Sweet Dreams
Page 165

His arms squeezed me tight again but they stayed tight this time.
“Yeah, babe, and I get why you didn’t want to make a big thing about it but that shit’s whacked. That isn’t a lesson to Jonas. The lesson he needs to learn is life goes on and we’re lucky enough to be livin’ it so we should do it, as much as we can, while we got the chance.”
It was like he didn’t speak.
“You spent thousands of dollars on me for my birthday,” I reiterated.
He sighed then replied, “Overhead’s reduced, Ace, shit’s not tight. It ain’t even comfortable. We’re good, more than good.”
“Martinis and top of the line appliances,” I whispered.
I felt Tate’s body shift into hardness when he muttered, “Somethin’ like that.”
I stared at Carnal and Tate’s arms remained around me, his body solid behind me.
“Lauren,” he called again but I didn’t answer, I stared at Carnal, a Nowheresville town that looked magical after midnight. “Shit, baby, give me something,” Tate growled in my ear.
“Brad never remembered my birthday,” I told him.
Tate made a move as if to shift me, turn me toward him but my fingers curled deeper into his arm and he stilled.
“When he asked me to marry him, the first thing I felt was fear,” I went on.
“Ace –”
“Fear because I wanted him and I knew, eventually, I’d make it so he didn’t want me.”
“Lauren –”
“And I did,” I continued.
“Christ almighty, Laurie, I thought we were passed –”
“Not once, not once in all the years I was with him did I feel happy.”
Tate was silent.
“Not even a little,” I said.
Tate remained silent and so did I and we both stayed this way for a long time.
Finally, Tate asked, “You happy now, baby?”
“Yes,” I answered instantly and felt his face in my neck. “A small wedding,” I whispered. “Maybe Ned and Betty will let us have a pool party after.”
His head lifted and his voice was a thick growl when he said, “Sounds good.”
“You f**ked up, Captain,” I told him and his arms got even tighter.
“Come again?”
“I’m not drunk anymore. You could have had Drunk Lauren Sex.”
I felt his body moving behind me and I knew it was with laughter.
“I was in the mood to attack,” I informed him. “You could definitely have had it dirty. You could have had anything you wanted.”
“I don’t get that now?” he asked, his voice still thick and now rumbly but with humor.
“Oh yeah, you still get it,” I started to turn, his arms loosened, I faced him and mine went around his neck as I pressed deep into him. “But it’s my birthday and I’m not drunk anymore so now you have to do all the work.”
His mouth came to mine and he muttered, “I’m up for that.”
I pressed my lips to his, opened my mouth and slid my tongue inside. Tate’s head slanted and his hand sifted into my hair, tilting mine the other way as he took the kiss far deeper and made it much, much better.
When his lips broke from mine, he whispered, “Happy birthday, baby.”
To which, I whispered back, “Love you, Tate.”
His neck bent, his lips brushed mine and then slid to my ear, where he kept whispering, “Love you too, babe.”
I melted completely into my old man thinking how could I ever have not wanted him to call me babe?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
December
The garage door was going up, Tate was turning the key in the ignition and I was strapping in when I remembered to ask Jonas, “Did you get the gift for your teacher?”
“Where was that again?” Jonas asked from the backseat.
I twisted to look at him. “On the kitchen island.”
His eyes hit mine and he muttered, “Whoops.”
“Go get it, Bub,” Tate said from behind the wheel.
I twisted to forward as I heard Jonas unbuckle his seatbelt, open his door and jump from the SUV. As he ran across the front of the truck, I remembered something else, unbuckled my own seat belt, leaned clean across Tate, hit his electric window opener and shouted as the window rolled down, “Did you get your Secret Santa gift?” right before Jonas hit the door to the mudroom.
“It’s in my backpack,” he yelled back.
“And the cookies for your class party?” I bellowed.
Jonas was inside and his disembodied voice could be heard hollering back, “Backpack!”
I closed the window and sat back. I’d buckled my seatbelt again when I felt eyes on me and I looked at Tate to see he was staring at me, a strange look on his face.
“What?” I asked.
“Christ almighty, Ace, you’re like the Christmas Beast.”
My eyes narrowed, Tate watched them and his lips twitched so they narrowed further.
The Christmas Beast, easy for him to say.
He didn’t buy Christmas cards, write and festively design a witty Christmas letter (with pictures, which I sent to all my old friends in Phoenix because any picture with Tate in it, and I included loads of them, would make them all green-eyed with jealousy), print out dozens of letters, sign the cards, address them and send them.
He didn’t buy presents for everyone we knew, wrap them and deliver them, packing up the ones to send to Indiana because, with baggage restrictions, we couldn’t carry them with us. This meant I had to memorize the post office’s schedule and rush around so I was sure the packages were away on time.
He didn’t bake twelve dozen Christmas cookies to sell at the Junior Football League’s table at the Christmas Fair in Carnal in an effort to help the Moms raise a bunch of money because the boys needed new jerseys and equipment for the next season. He also didn’t man that booth for five hours in the Colorado Mountain cold.
He didn’t organize, put together party trays, coordinate the staff Secret Santa gift exchange and throw the Christmas party at Bubba’s for staff and regulars and whoever was around including a big bowl of spiked eggnog and another big bowl of spiked, spiced Christmas punch on the bar with the trays covered in cheeses, cold cuts, veggies, varied Christmas treats and bowls of chips in the office for the staff (as well as Jim-Billy, Nadine, Steg, Wings, Stoney and select other regulars) to munch on through shift. He also didn’t decorate Bubba’s. Me, Wendy, Jim-Billy, Amber and Krys did.