare chest, threw it onto the table next to us, his scarred eyebrow raised in challenge.
There was a round of applause at the impromptu strip show, and as I looked around I had to laugh, seeing Roxie and Leo and Polly, Chad and Logan, Trudy and Wayne, Elmer and Louise, Mr. and Mrs. Oleson, and every other person I’d gotten to know over the last few months.
Roxie pointed above our heads; I looked up, and there it was.
“Mistletoe,” I whispered, and he laid an enormous kiss on me, lifting me up out of my shoes, to the sounds of Bailey Falls’ approving applause.
“I love you, Pinup,” he murmured, crushing me against his naked inked chest.
“Turns out I really, really, love you, too, you fucking caveman.”
He kissed me again, this time to the sound of Polly’s swear jar shaking.
Epilogue
My girl clung tightly to my hand as we walked down the street. It was really cold; it wouldn’t get above freezing all day. I liked the cold: it made her stick closer to me. Her arm was either through mine or around my waist, clinging tight.
Natalie had moved to Bailey Falls. She hated when I said that, said to keep my voice down or she’d lose her New York card. Technically, she hadn’t really moved. We were figuring it out. But the town was ecstatic to have a “highfalutin big-city advertising whiz” ensconced on Main Street. And while she’d never admit it, she quite enjoyed being consulted on whether or not The Jam Lady’s new labels should be a pinkish beige or a beigey pink and how that might impact her overall sales trajectory . . .
Until the spring market started up again, it was hard for me to come into the city every weekend, so there were some weekends when we couldn’t see each other. But come March I’d be in town every Friday through Sunday. She was campaigning hard for Monday too, which I’d told her was next to impossible but that didn’t stop her from pleading her case. Which I encouraged her to do, since she typically wore her thigh-high boots and nothing else whenever she attempting to sweet talk me into anything. I really should tell her sometime that I was pretty sure one of my volunteers could cover Monday mornings occasionally but then again . . . she looked fucking fantastic in those boots so . . .
For now, she typically spent Monday night through Thursday morning in Bailey Falls, taking the morning train back into the city. Sometimes I could convince her to stay over one more night. It didn’t take much; my girl was lost when my mouth was on her. Which was as often as possible, and would be even more if I had anything to say about it. There was nothing I loved more than making that woman come under my tongue. Unless it was watching her walk away, that great . . . big ass bouncing. I loved to make it bounce.
I loved everything about her, plain and simple. She was a nightmare in the kitchen, a dream in the bedroom, and bossy as all get-out, but she was my girl and we were figuring it out.
I’d be coaching the local high school football team next fall, and Natalie was keen to be in town for all my games. Not sure if she realized that would mean giving up Friday nights in the city, but we’d work on it. I was getting to know the city beyond the market, and it was growing on me. I’d never enjoy those cocktail parties that she’d dragged me to a few times, but I’d go. For her.
“This is it,” she said, stopping in front of a tall brownstone, its warm lights shining out into the snow-covered street. My girl was taking me to brunch.
She was nervous, I could tell. Everything that had to do with us, figuring out what kind of couple we were, made her a little nervous. She’d been hurt really bad before, and I understood why she was gun-shy. She could take all the time she needed; I wasn’t going anywhere.
“My parents are so excited you’re coming today. I told you, right?” Her voice was full of excitement as she clung to my hand.
“You did,” I answered, leaning down to drop a kiss on her forehead. Before we could go up the steps, her father threw open the front door.
“Get in here, it’s freezing outside! Oscar, how are you? I saw your cheese in Brannigan’s the other day—the big store over in Brooklyn. They even had the new one—what’s it called?”
“Pinup.” I grinned, resting my hand on my girl’s backside as she walked up the steps before me. “It’s called Pinup.”
“And speaking of beds, we’ll need to make some changes at your place. I’m willing to bet your last dollar that Missy picked out every piece of furniture and country cow art in that house, yes?”
“Yes,” he said, the grin getting larger by the minute.
