Chapter 5 I Want You Bitching In My Kitchen!
Emilio’s POV
Lola stared up at me like she was deciding whether to argue or hit me with one of the shopping bags still hanging from her arm.
Knowing her, either one was possible.
“Running away?” she repeated. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“You’ve been avoiding me since last night.”
“I went shopping with Natalie.”
“You ignored my text.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What text?”
I pulled my phone out, opened the message, and held it where she could see it.
We need to finish talking.
She dug into her purse, found her phone, and looked at the screen.
“Shit.”
I waited.
“My phone was on silent.”
“Convenient.”
She looked up. “You want me to show you the settings, asshole?”
“No.”
“Then don’t accuse me of ignoring you.”
“Fine. You weren’t ignoring me.”
“Thank you.”
“You were still avoiding the conversation.”
Her mouth opened.
I took the rest of the bags from her before she could start. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere Natalie can’t listen through a wall.”
“She’s eight months pregnant, not fucking Batman.”
“You two spent half the day talking about me. I’m not taking chances.”
Lola stopped walking.
I made it two steps before realizing she wasn’t beside me anymore.
I turned around.
“How do you know we talked about you?”
“You told me.”
“I said I spent half the day talking about you.”
“Exactly.”
“I could have been telling her what an asshole you are.”
“You probably were.”
“I definitely was.”
“Then I was right.”
She rolled her eyes and walked past me toward the side of the house. “You’re exhausting.”
“And yet you keep sleeping with me.”
“That might say something bad about my judgment.”
“Probably.”
She shot me a look over her shoulder, but I caught the edge of a smile before she turned away.
We ended up behind Max’s garage where nobody inside could hear us unless they came outside looking. I set the bags down beside the wall.
Lola crossed her arms. “All right.”
“All right what?”
“You dragged me back here because apparently Natalie has developed super hearing. Talk.”
“I didn’t drag you anywhere.”
“You’re already wasting time.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“That’s not an explanation either.”
I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. “Can you give me thirty fucking seconds?”
Her eyebrows went up. “You’ve had years.”
That shut me up.
Lola watched me for a second before some of the bite left her expression.
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I thought.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you’ve spent a long time making sure neither one of us had to talk about anything.”
“So did you.”
“I’m not pretending I didn’t.”
“Then quit acting like this is all on me.”
“I’m not.”
“You kind of are.”
She dropped her arms. “Emilio, you’re the one who lost his shit because some guy was talking to me last night.”
“He had his hand on your hip.”
“He was tipping me.”
“He was touching you.”
“I’m a stripper.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you?”
“I’ve been watching you dance for years, Lola. I know what your fucking job is.”
“Then why did you suddenly look like you wanted to rip his arm off?”
“Because I didn’t like it.”
“You never liked it.”
“No.”
“But you dealt with it.”
“Yeah.”
“So what changed?”
I looked at her.
She waited.
I had spent most of the morning figuring out how to answer that question without sounding like a fucking idiot, and apparently all that thinking hadn’t helped.
Lola leaned back against the garage. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Standing there hoping I’ll get tired of waiting.”
“That usually work?”
“With other women, probably.”
“You’re not other women.”
The words came out before I thought about them.
Her eyes stayed on mine.
“No,” she said. “I’m not.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets. “It stopped being simple.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
“I don’t have a fucking anniversary for it, Lola.”
“I didn’t ask for one. I asked what changed.”
“Everything.”
She frowned.
“I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it was six months ago. Maybe it was two fucking years ago and I was too stubborn to admit it. I just know somewhere along the way, you stopped being the woman I fucked and started being the first person I looked for when I walked into a room.”
She didn’t say anything.
I kept going before I could talk myself out of it.
“I know what time you usually get to the Den. I know which nights you’re going to complain because your feet hurt before you even say it. I know when you’re pissed at me by the way you slam the dressing room door, and I know when you’re actually pissed because you get quiet instead.”
Her arms slowly dropped.
“I know you steal the fucking cinnamon gum out of my truck even though you swear you hate it. I know you keep hair ties everywhere because you can never find one when you need it. I know you hate sleeping with socks on and somehow still manage to leave them in my bed.”
A tiny smile pulled at her mouth.
“That’s what you wanted to tell me?”
“No. That’s me trying to get there without fucking it up.”
“Then get there.”
I laughed under my breath. “You really don’t make anything easy.”
