Page 20 of Killer's Obsession
“Our TV,” I correct before I can stop myself.
Her eyes widen, and I realize my slip.
Fuck. I wasn’t ready to have this conversation yet. Not here, in the middle of a furniture store with Brad the Asshole Salesman lurking nearby.
“What?” she asks carefully.
“Fuck,” I scrub my hands over my face. “I want you to move into the house when I do.” I scan the alcove, then look back at her. “This wasn’t how I wanted to do this. I was trying to… I don’t know, be a little more subtle about it. But here we are.” I shrug.
“You want me to live with you?” She seems unsure.
“Yeah, Pet. I do.”
“Okay.”
My mouth drops at her easy answer. Okay?
We stare at each other for a beat, me waiting for her to change her mind, and her waiting for me to say something else.
“Let’s find those tables,” I finally say.
The next hour passes torturously slow as Memphis picks out a complete living room set—a sectional, a massive coffee table made of some kind of dark wood and metal, matching end tables, and an entertainment center big enough for the 75-inch TV I’ve had my eye on.
We move on to the kitchen, where Memphis convinces me to buy a set of six barstools for the island and a large dining table with eight chairs. “For when you have the guys over,” she explains.
I don’t have the heart to tell her we’re not the kind of guys who have dinner parties. Not when she seems so excited about it.
“What about this one?” she asks, running her hand over a smooth wooden table. “It’s sturdy.”
I tap my knuckles against it. “Looks good.”
She circles it, her lips pursed in thought. “It’s a bit traditional, but I think it works with the rustic modern look we’re going for.”
We’re going for.
There it is again, and I like it.
By the time we reach the bedroom section, my bank account is already crying, but I don’t give a fuck. Seeing Memphis getting excited about this shit, watching her face light up when she finds something she thinks I’ll like—it’s worth every fucking penny.
“King size,” I tell her as we approach the beds. “Non-negotiable.”
She glances up at me, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “Obviously. You’re massive.”
I catch her wrist, pulling her closer. “You calling me fat again, Pet?”
Her blush deepens, spreading down her neck. “I’m saying you’re big. Tall. You know what I mean.”
I chuckle, releasing her. “Just giving you shit.”
We settle on a platform bed with a dark wooden frame. Memphis insists on matching nightstands and a dresser, and I just nod along, letting her have her way. She knows what she’s doing. I don’t.
At the checkout counter, Brad keeps a respectful distance as he rings up our purchases. The total makes Memphis’s eyes bug out, but I just hand over my card without blinking. Money’s not an issue for me.
Between my cut from the club’s businesses and my work at Saints Ink, I’ve got more than enough saved up.
My phone vibrates in my pocket as Brad processes the payment.
It’s a text from Chief.
