Reaper's Legacy
Page 45
“I’ll just say she’s copying you,” Ruger said, narrowing his eyes. Noah laughed.
“You taught me in the first place.”
“You’re a little shit sometimes.”
“Yeah, but I’m a little shit who’s willing to throw you a lifeline,” Noah replied thoughtfully. “If she says it in front of Mom, I’ll say it’s my fault if you pay me.”
“How much?”
“Twenty bucks a pop.”
“You got a deal.”
SOPHIE
The bike roared under me and the wind danced across my face.
I loved it. I’d been practicing for a while, mostly out at Marie’s place. She’d gotten her own bike a year ago. I’d never get tired of riding behind Ruger, but I loved being on my own, too. In fact, I’d spent six months trying to convince Ruger I should get my own ride.
Stupid man was positive I’d kill myself.
Problem was, deep down inside, Ruger was sexist as shit. Actually, it wasn’t that deep—he’d always been pretty up front about it. But when he’d decided it was time for Noah to start learning on a little dirt bike, I’d had enough.
It was okay for my twelve-year-old son to ride, but not me?
Bullshit.
So earlier that week I’d announced I was buying a bike, and that he could either help me pick one out or live with what I got on my own. That lit a fire under his ass, and earlier today a friend of his delivered my pretty little Harley. Ruger didn’t like it, but at least he knew it was a decent bike in good condition.
Still, I paid for it with my own money. I wanted it to be my bike. Not that we really had “mine” or “his” after we got married, but he insisted that I keep part of my paycheck in a separate account. I’d never said anything about it, but somehow Ruger knew—instinctively—that I needed to feel like I could take care of myself.
Having my own money helped with that.
I planned to use most of it for school for the kids, but every once in a while I treated us to something special. I’d taken him to Hawaii for our second anniversary, which had been a good investment, because I’d come home with Faith as a souvenir. I’d wondered if having a baby in the house would distance Ruger and Noah, but if anything they’d gotten closer. Every day Noah turned into more of a young man, and Ruger was a big part of that.
After a few minutes, I reached the end of the road and considered whether or not to turn back. I hadn’t really put the bike through her paces—and she was definitely a she, I felt like we were sisters already—but I knew this was killing Ruger.
I smiled, feeling just a little evil.
Part of me wanted to just take off, feel the freedom and let him dangle for a while. It’d piss him off, but seriously … angry sex with my man was pretty damned good. I toyed with the idea, but turned the bike around and headed back toward the house instead.
Baby steps.
No need to scare him too much in one day, after all.
Best to save something for tomorrow, just in case he got out of line.
“You taught me in the first place.”
“You’re a little shit sometimes.”
“Yeah, but I’m a little shit who’s willing to throw you a lifeline,” Noah replied thoughtfully. “If she says it in front of Mom, I’ll say it’s my fault if you pay me.”
“How much?”
“Twenty bucks a pop.”
“You got a deal.”
SOPHIE
The bike roared under me and the wind danced across my face.
I loved it. I’d been practicing for a while, mostly out at Marie’s place. She’d gotten her own bike a year ago. I’d never get tired of riding behind Ruger, but I loved being on my own, too. In fact, I’d spent six months trying to convince Ruger I should get my own ride.
Stupid man was positive I’d kill myself.
Problem was, deep down inside, Ruger was sexist as shit. Actually, it wasn’t that deep—he’d always been pretty up front about it. But when he’d decided it was time for Noah to start learning on a little dirt bike, I’d had enough.
It was okay for my twelve-year-old son to ride, but not me?
Bullshit.
So earlier that week I’d announced I was buying a bike, and that he could either help me pick one out or live with what I got on my own. That lit a fire under his ass, and earlier today a friend of his delivered my pretty little Harley. Ruger didn’t like it, but at least he knew it was a decent bike in good condition.
Still, I paid for it with my own money. I wanted it to be my bike. Not that we really had “mine” or “his” after we got married, but he insisted that I keep part of my paycheck in a separate account. I’d never said anything about it, but somehow Ruger knew—instinctively—that I needed to feel like I could take care of myself.
Having my own money helped with that.
I planned to use most of it for school for the kids, but every once in a while I treated us to something special. I’d taken him to Hawaii for our second anniversary, which had been a good investment, because I’d come home with Faith as a souvenir. I’d wondered if having a baby in the house would distance Ruger and Noah, but if anything they’d gotten closer. Every day Noah turned into more of a young man, and Ruger was a big part of that.
After a few minutes, I reached the end of the road and considered whether or not to turn back. I hadn’t really put the bike through her paces—and she was definitely a she, I felt like we were sisters already—but I knew this was killing Ruger.
I smiled, feeling just a little evil.
Part of me wanted to just take off, feel the freedom and let him dangle for a while. It’d piss him off, but seriously … angry sex with my man was pretty damned good. I toyed with the idea, but turned the bike around and headed back toward the house instead.
Baby steps.
No need to scare him too much in one day, after all.
Best to save something for tomorrow, just in case he got out of line.
