“Where would I find a Jamaican or a Belizean for you?”
“Those are just examples.” I flick my lighter twice and Oske follows my cue, shaking her head as we walk outside to sit on the ranch house steps together. I never liked smoking in the house. Didn’t ever feel right.
She has an uncomfortable face. No expressions on it, very strict. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, I just know that she always asks for money if she does a job for you.
“I said that I was getting out of this business, Cody. Why should I risk getting into trouble with Wyatt for you?”
“Can’t you ethically source a nice woman for me?”
“You want me to ethically source a woman who will sign a contract to allow you to sexually degrade her?”
“I’m willing to get married if that makes it sound better.”
She pauses and smiles for the first time since we started interacting this evening. I like the looks of a smile on Oske, because I must be closer to getting what I want.
“Marriage might be easier for me to work out,” Oske says, nodding and smiling even wider, like she really did solve my problem for me. I can’t begin to wonder what she might have in mind for looking after the marriage issue, but if it doesn’t cost me too much and I can have a woman warming my bed at night without having to do all that messy work…
“Good. Dating these days is hard.”
“Have you ever tried not smelling like a cattle ranch? Or going anywhere women are present?”
“Doesn’t work,” I tell her. “I don’t have Deacon or Tanner’s charm.”
“Neither of them have charm,” she says, giving me an equally derisive look. “I’ll help, but I can’t solve your problems until Brinley and I get back from Canada.”
“Seriously?” I ask her, happy enough that I’m willing to take out a box of my cigarettes and offer her one. Oske has never turned down a smoke. We both light up and she nods. Yes, she’s serious.
“How long will that take?” I follow up, letting the ash fall next to the toes of my old Ariat boots. Oske looks under the brim of my hat with a little bit of impatience. I guess she doesn’t want me to rush this arranged marriage.
“Six weeks. You can wait six weeks for the right woman.”
“I don’t need her to be perfect.”
“Perfection never entered my thoughts,” Oske says, puffing an O-ring and then giving me a pointed side-eye. I wish she knew baseball or football or something. Everything about her and her lesbian ways makes me a little uncomfortable. She should be more like a dude – but she’s not. I suppose it doesn’t matter as long as she does what I ask her to, right?
I want a woman to marry without putting in all the fuss and work. Arranged marriages have been around for a hell of a lot longer because they just make more sense. The taboo arrangement to the situation means I’ll have to pay Oske a little extra to keep quiet but… I won’t apologize for wanting something traditional.
For wanting something real in a world full of dating with no intentions.
If I want to get married, why not start there?
We’ll figure out the rest later.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gabby
Idon’t know what was going through Isaac’s head when he pinned me to his bed and did everything in his power to knock me up. Do either of us really need a new baby in our situation right now? Don’t get me wrong, there was something outrageously sexy about the way he held me down, the dirty things he whispered into my ear. I loved the feeling of being speared on his big cock and getting my legs wide and wrapped around him.
He left an ache with his departure. The kids are with their babysitters while he’s gone, so I have the house to myself, but I have to admit that I miss all of them so much it hurts. It’s easy to get accustomed to the company of kids. I like them. They’re generally kind, pretty simple, and they don’t worry about all the stupid ridiculous stuff that adults worry about.
Averie stops by the second I tell her that it’s okay and even if I swear she’s nonchalant and barely gives a crap about her irrelevant younger sister, she brings me a housewarming bottle of nonalcoholic cider, a basket of all new items from the Harvard COOP, and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies with oatmeal.
She watches me eagerly unpack my gifts – a baseball cap, a crewneck maroon sweater with HARVARD embroidered across the front in white, a few notebooks, a white mug, and a Harvard keyring. There are even two shot glasses. She went all out. I pour us some of the nonalcoholic cider in shot glasses, while Averie asks me tons of questions about Harvard, convenientlynotbringing up the sexy biker and his three kids until after our toast, a half hour conversation, and a few sips.
Damn, she’s good.
“So… Did you tie up the biker and three kids before hiding them in the basement? There’s nobody here.”