“You’re movin’ in.”

I choked on coffee and his eyes came to me, brows drawn and he leaned toward me.

“You all right, baby?”

I patted my chest, swallowed and wheezed, “Yes,” then, “You want me to move in?”

He stared at me.

Then he said, “Babe, your ass has been in my bed every night for three months, you got a whole dresser to yourself and more than half the f**kin’ walk-in already. For a bitch who had no money, you got a f**kload of clothes.”

This was true. All of it. Though the last was partially his fault.

“How much is the rent?” I asked.

“Nothin’ considerin’ I own the place.”

“Okay, how much is the mortgage?” I amended.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because, if I move in, I need to know what my half is so I can budget,” I answered and instantly his head tipped back and he looked at the bottom of the balcony above us.

Then he chanted, “Jesus, f**k, f**k me. Jesus, f**k, f**k me.”

“Knight!” I snapped and his eyes sliced to me.

“You’re not paying half the mortgage,” he declared.

I opened my mouth but he moved quickly, his arm coming out, hand cupping my jaw, thumb pressing firm on my lips and I saw his eyes were deadly serious.

“This is not a discussion. On this you yield. You put in notice. You dump the shit from yard sales or that’s got rips in it or anything you bought on f**kin’ sale or anything anyone f**kin’ gave you unless it has special meaning. The rest of the shit, we’ll find places for it. You get me?”

He removed his thumb and I kept snapping, “That’ll take a box to move since everything is from yard sales, got rips in it, I bought it on sale or someone gave it to me.”

“Good, then it’ll take about an hour to move you in. We’ll do it today,” he returned immediately.

That was when I looked at the bottom of the balcony and asked, “Please, deliver me.”

“Anya, eyes,” he ordered and I cut my eyes to him but they were squinty. He ignored that and growled, “Yield.”

I didn’t yield.

I announced, “I can’t move in. The limited stuff I have that doesn’t fit in one of those categories is girlie and it won’t match your décor.”

“Babe, I live in a f**kin’ museum. Please, God, inject some personality in it.”

I blinked.

“Not flowers or pink,” he added then continued, “Or any of that white, chipped shit you got goin’ on.”

I stared at him.

Then I asked, “Anything else, Knight?”

He stared at me.

Then he answered, “Far’s I’m concerned, you can lose it all. The only thing I give a shit that you move permanently is you.”

That was a really good answer.

Still.

“You know, when you bring bossy into life and get so super generous I’ll be wracking my brains for a millennium for ways to be bad to give payback and it pisses me off, it then pisses me off more when you get sweet so I can’t be pissed anymore.”

“You know that didn’t make a f**kin’ lick of sense,” he told me.

I glared at him.

Then I turned my head and glared at the Front Range, muttering, “Whatever.”

Then I sipped coffee.

Then I heard, “Notice in and move your shit, Anya.”

“Okay, Knight.”

“Jesus, f**k, f**k me,” Knight muttered.

I took another sip of coffee. I did this calmly. But again, inside, I was twirling and screeching, “Squee!”

Then I announced to the mountains, “I feel a night out with Sandrine coming on.”

“Christ, she sucked me off in the middle of the night, I ate her and f**ked her half an hour ago and she’s sittin’ in my tee, no panties, drinkin’ coffee, tryin’ to get me hard,” he griped.

My eyes went to him. “Your rule, honey. I can go put panties on.”

His eyes came to me. “You do, I get the strap.”

My legs shifted restlessly.

He stared at me.

Then he turned his head and muttered to the Range, “Fuck, I created a f**k monster.”

I felt my eyes bug out.

Then I burst out laughing.

* * * * *

The thin, high heels of my awesome sandals clicked on the floor as I wandered through the apartment. I did it smiling to myself because, it was turned low which might be a crime in some states, but I could hear Black Sabbath.

I turned the corner into the living room and saw Knight outside on the balcony, heels up on the railing, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. I knew while I’d showered and got ready to face the day he’d probably moved to refresh his cup. Other than that, no.

It was one of the things I loved about him. Comfortable in his own company. He had very little downtime, what little he had he spent with me but if there were moments like this, he didn’t need to fill them with books or TV. Just music, coffee (or a beer or a vodka rocks), his smokes and himself.

Like everything about Knight, I thought it was hot.

His neck twisted and his eyes came to me when he heard my approach. His eyes to me, I watched him crush his cigarette in the ashtray.

I got close, his head went back, he moved his mug to his other hand so his hand closest to me could curl around my hip and I leaned in to touch my mouth to his.

I pulled back an inch and said softly, “Gonna check in at the spa.”

“Right,” he muttered.

“Can I ask you to think about something while I’m gone?” I requested.

“Anything,” he told me and I lifted a hand to his neck as I felt my face get soft.

“Think of something I can do to contribute to our home. I get you wanna look out for me but what you need to get is I need to do that. Groceries. Utilities. Paying the cleaners. Something. Until my spa becomes the whopping success I’m gonna make it be, I know with this place I can’t afford to go halfsies and you’ll never let me do that anyway. But I need to do something.”

I knew he was stuck on the beginning of what I said when his eyes drifted to my mouth and he whispered, “Our home.”

My fingers at his neck gave him a squeeze and I whispered back, “Honey.”

His eyes came to mine and he told me quietly, “We’ll talk about it tonight.”