Page 89 of Mutual Possession
“Youaskedme,” I point out. “Why do I have to agree to rules?”
“Rule number one,” Spencer says loudly, ignoring me. “No getting shot.” He holds up a finger before I can respond. “Rule number two: I go through doors first, to enforce rule number one.”
I decide not to point out that he did in fact go in before me when Jack had us at gunpoint. I don’t think mentioning that would be good for my health, or his. He can have those two rules.
“Rule number three: you have to always make me pancakes, no matter what time of the day it is.”
I already do that. What kind of rules are these?
“Rule number four: Skittles the rabbit needs a friend. No, two friends. Three?”
“One or two?” Three friends is a no-fucking way, no matter how pretty he looks at me when he pleads. We’re not looking after an entire brood of rabbits. Threetotalis the absolute limit.
“Two.”
That’s a compromise I can agree with. Rabbits aren’t solitary creatures. Neither are we. “That seems like a temporary rule, though.” Once we get the rabbits, then it becomes void, right? I draw the line at three rabbits. And they have to all be the same gender to avoid any accidental pregnancies.
“We can alter it right after we get Mars Bar and Snickers.”
“We arenotnaming—”
“Rule number five: you don’t go on a job without me. Even if that job is picking up coffee.”
“You always come with me to pick up coffee.” Mostly because he’s adamant one of the servers is always flirting with me, and he’s waiting for his chance to drown the guy in a latte. That’d be a waste of a perfectly good coffee.
“Would you stop interrupting me?”
“How many rules are there?”
“If you let me finish—”
I kiss him, effectively cutting him off. Establishing rules is pointless. If he wants something? We don’t need rules for him to be my whole world, and for me to give him everything. All he has to do is ask, and it’s his.
