Page 98 of Ridin’ Dirty

‘Lyla…’

His impatience was familiar but not nearly as intimidating as I’d known it to be.

‘You’re a grown-ass man, baby—grown-ass men own nightstands. And if they don’t, they marry women who buy them some.’

‘Funny. Pretty sure my credit card statement would prove you didn’t buy shit.’

I couldn’t help but to smile, picturing him on the phone with me, watching the movers do their thing.

‘You said if I needed something I should say something, right? Well, I need a nightstand on my side of the bed.’

‘And this dresser? Had one. Moved you in and you came with one, too.’

‘Ri—neither of them matched.’

‘Lyla…’

‘Don’t mind you give a fuck. Prefer it, if I’m bein’ honest—your words, not mine.’

After that, he grumbled something incoherent before he hung up on me.

Later, when I got home, I learned he finally took a good look at his credit card statement. We fought about it. Then when I told him I’d help him pay it off, he got even more pissed.

Then he fucked me on top of the dresser.

Yeah. We were getting used to each other.

I even had the sore bits to prove it.

Yesterday, the area rug for the living room was delivered.

Its arrival didn’t spark an argument—but after he helped lift the couch so I could roll it out the way I wanted, we broke in the rug, too.

Soon, we were going to run out of new surfaces on which he could own my body.

Not that I think that would stop him.

“Lyla Wells—are you thinking about that man naked right now?” teased Sofia, playfully jabbing me with her elbow.

Wells.

Hearing my name like that was still so foreign…

But it felt good, too.

Really good.

“Man. Seems like another lifetime ago when Cecile and I were newlyweds, but I still remember that high,” said Viv with a smirk.

“Yeah, me, too.”

“Oh, please. Let’s not pretend what they have is anything more than good sex,” griped Hazel, completely shifting the mood.

I frowned in her direction, taken aback by her outburst.

“Hazel!” chastised Sofia.

“They hardly know each other. They didn’t get married because they were in love, and she has neither ink nor kutte marking her as his. That ring on her finger means almost nothing.” She tossed back the last of what was in her cup before her eyes found mine. “He’ll get bored and that piece of paper binding you together won’t stop him from stepping out on you. Look around. I don’t need to tell you, he’ll have his pick.”