Trust (London Love #5)

“And bang the doors.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, Reubs. I grew up in a totally normal family. My mum can be snarky as anything. Dad drives her mad. Mum drives Dad mad. Sometimes they don’t speak to each other all day. Dad goes out in the garden and sulks. Mum scrubs the floors. Gets the steam cleaner out. Pulls down curtains and stuff.”

“I don’t own a steam cleaner.” Reuben laughed into my shoulder. “We’ll need to buy a Hoover though. I mean, Dad would probably come hoover for us.”

“We’ll get a cleaner. I’m very rich and famous you know.”

“No. God no!”

“Good.” I kissed his head. “Anyway. Come on. Upstairs.”

He followed me, his hand in mine. I couldn’t stop smiling.

“This will be our home gym. I actually have all the equipment. It’s still in boxes, in storage. Stupid, eh? But I thought that’s what you had to have, so I ordered it. Never even had it delivered.”

“Idiot,” he said, looking around the room.

“Big. Airy. Next to the family bathroom. And we can put a sound system in here. Blast our tunes out.”

“Neighbours would love that.”

I laughed. Yeah. He had a point.

“And this…”

I pushed him in front of me, into our bedroom. Bloody baby cot and all.

“This is where the magic will happen.

He tensed up, just a little.

“Like last night?” I murmured against his nape.

“Last night,” he huffed. Hugged himself. “I’m…still. Not convinced.”

“That’s okay,” I replied softly, sliding my arms around him. “Baby, it’s fine. It’s something to build on. Not so scary, after all, perhaps?”

“No. But…” He took a deep breath. “Stop with the baby stuff. I like you, Gray. I like who you are. And yeah, all right, I’ll admit it. Last night was…pretty good, you know?”

I gasped. “I’m offended! I’m The Dieter. Pretty good?”

“Idiot,” he said again.

“Would you let me do it again? I mean, just, hold you and get you off?”

“The mouth thing…was hot.”

“I know.”

“And I like kissing you.”

“Yes.” I was rocking him. Dancing to a tune neither of us could hear. But it was lovely. I loved this. I didn’t care about the bloody trains rumbling past. Or the fly buzzing in the window. All that mattered was this. A warm safe place where we could just exist.

“Give me a week or two to sort out things and get the keys and move in, and then—”

“You’re not doing it on your own.” He sounded determined. “I’ll help you. I mean, you can barely dress yourself, so how are you going to style a home?”