“You’ve had years, remember?”
“Yeah. I remember.”
I stepped closer.
“Last night, when you said you weren’t mine, I wanted to tell you that was exactly what I hated.”
Her expression changed.
“I’m tired of pretending I don’t care who you leave with. I’m tired of watching men put their hands on you and telling myself it shouldn’t matter because we never called this anything. I’m tired of waking up and finding out you left at four in the fucking morning because staying until breakfast apparently violates whatever rules we made up ten years ago.”
“It hasn’t been ten years.”
“Feels like it.”
“You leave too.”
“I know.”
“You’re the one who decided we weren’t doing relationships.”
“I know.”
“You made that very fucking clear.”
“I know, Lola.”
“Then stop saying you know and explain why I’m supposed to believe this is different now.”
I stared at her.
That was the part I deserved.
There had been plenty of mornings when she’d still been in my bed and I’d acted like it didn’t mean anything because that was easier. Plenty of nights when I’d wanted her to stay and kept my mouth shut because asking would mean admitting I cared whether she did.
“I’m not asking you to forget any of that.”
“Good, because I won’t.”
“I don’t want you to.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, like she hadn’t expected that answer.
“I was a fucking coward about you.”
Lola blinked.
“Don’t look so surprised.”
“I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever heard you admit you were wrong before.”
“Enjoy it. It might never happen again.”
“There he is.”
I almost smiled.
Then I looked at her and decided if I was going to do this, I was done doing it halfway.
“I don’t want what we had anymore.”
Her mouth tightened. “That could mean a lot of things.”
“I don’t want to fuck you twice a week and pretend I don’t give a shit what happens the other five days.”
Her eyes stayed on mine.
“I don’t want you leaving my bed because you think staying makes shit too serious. I don’t want to wonder if some other asshole is going to get a chance with you because neither of us had the balls to admit this stopped being casual a long time ago.”
“Emilio—”
“No. You wanted me to say it, so let me fucking say it.”
She closed her mouth.
I moved closer until there was barely any space between us.
“I need you to be mine.”
Her breath caught, but I wasn’t finished.
“Just mine.”
“That’s a pretty big thing to say to someone you haven’t even asked on a date.”
“I know.”
“And possessive as hell.”
“I know that too.”
“You don’t own me.”
“I don’t want to own you.”
“Then what do you want?”
There it was.
I could have given her another half answer.
I didn’t.
“I want a fucking three-bedroom house.”
She stared at me.
I kept going.
“I want a kitchen big enough for you to bitch because I’m standing in your way while you’re trying to cook. I want a garage where I can work on my bike while you come out every ten minutes asking how much longer I’m going to be. I want your clothes in my closet and your makeup all over the bathroom counter even though I know I’m going to complain about it.”
Her lips parted.
“I want your shoes by the fucking door. I want to argue with you about what color the walls are because you’ll pick something I hate just to piss me off. I want to know you’re coming home to me when your shift ends.”
I swallowed and forced the rest out.
“I want to wake up and hear you bitching because I used all the coffee. I want you stealing half my food when you said you weren’t hungry. I want your shit mixed in with mine until I can’t remember what the place looked like before you moved into it.”
Lola had gone completely quiet.
That almost scared me more than if she’d yelled.
“I’ve been looking at houses.”
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
“Not buying one.”
“Emilio.”
“Looking.”
“For how long?”
“A while.”
“What the fuck does a while mean?”
“I don’t know. Couple months.”
“A couple months?”
“Yeah.”
“Before my mother died?”
“Yeah.”
“Before Octavio showed up?”
“Yes.”
She stared at me like she was trying to decide whether I had lost my mind.
“You’ve been looking at houses for us?”
“I’ve been looking at houses and thinking about you in every fucking one of them.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah.”
She walked two steps away, turned around, then came back.
I let her.
“What happened to ‘relationships are complicated’?”
“They are.”
“What happened to ‘why ruin a good thing’?”
“I was an idiot.”
“You said that shit to me.”
“I remember.”
“More than once.”
“I remember that too.”
“And now you’re standing here talking about a three-bedroom house?”
“Yes.”
“Why three bedrooms?”
I frowned. “That’s what you’re stuck on?”
“It’s a valid question.”
“Because two felt too small.”
“For what?”
“I don’t fucking know. Guests. An office. Whatever the hell people use extra bedrooms for.”
