The Gamble
Page 128
“Well, okay.”
“You ain’t stayin’ in town a year.”
“I’m not?”
“Fuck no.”
“Where am I staying?”
“Here.”
My eyes got wide again and I stared at him.
Then I asked, “Here?”
“Yeah.”
“But I can’t move here.”
“Why the hell not?”
I blinked at him, uncertain how to answer for the answer should be obvious. And that answer was, I couldn’t move in here because we’d known each other a week.
Max kept talking. “I’m outta town, babe, I get back, I want you in my bed not in a bed in a condo in town.”
“Max –”
“And bein’ apart for months, I’m not wastin’ more time waitin’ for you to drive up the mountain or wastin’ gas drivin’ down to you when you should be here in the first place.”
“Max –”
“Or f**kin’ you in your bed one night, mine the other.”
“Max –”
“Draggin’ clothes everywhere.”
“Max!” I said loudly to get his attention.
“What?”
“What about your rentals?”
“You live here, Duchess, I pull it off the rental market.”
I blinked again then started to ask, “But what about –?”
“That’s the reason I can’t keep the land Curt gave me, losin’ the rental income makes it tough, standard of living changes.”
I stopped breathing at this news.
Then I asked, “Could you keep it if you didn’t lose the rental income?”
“Yeah, but you’re movin’ here, I’m losin’ the rental income.”
Suddenly my day brightened and to brighten Max’s I shared, “So I can help.”
It was evident Max’s day didn’t brighten; I knew this because his face darkened. “No, you can’t.”
I put my hand to his jaw, my heart getting lighter. “If I move in, I can’t live here and not contribute.”
“Yeah, babe, you can.”
I blinked again, my heart going right back to heavy as I grew confused and I asked, “What?”
“Things aren’t tight, they’re good, more than comfortable, solid. And they can stay good, we can live a nice life, we contain the acreage. That rental income means I already paid off the build on this place, got no mortgage, just taxes, utilities and I pay those.”
“But –”
“Not up for discussion.”
“But –”
“You use your money for your fancy clothes and you can plant flowers and buy shit for the kitchen.”
I stared at him in shock. Did he say plant flowers and buy shit for the kitchen?
Helpfully, I reminded him, “Max, we celebrated a new millennium a few years back.”
“So?”
“So, I’ll be earning money, I can help.”
“No,” he stated shortly, firmly and with a definite finality.
I stared at him again.
Then I asked, “That’s it? No?”
“That’s it. No.”
“I thought you didn’t have a problem with me earning more than you?”
“I don’t.”
I was no longer shocked, now I was back to confused.
“I don’t get it.”
“I don’t have a problem with you earning more than me. I do have a problem with you payin’ my bills.”
There it was. Macho Mountain Man Max. I knew there was a hitch.
“If I lived here, they would be our bills,” I pointed out.
“When you live here, you’ll be my woman, I take care of my woman therefore they’re my bills.”
Losing patience, I called, “Hello? Max? I’m calling you into the twenty-first century. Follow me into the light of a world with cell phones and sat navs and computers you can carry around in a briefcase instead of them taking up entire rooms. Oh, and where women have been financially contributing to the household for decades.”
His face remained dark and his voice was low and lethal when he told me, “Not findin’ you funny, babe.”
My body tensed but I felt my eyes get big.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Deadly,” he answered.
We stared at each other silently as it hit me like a succession of blows to the stomach. I was lying on my back but I still felt winded.
I had conflicting information about the state of play with Max’s bank account, but none of it had come from Max until now.
I took what I knew and I put together the picture.
I knew how much it cost to rent his house for a week, it was a small fortune. And what I paid wasn’t even the top tier of on-peak rent. In the winter months rent was nearly double what I had paid. If he was only home two months of the year, and rentals were steady as he said they were, especially in winter, he made a fortune.
And he didn’t have a mortgage.
And he had two ATVs, a snowmobile, a motorcycle, a car that needed to be kept under a tarp, a Cherokee that wasn’t brand new but it was far from old and a housecleaner.
He might not be loaded but he certainly wasn’t doing too badly for himself.
What he was was unwilling to let the little woman contribute to the household finances. He was such a macho mountain man that he would let his macho mountain man pride stand in the way of keeping his mountain clean.
Yes, here was the hitch. This was when the good part of starting out with someone turned bad. I felt the fear prickle my skin but I was too busy controlling the fury that nearly blinded me.
“Proud and stubborn,” I whispered, my stare had turned into a glare.
“What?” he asked, his stare had turned into a scowl.
Quickly I rolled off the bed and searched frantically through the clothes we’d tossed on the floor the night before. Latching onto his thermal, I straightened and struggled to yank it on, getting caught in the voluminous folds.
“Proud and stubborn,” I muttered from under the shirt, battling the sleeves.
“Nina, get back into bed.”
I successfully yanked the shirt down and glared at him.
“Just like your Mom!” I accused, my voice getting louder.
His already dark face turned that scary dark and his voice turned into a warning when he repeated, “Nina, get back into bed.”
“No!” I snapped. “You can handle me in that bed, Max, and when you do, I’ll admit, I love it. But when you aren’t f**king me, you cannot handle me.”
