Page 22 of Petty's Crime

It was hard, unyielding, but far more relaxing than lying beside her. But not, I admit, conducive to sleep. I’d not gotten much rest but doubt I would wherever I was. My mind refused to stop going over and over how Britney had re-entered my life and just exactly what I was going to do about it.

I’d risen before she’d woken, for a moment going to the bedroom door and staring at her, resenting how comfortable she looked inmybed, as if I were the interloper and not her.

The shit we ordered yesterday started arriving soon after I’d had my first coffee. I’d paid extortionately to have delivery expedited.

Now, as I bring my mind back from revisiting the past night, I note the couch, which was cheap as it had previously been on display in the store, looks good enough in the apartment. I’ve also managed to successfully hook up and get the new television working.

I’ve assembled the flat-packed table, resorting to the instructions when the parts supplied didn’t make sense, and standing back admiring my handiwork. I admit the place now looks more homey. The kitchen cupboards are stocked with the necessities, and the fridge is full to bursting.

Whether by accident or design, Britney hadn’t woken before I’d mostly finished the jobs, but after making coffee, busies herself washing the new pots and pans and putting them away, while moaning about the lack of space.

I stay quiet. There’s more room, more furniture, than I’ve been used to in the clubhouse. Personally, I don’t think we’ve done too badly in getting it kitted out. However, her sneering expression betrays there’s nothing about this place that seems to please her.

Again, I recall the different face she wore around my brothers yesterday. They probably wouldn’t believe the person she’s portraying today.

It had been easy to see they’d liked her, and I hadn’t missed some of the admiring glances they’d sent her way nor the envious looks in my direction. I know, though, they might look but they won’t touch. It’s our code. No one puts their hands on a woman belonging to another.

If only they knew.I’d happily step aside if someone wanted to try their luck with her. They’re welcome to steal her away. Though caveat emptor would very much apply. Would I warn them if that were the case?No one warned me, I remember.

“Clark?” I jump as her voice breaks into my reverie.

“Yeah?”

“Can you help me here?”

Stopping what I’m doing immediately, I walk to where she’s pointing to a cupboard door that’s aligned badly. Remembering she can show signs of OCD, I go back to where I’d left my tools and promptly return with a screwdriver.

Standing back, she watches me critically and then asks, “We going to the strip today?”

“No,” I tell her, gritting my teeth as I try to keep the door straight while adjusting the screw.

As I check whether any of the other doors need to be realigned, I notice her hands go to her hips and her mouth forms a pout. “Why not?”

With my ass propped against the countertop, I fold my arms and look at her. “Because while I could afford the spending spree yesterday, I don’t have much else. Certainly not money to burn if you’re thinking of visiting the casinos.” What I spent yesterday didn’t really touch the money I’ve got in the bank, but I’m not sharing those details with her. And even if I were the richest man in the world, gambling it away is a loser’s game.

“We could just look.”

Yeah, there’s plenty to look at in Vegas, and fuck knows I’ll probably have to take her there one day, but I really don’t fancy standing among the crowds, watching the fountains at the Bellagio or the pirate ship at Treasure Island, let alone the volcano or any of the other tourist traps to be found in Vegas.

“Brit, I’m really not in the mood today, okay?” I’m tired from lack of sleep and putting together all the shit that I have.

Her eyes narrow. “Well when will you be in the mood? Hmm? Tomorrow you’ll be back to work which means we won’t get another chance for a few days.”

The word ‘work’ is clipped. When I told her I was currently providing bodyguard services for a singer, she seemed surprisingly alright with me spending time with a woman who wasn’t her, asking me lots of questions and wondering whether she could get free tickets to the show. Taken aback, magnanimously, I’d offered to ask for her. I’d been suspicious at the time that she wasn’t as okay as she was making out.

“I’m back to work in the evenings, but in the days I’m free. And I get Sundays and Mondays off.” She raises an eyebrow.Fuck.“Alright, we’ll go on my next night off.” As her smile suggests she’s won this fight, I inwardly swear. What am I getting myself into? For a moment, I wonder whether taking her out to see the lights could be palmed off onto a prospect. Then I remind myself this is mywifeI’m talking about. I should not be okay with another man taking her anywhere. It speaks volumes that I couldn’t give a damn.

“That okay now?” I jerk my head toward the cupboard door.

She squints as though trying to find fault, then nods. “It’s fine.”

Pushing away from the countertop, I go to walk past her when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out.

Red: Need you at RoseLyn’s

Me: Roller’s there.

Red: Need you there too. Something’s happened.

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