Page 11 of Wintering with George

I had no idea why fountain drinks always tasted better than cans, but as soon as I swallowed my latest bite and took a huge gulp of Pepsi, I took a breath. “If it would be all right with you, I would like to start paying half the mortgage on the house.”

His eyebrows rose, but that was all the reaction I got.

I ate a couple more onion rings and waited.

He cleared his throat. “What about your apartment?”

“I should get rid of that, don’t you think?”

He nodded while pressing his lips together, probably so he wouldn’t tell me it was about time, or to comment on what an idiot I was, or worst of all, laugh himself silly. I growled.

“I—yes,” he replied, keeping his voice level. That was his professional tone, the one he used with new clients before he got to know them. “I think that is a sound choice and a perfectly logical one, Mr. Hunt.”

“Knock it off,” I groused at him, taking another bite of the best burger I’d ever had in my whole life. “Don’t be a wiseass.”

“Me?”

“Like you haven’t been hinting about this for over a year.”

“I believe it was a week after we met when I basically came out and said that you should get rid of that hellhole you call an abode,” he said dramatically. “You never sleep there, none of your clothes are there, but we both know why you couldn’t let go of it.”

I scowled at him.

“And no, this is not me psychoanalyzing you, but come the fuck on.”

“Don’t swear in your sister’s house,” I scolded him.

His laugh was so good, warm and husky, and I smiled even though I didn’t want to.

“It’s your parachute in case I decide to throw you out of my life and my house, but we both know I would never do that because I’m madly in love with you.”

I couldn’t control my grin. “Madly?”

“I would smack you, but I have no idea what patch of skin on your body is unbruised or not covered in stitches at the moment.”

“Listen, you—oh no. Don’t get upset.”

But it was too late. That fast, his eyes filled, he started to shake, and I put down my burger, wiped my hands, and grabbed him. He gasped as I hugged him tight, crushing him against me, and then he started to cry. “I’m okay, honey. You can see I am.”

He pressed his face down into my shoulder as he shuddered.

“I had everything under control.”

That got a gulp and a trace of a chuckle before there was more crying.

I put my hand in his hair and held on.

“You could have died.”

“No.”

“When you came through the—I knew you were outside, but I didn’t know if you got shot by whoever was in the car, and I was scared that the boys were going to be killed or Sin or Brad, and I wanted to follow you when I got out of the car, but I was afraid I would get in your way, and then we went inside and those guys were there with guns, and I…I didn’t know what to do. I was helpless and⁠—”

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” I said, rubbing circles on his back, still holding tight. He was rambling, and he needed to breathe.

“And then you were just there, in the living room, and—you could have died.”

He was shivering in my arms, and I kissed the side of his neck and chuckled.