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“Cool.” Rowdy reached for the remote and hit play, his gaze on the screen when he spoke again. “Oh, and, Atlas?”
“Yes, Owen?”
“Don’t ever insult my manhood again.”
Whatever that meant.
When the subject of money came up again, I didn’t bother to suggest I use my own to make this house a home. I just smiled, thanked him, and started making a list.
Still, I started off small by buying a trash can.
While I didn’t mean to disparage anyone’s lifestyle or journey, I could no longer live with a store bag hanging from a random door handle as the trash.
I mean,come on.
The man was almost forty.
I considered ordering a simple ten-dollar one from Target but decided to test the limits of Rowdy’s generosity by buying a ridiculously over-priced stainless-steel gadget that opened with a wave of your hand.
It was hard keeping a straight face when I demonstrated the trash can’s magical powers to Rowdy—especially when I told him how much of his money I’d used to pay for it.
I was both excited and disappointed when he barely reacted with a “That’s what’s up” before leaving the room.
As far as I was concerned, he’d given me the green light to do whatever I wanted, so once the necessities were taken care of, I really started to get creative.
The first argument didn’t start until I bought candles.
Apparently, I could spend a ridiculous three-figure amount on atrash can, but he drew the line at scented candles, saying he didn’t want his house smelling like the back room of a strip club.
Now, I’d never been to a strip club—much less the back room—but I somehow doubted it smelled like strawberry pound cake from Bath and Body Works.
The final straw came when I tried to spruce up our bed with these cute decorative throw pillows I’d found. Rowdy made me watch while he cut them up with a kitchen knife until the stuffing and feathers littered our bedroom floor like a second rug.
Luckily, I’d gotten my period that week, so I was super hormonal, which made it easier to turn on the waterworks. I reminded him through my “uncontrollable sobs” that Ruen’s empty guest room came with an open invitation if he couldn’t get past our creative differences.
We haven’t had any more issues since.
I grabbed a pair of sunglasses and my brand-new beach bag before leaving the huge closet that had been mostly empty before I moved in.
Rowdy, for all his brutish ways, spoiled me rotten.
I now had triple the amount of clothes, shoes, and accessories than when I’d arrived in Idlewild.
Wearing his signature frown, my boyfriend—still getting used to that—stepped into the bedroom at the same time I did.
“Damn, Dream, you ain’t ready yet?” he immediately griped.
“I told you I could drive myself since you’re in a hurry, but no. You act like it’s a crime for me to go anywhere without you. I mean, are you my man or my babysitter?”
Rowdy stepped further into the bedroom and kept coming until he’d herded my ass right back inside the closet, where he crowded me in a corner without ever laying a hand on me. “Who the fuck are you talking to, Atlas?”
My gaze dropped, and I mumbled submissively, “No one.”
Rowdy hooked his finger under my chin and immediately lifted my gaze from the floor until it met his once again. “Nice try. My eyes are up here. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“I—nothing,” I said, which was only partially true. Somethingwasbothering me, but Rowdy wasn’t to blame. It wasn’t his fault or mine that everyone seemed determined to tear us apart. “I’m just cranky, I guess. It’s been a long weekend.”
Rowdy searched my gaze for signs that I was lying before his lips tilted. “You should have taken your ass to sleep like I told you to, but no. Your hardheaded ass wanted to ride my dick all night.”
