Page 8 of Eternally Ginger

4

Ghoul

“What do you want to do today?” All of the extra running I was doing for the club and FBI exhausted me, but I would be dammed if I let one ounce of it show. Ginger and I hadn’t been spending a lot of time together by ourselves as a result, and it bugged the shit out of me. An awkward distance was forming between us, and I didn’t like it one damn bit.

We’d overcome leaps and bounds to get to a good point in our relationship, so the fact that we were affected, even if it were only marginally, upset me. Whether I deserved it or not, the trust she placed within me never faltered, though she had every reason to second-guess every word that left my mouth. Hell, I was often reluctant to believe some of the thoughts I had, the biggest one in question was being worthy of her. I was still working on it and might always be. Despite it all, we were together, and I adored the shit out of her. I think her opinion of me changed daily, depending on how much I annoyed her, but I was okay with that.

“I don’t know,” Ginger responded, crossing one foot over the other, and curled her toes.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” I asked, racking my brain for things to do together.

“Not really, but if you do…” her voice trailed off as she yawned, “I will go, too.” Evidentially, I wasn’t alone with my fatigue.

“Actually, would you like to stay in?”

“I would love that!” She smiled impishly and hopped to her feet at once.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” She giggled, running down the hallway, and stopping halfway, she instructed, “Sit on the couch.” My eyes strained to see her in the darkness, but all I could make out was her sexy silhouette. I didn’t know what she was up to, but it was exciting—a definite pleasant change in pace from our day in and day out routine. “Could you make some popcorn?” she yelled from the bathroom.

“Uh. I guess,” I answered, getting up and pulling out a flattened bag of popcorn from the cabinet. I removed the plastic and put the bag into the microwave. “What’s it for?”

“To eat, of course.” She laughed again over the sound of her shuffling things around in the bathroom. The microwave beeped three times, and the last few kernels popped inside the bag. After opening the door, I pinched the corner with my thumb and pointer finger and headed to the couch like Ginger asked.

She cheerfully squealed and ran back into the living room carrying a tube of something. “I have a great idea.” She flipped the lid of the container open with the palm of her hand. “Let’s do facials.”

“The fuck you think I am, Ginger?”

“My man.”

“That’s fucking right. Man.” I dropped the bag of popcorn on the couch beside me and beat my chest with my fists. “Not a woman. I’m a fucking biker. Bikers don’t do facials.”

“You promised.”

“The fuck I did.” My body bent forward as I moved to stand, and she dropped her ass onto my knees.

“You did.”

“Bullshit! When?”

“In the store when I bought this shit is when. I asked if you would do it with me, and you agreed with that stupid grin you get on your face sometimes.”

“Hell, Ginger, I was saying I would do it with you. As in yes, I would fuck you. I thought you were trying to be cute or some shit.”

“No matter. You agreed,” she said, “I’m holding you to it.”

“Fine.” I shrugged, closing the lid with a flick of my fingertip, and knocked the popcorn into the floor with my thigh. “You agreed to fucking, too.”

“When did I do that?” she asked, and tiny creases appeared on the center of her forehead.

“Right the fuck now is when.” I laughed, flipping her over, and climbed on top of her.

She smiled as she shook her head. “You’re relentless.”

“No. I’m a fucking Royal Bastard.” My hand crept up her side and clutched her throat, pressing lightly, and sin flashed behind her eyes.

“You’re my fucking Royal Bastard.”

“You got that fucking right; I am.”

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