Page 70 of Sin Wagon
Me: ??
I type in the password,and the laptop comes to life. I click the browser and begin my favorite pastime: searching for dream houses on the market. I love looking at both beautiful and bizarre homes people try to sell. It’s incredibly entertaining. I easily lose track of time as I browse through listings, fascinated by pictures of expansive mansions and creatively designed houses.
I don’t hear Wells enter the living room until he’s whispering in my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
“That’s a beautiful home. Are you moving already?”
I about jump out of my skin, nearly dropping the laptop. “Dammit, man! You can’t startle a pregnant lady like that; I just peed a little.”
“Sorry,” he laughs, the sound deep and rich. “Are you wearing my old gym shirt and boxers?”
“Yeah, I didn’t bring any clothes, so I just grabbed these after my shower.”
“I like you wearing my clothes, Little Doe. Now, tell me, are you trying to move already? You just got here.”
“No. I like to look at listings for fun to see how people decorate and what they do with their homes. Did you know that only twenty-two miles away, there’s a house decorated entirely in purple? I mean: carpet, walls, furniture, even the damn toilet is bright grape purple.”
“That doesn’t look purple to me.” He nods at the house I have on the screen now.
“No, this is in Barrington. But it’s gorgeous, right? Eight beds, five and a half baths, a fireplace, pool, and a tennis court. Built in the 1800s, except for the kitchen and baths, everything is original to the house. For a sweet three-point-two million, you can own it.” I laugh and wag my brows at him, enjoying the playful banter.
He leans down like he needs a closer look but then snaps a picture of the screen with his phone and starts dialing a number. He puts the phone to his ear and waits. “Hi, I’m calling about your listing on Kirkstall Road,” he pauses. “Yes, that’s the one.”
I look at him, brows raised, wondering what he’s doing. Maybe scheduling a tour? Derek and I went to open houses in Vegas a few times, just for fun.
“I’d like to make an offer. Three million. Cash.”
My eyes grow to the size of saucers, and I bolt up from the couch.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, trying to grab his phone from him. My heart races, confusion swirling inside me.
He playfully brushes me off and winks. The fucker winks.
“Perfect. Let me know if they accept, and we can start the paperwork ASAP. Of course. Wells Covington. Yes.” He chuckles. “That Covington. This is my cell. Call anytime. Thanks.” He hangs up, and I stand next to the couch, mouth open, staring at him like he has four heads.
“What the fuck did you do? Have you lost your mind?”
“No. But you liked it, didn’t you?” His eyes twinkle with mischief, and I can’t help but feel a surge of affection for him.
“I did, but not for three million.”
“I have it, no problem. Our baby needs a home, not a place you share with someone else that’s temporary or this place that isn’t ready for a baby. So what do you say, Little Doe? Want to move in together? If they accept my offer, that is.”
“You’re serious? You want to move in together?” My mind races with the implications. It would mean committing to this relationship fully, taking a leap of faith.
“Yes. I want you. I want Little Boba. Count me in, baby. I fucked up before, but I’m here and ready. No take-backs. No false alarms or disappearing.”
I’m not sure what to say. Do I say no and see where things go? Or do I say yes and risk uprooting my whole life again? Follow my heart and not listen to my head that’s worried about all the what-ifs?
“Fuck. Why not?” The words leave my mouth before I can second-guess myself. There’s a thrill in taking the risk and embracing the uncertainty.
He crashes his lips to mine, murmuring, “You make me so fucking happy, Little Doe.”
His phone rings, breaking the moment. “That was fast.” He smirks. He looks at the phone and his face drops. “It’s Jonas.”
“Hello?” he answers, his voice taking on a serious tone as he clicks it to the speakerphone.
“Hey. So I just got off the phone with the attorney in Florida. Claudia recanted her whole story, admitting she made it up out of spite.”
