“So badasses can compromise.”

“Jesus, I’m wiped and now I gotta rally in order to spank you,” he told the ceiling.

“You don’t have to do that,” I replied quickly, though only because I was tired too and I was pretty certain another orgasm might kill me.

His eyes came to mine. “What’d I say about being a smartass?”

“It’s a part of me,” I pointed out.

“It’s a part of you that’s gonna get you a red ass.”

“Please don’t. I think another orgasm tonight might kill me.”

I gasped as his hand darted out, curled around the back of my head, and pulled me to within an inch of his face.

“There it is, Cassidy, you know me,” he said, his voice heavy with meaning.

“Sorry?”

“We haven’t played, we haven’t even discussed playing, and you know I do that shit to you, it comes with an orgasm.”

Again.

He was right.

Sheesh.

“Shut up, let me go, and go to sleep,” I bossed.

“And I know you because I know you’re bein’ bossy right now not because you’re my Cassie boss, which you are, but because I’m right and you’re not willin’ to concede because you’re fuckin’ stubborn.”

“I think I prefer silent, speaks with his eyes and actions Deacon.”

“Kiss him good-bye, baby, and don’t bitch. You opened the floodgates.”

“Ugh,” I grunted. “Time to build a time machine.”

“Stop amusing me and settle in, woman. We got gutters to take care of tomorrow.”

We did.

Why did that make me happy?

I didn’t let on.

I mumbled, “Oh, all right,” shut up, and settled in.

When I did, Deacon’s arm around me gave me a squeeze and again, he was right. I knew him.

Because I knew that arm squeeze came along with Deacon smiling.

That also made me happy.

I again didn’t let on.

“Now I’m freaked out about us discussing playing,” I said to the room.

I heard Deacon’s head move on the pillow and I knew it was him digging it in so he could say to the headboard, “Jesus.”

“Just saying,” I muttered.

“You think I’d ever do anything to you that you wouldn’t like?” he asked.

I was an idiot.

“No.”

“You got nothing to worry about.”

“Okay.”

“Now go to sleep.”

“Your wish is my command.”

That got another arm squeeze, this one I read as amused and annoyed.

It also got another “Jesus.”

I was right. I heard it in his tone.

Amused and annoyed.

I grinned at his chest.

“’Night, Deacon.”

His body relaxed. “’Night, Cassie.”

I snuggled closer.

Deacon’s arm grew tighter.

He fell asleep before me.

I fell asleep thinking that I was going to pitch a fit at the cashier when we went to the grocery store.

But only to bust his chops.

Then I was going to let him pay for the groceries.

That said, no way in hell he was buying the shingles.

Chapter Eleven

Better Every Day

“Woman!”

This was shouted through the bathroom door by Deacon.

And I was guessing it was shouted because he was sick of waiting for me to get ready.

This was something I was putting some effort into after being on a roof most of the day helping Deacon with my gutters. Then I helped him with the cabins’ gutters. All of this before we went back to the house to clean up before going to Milagros and Manuel’s for dinner.

My efforts were going to freak them out. I didn’t think they’d ever seen me with makeup and now I had a face that wasn’t heavy with it, but I’d given it a light go over with a dewy sheen to my cheeks, accent shadow at my eyes, mascara, and eyeliner. I also had my hair in big curlers that would eventually give it wave and body (or, more wave and body).

It might also freak Deacon out (though I doubted that, not much freaked him).

Even so, I was doing it because I felt like doing it but also because this was Deacon and my first date (in a way) and I felt the occasion warranted it.

What I didn’t admit to myself was that I was doing it because Deacon thought I was beautiful just as me and I was wondering how he’d feel when I put a little oomph behind it.

“I’ll be ten minutes,” I called back.

“Jesus,” I heard muttered.

I grinned at the mirror and dabbed more shiny cream blusher on my cheeks to give me more dew.

“You need something to do, unpack!” I yelled. “You’re gonna be here awhile, no use living out of a bag on the floor.”

This was my way of saying his exploded bag on my bedroom floor was not something I cared for. I wasn’t freakishly tidy, but I’d got my foot tangled and tripped over a pair of his jeans when I’d stumbled to the bathroom before dawn and I hadn’t enjoyed it.

“Unpack?” he yelled back like that idea was foreign to him.

Then again, it probably was.

“Yes!” I replied on a shout. “Like, you know, taking your clothes out of your bag, hanging what needs to be hung, shoving in a drawer what needs to be shoved in a drawer, and stuffing into the laundry what’s not clean.”

“Badasses do not unpack,” he returned.

I grinned at the mirror again and started to put away my makeup. “Right, then toss your dirty clothes in the laundry and drag your other crap into the closet and leave it on the floor in there!”

“On a scale of one to ten, how important is this to you?” he asked through the door.

Another grin and “Eighty-five!”

I heard his chuckle, liked his chuckle, and lifted my hands to the curlers.

I took the ten minutes I told Deacon I’d take pulling out the curlers and smoothing some gunk through my hair that was supposed to separate and hold that I was surprised hadn’t congealed in the possibly two years since I’d used it. I did some teasing, some flipping, and then some spraying.

The results were good so I was grinning again when I spritzed on perfume, looked back to the mirror, and took myself in fully.

I didn’t go whole hog with the makeup (though I did with the hair). I also didn’t go whole hog with my clothes. But I again made an effort.