“Luckily for you, I happen to know all the best furniture designers in Manhattan, and we’ll be taking advantage of the discount I get. Just nod, Oscar.”
He nodded, looping one finger through my belt loop, tugging me closer. “Any other compromises I need to agree to?”
“I hate that sweater.”
“Okay.”
“Lose it.”
He tugged it off over his head, revealing his bare chest, threw it onto the table next to us, his scarred eyebrow raised in challenge.
There was a round of applause at the impromptu strip show, and as I looked around I had to laugh, seeing Roxie and Leo and Polly, Chad and Logan, Trudy and Wayne, Elmer and Louise, Mr. and Mrs. Oleson, and every other person I’d gotten to know over the last few months.
Roxie pointed above our heads; I looked up, and there it was.
“Mistletoe,” I whispered, and he laid an enormous kiss on me, lifting me up out of my shoes, to the sounds of Bailey Falls’ approving applause.
“I love you, Pinup,” he murmured, crushing me against his naked inked chest.
“Turns out I really, really, love you, too, you fucking caveman.”
He kissed me again, this time to the sound of Polly’s swear jar shaking.
Epilogue
My girl clung tightly to my hand as we walked down the street. It was really cold; it wouldn’t get above freezing all day. I liked the cold: it made her stick closer to me. Her arm was either through mine or around my waist, clinging tight.
Natalie had moved to Bailey Falls. She hated when I said that, said to keep my voice down or she’d lose her New York card. Technically, she hadn’t really moved. We were figuring it out. But the town was ecstatic to have a “highfalutin big-city advertising whiz” ensconced on Main Street. And while she’d never admit it, she quite enjoyed being consulted on whether or not The Jam Lady’s new labels should be a pinkish beige or a beigey pink and how that might impact her overall sales trajectory . . .
Until the spring market started up again, it was hard for me to come into the city every weekend, so there were some weekends when we couldn’t see each other. But come March I’d be in town every Friday through Sunday. She was campaigning hard for Monday too, which I’d told her was next to impossible but that didn’t stop her from pleading her case. Which I encouraged her to do, since she typically wore her thigh-high boots and nothing else whenever she attempting to sweet talk me into anything. I really should tell her sometime that I was pretty sure one of my volunteers could cover Monday mornings occasionally but then again . . . she looked fucking fantastic in those boots so . . .
For now, she typically spent Monday night through Thursday morning in Bailey Falls, taking the morning train back into the city. Sometimes I could convince her to stay over one more night. It didn’t take much; my girl was lost when my mouth was on her. Which was as often as possible, and would be even more if I had anything to say about it. There was nothing I loved more than making that woman come under my tongue. Unless it was watching her walk away, that great . . . big ass bouncing. I loved to make it bounce.
I loved everything about her, plain and simple. She was a nightmare in the kitchen, a dream in the bedroom, and bossy as all get-out, but she was my girl and we were figuring it out.
I’d be coaching the local high school football team next fall, and Natalie was keen to be in town for all my games. Not sure if she realized that would mean giving up Friday nights in the city, but we’d work on it. I was getting to know the city beyond the market, and it was growing on me. I’d never enjoy those cocktail parties that she’d dragged me to a few times, but I’d go. For her.
“This is it,” she said, stopping in front of a tall brownstone, its warm lights shining out into the snow-covered street. My girl was taking me to brunch.
She was nervous, I could tell. Everything that had to do with us, figuring out what kind of couple we were, made her a little nervous. She’d been hurt really bad before, and I understood why she was gun-shy. She could take all the time she needed; I wasn’t going anywhere.
“My parents are so excited you’re coming today. I told you, right?” Her voice was full of excitement as she clung to my hand.
“You did,” I answered, leaning down to drop a kiss on her forehead. Before we could go up the steps, her father threw open the front door.
“Get in here, it’s freezing outside! Oscar, how are you? I saw your cheese in Brannigan’s the other day—the big store over in Brooklyn. They even had the new one—what’s it called?”
“Pinup.” I grinned, resting my hand on my girl’s backside as she walked up the steps before me. “It’s called Pinup.”