“You ain’t stayin’ in town a year.”
“I’m not?”
“Fuck no.”
“Where am I staying?”
“Here.”
My eyes got wide again and I stared at him.
Then I asked, “Here?”
“Yeah.”
“But I can’t move here.”
“Why the hell not?”
I blinked at him, uncertain how to answer for the answer should be obvious. And that answer was, I couldn’t move in here because we’d known each other a week.
Max kept talking. “I’m outta town, babe, I get back, I want you in my bed not in a bed in a condo in town.”
“Max –”
“And bein’ apart for months, I’m not wastin’ more time waitin’ for you to drive up the mountain or wastin’ gas drivin’ down to you when you should be here in the first place.”
“Max –”
“Or f**kin’ you in your bed one night, mine the other.”
“Max –”
“Draggin’ clothes everywhere.”
“Max!” I said loudly to get his attention.
“What?”
“What about your rentals?”
“You live here, Duchess, I pull it off the rental market.”
I blinked again then started to ask, “But what about –?”
“That’s the reason I can’t keep the land Curt gave me, losin’ the rental income makes it tough, standard of living changes.”
I stopped breathing at this news.
Then I asked, “Could you keep it if you didn’t lose the rental income?”
“Yeah, but you’re movin’ here, I’m losin’ the rental income.”
Suddenly my day brightened and to brighten Max’s I shared, “So I can help.”
It was evident Max’s day didn’t brighten; I knew this because his face darkened. “No, you can’t.”
I put my hand to his jaw, my heart getting lighter. “If I move in, I can’t live here and not contribute.”
“Yeah, babe, you can.”
I blinked again, my heart going right back to heavy as I grew confused and I asked, “What?”
“Things aren’t tight, they’re good, more than comfortable, solid. And they can stay good, we can live a nice life, we contain the acreage. That rental income means I already paid off the build on this place, got no mortgage, just taxes, utilities and I pay those.”
“But –”
“Not up for discussion.”
“But –”
“You use your money for your fancy clothes and you can plant flowers and buy shit for the kitchen.”
I stared at him in shock. Did he say plant flowers and buy shit for the kitchen?
Helpfully, I reminded him, “Max, we celebrated a new millennium a few years back.”
“So?”
“So, I’ll be earning money, I can help.”
“No,” he stated shortly, firmly and with a definite finality.
I stared at him again.
Then I asked, “That’s it? No?”
“That’s it. No.”
“I thought you didn’t have a problem with me earning more than you?”
“I don’t.”
I was no longer shocked, now I was back to confused.
“I don’t get it.”
“I don’t have a problem with you earning more than me. I do have a problem with you payin’ my bills.”
There it was. Macho Mountain Man Max. I knew there was a hitch.
“If I lived here, they would be our bills,” I pointed out.
“When you live here, you’ll be my woman, I take care of my woman therefore they’re my bills.”
Losing patience, I called, “Hello? Max? I’m calling you into the twenty-first century. Follow me into the light of a world with cell phones and sat navs and computers you can carry around in a briefcase instead of them taking up entire rooms. Oh, and where women have been financially contributing to the household for decades.”
His face remained dark and his voice was low and lethal when he told me, “Not findin’ you funny, babe.”
My body tensed but I felt my eyes get big.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Deadly,” he answered.
We stared at each other silently as it hit me like a succession of blows to the stomach. I was lying on my back but I still felt winded.
I had conflicting information about the state of play with Max’s bank account, but none of it had come from Max until now.
I took what I knew and I put together the picture.
I knew how much it cost to rent his house for a week, it was a small fortune. And what I paid wasn’t even the top tier of on-peak rent. In the winter months rent was nearly double what I had paid. If he was only home two months of the year, and rentals were steady as he said they were, especially in winter, he made a fortune.
And he didn’t have a mortgage.
And he had two ATVs, a snowmobile, a motorcycle, a car that needed to be kept under a tarp, a Cherokee that wasn’t brand new but it was far from old and a housecleaner.
He might not be loaded but he certainly wasn’t doing too badly for himself.
What he was was unwilling to let the little woman contribute to the household finances. He was such a macho mountain man that he would let his macho mountain man pride stand in the way of keeping his mountain clean.
Yes, here was the hitch. This was when the good part of starting out with someone turned bad. I felt the fear prickle my skin but I was too busy controlling the fury that nearly blinded me.
“Proud and stubborn,” I whispered, my stare had turned into a glare.
“What?” he asked, his stare had turned into a scowl.
Quickly I rolled off the bed and searched frantically through the clothes we’d tossed on the floor the night before. Latching onto his thermal, I straightened and struggled to yank it on, getting caught in the voluminous folds.
“Proud and stubborn,” I muttered from under the shirt, battling the sleeves.
“Nina, get back into bed.”
I successfully yanked the shirt down and glared at him.
“Just like your Mom!” I accused, my voice getting louder.
His already dark face turned that scary dark and his voice turned into a warning when he repeated, “Nina, get back into bed.”
“No!” I snapped. “You can handle me in that bed, Max, and when you do, I’ll admit, I love it. But when you aren’t f**king me, you cannot handle me.”