She stared at me another second.
Then something shifted in her expression.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You thought about kids.”
I nearly choked. “I did not say that.”
“You absolutely thought about kids.”
“I said extra bedrooms.”
“You said two felt too small.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Emilio.”
“Don’t start.”
She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh.
“This is serious.”
“I know.”
“Then quit laughing.”
“I’m sorry.” She lasted about two seconds. “You fucking thought about kids.”
“I’m walking away.”
“No, you’re not.”
She caught the front of my cut before I could move and pulled me back.
I looked down at her hand.
She didn’t let go.
The laughter disappeared from her face.
“You really mean all of this?”
“Every fucking word.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because look at me.”
“I am.”
“No, I mean look at what the fuck I just did. I went from telling you I was jealous to accidentally admitting I’ve apparently planned half a house.”
“You forgot the imaginary children.”
“There are no imaginary fucking children.”
“Sure.”
“Lola.”
Her smile faded again.
“I didn’t tell you because I knew once I did, I couldn’t take it back.”
“You thought I’d leave?”
“Maybe.”
That was harder to admit than anything else.
Her hand loosened on my cut, but she didn’t move it.
“And if I say I’m not ready for a house?”
“Then we don’t buy a house.”
“If I say I don’t want to move in with you?”
“Then you don’t.”
“If I tell you I need time?”
“I’ll hate it.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
“But I’ll give it to you.”
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.”
She laughed softly.
I put my hand over hers where it rested against my chest.
“I’m not asking you to wake up tomorrow and move your shit into my place. I’m telling you where my head is because you asked.”
“And your head is apparently in a three-bedroom house.”
“With a garage.”
“God forbid we forget the garage.”
“The garage is important.”
“Of course it is.”
“And the kitchen.”
“For me to bitch in.”
“Exactly.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling.
Then she looked down at our hands.
“What happens now?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’m trying this honesty shit. Apparently it comes with admitting I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.”
“That might be the most terrifying thing you’ve said all day.”
“You want me to lie?”
“No.”
“Then we figure it out.”
Her fingers curled into the leather of my cut.
“No other women?”
“No.”
“You already stopped?”
“A while ago.”
“How long is a while this time?”
“Long enough.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Couple months.”
Her eyebrows went up again.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“I’m just realizing Natalie might have been right.”
“That sentence scares the shit out of me.”
“She said maybe we stopped being casual a long time ago and neither one of us wanted to admit it.”
I rubbed my thumb across her knuckles. “She say anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“None of your business.”
“You spent half the day talking about me.”
“And I regret telling you that.”
I leaned down a little. “Were you saying nice things?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“You’re very confident for a man who just admitted he wants me bitching in his kitchen.”
“My kitchen?”
Her eyes narrowed.
I grinned. “Our kitchen.”
“Better.”
There was the Lola I knew.
I slid my hand around the back of her neck.
She didn’t pull away.
“You going to kiss me,” she asked, “or are you going to tell me what kind of countertops you picked out too?”
“I haven’t picked countertops.”
“Thank God.”
“But granite would probably—”
She kissed me before I could finish.
I laughed against her mouth and pulled her closer.
It wasn’t like the thousand other times we’d done this.
Maybe because for once neither of us could pretend we didn’t know what came after.
Then Max’s voice came from the other side of the garage.
“Emilio.”
Lola broke away and pressed her forehead against my chest.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“You say that at least twice a week.”
Max came around the corner and stopped when he saw us.
His eyes moved between us.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Yes.”
Lola stepped away from me. “What happened?”
Her tone made Max stop fucking around.
“I got a call from Bobby.”
I straightened.
“He went looking for Chris after he didn’t show up for his shift.”
Chris had been prospecting for close to six months. Annoying kid, but reliable. If he missed a shift without calling, something was wrong.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Doc’s with him.”
That answered enough.
Lola moved closer to me. “What happened?”
“Bobby found him behind the liquor store. Somebody beat the shit out of him.”
My jaw tightened. “Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Can he talk?”
“Barely.”
Max looked at me, and whatever had been left of the conversation with Lola disappeared.
“He remembered one thing.”
“What?”
“One of the guys told him to make sure the vice president got the message.”
Lola’s hand brushed mine.
Max’s face hardened.
“This is what happens when you put your hands on Octavio Lopez.”
