“You gonna be nice?” the princess asks, walking through the lot next to me, holding my hand.
Stupid goddamn question. “Am I ever nice?”
No hesitation. “No.”
“Then there’s your answer, baby.”
“Can you try?” Walking through the door when I hold it for her, I smack her ass when she walks by, making her jump. “For me?” For her? That’s fucking blackmail and she knows it. Knows I’d do anything for her. Anything except that.
“No. I am who I am, Princess, and that’s why you love me.”
“Just be nice.”
“I’m sweet as fucking pie.”
She shakes her head as she walks through the club, the noise from the party out back floating in. It’s Rock and El’s baby’s birthday. Big ass balloons with the number two are floating around the space.
“Your brother still wants to kill me,” I tell her, laughing at the way he looks at me when I walk out back of the club, her hand in mine.
The fucker hates me, and the feeling’s mutual.
She rolls her eyes, taking the baby from me and setting him down on his little feet. Wearing his little Disciples tee and Carhartts, he’s cute as fuck. Kane wobbles, but stays upright and on his feet. My son’s a badass. Eleven months and walking. Taking a couple steps, he stops and looks up at me, drool on his chin. I clap. He claps. Cracks me the fuck up when he does it. Wasn’t so funny when he said “fuck” yesterday, though.
“Why’s he so goddamn cute?” I ask Samantha, and she just snorts, waving me off with her pink manicured hand, a ring the size of Oregon on her finger. The bitch is mine. My baby mama. My old lady. My wife.
“You know why,” she tells me, patting me on the chest and walking off toward Remi, Lennon, and El. The girls are smiling and a drinking, waiting at the picnic table for her.
Hate that she’s drinking. She should be pregnant, but we’re waiting. Her idea, not mine. I don’t fight her on it because we do this shit her way. Always have.
“You still hate me, asshole?” I ask T, sitting down next to him at the fire.
Rock chuckles. “We all hate ya.”
“Fuck you. Hand me a beer.” These motherfuckers are funny.
“You’re still breathin’,” T tells me in place of a real answer, and I can live with that. We’ll get there. Maybe.
“How’s my sister?” he asks me, looking at Samantha. “You treating her okay?” He acts like his ass hasn’t seen her in months. It’s been a week. He knows exactly how she is.
Jerking my chin in her direction, I ask, “What do you think?”
“You’re lucky she loves you,” he growls, taking a drink if his beer as Rock passes mine over. Asshole.
He’s goddamn right I am. Luckiest motherfucker on this planet. The bitch loves me for some fucking reason. Puts up with my shit and asks for more. It wasn’t easy, still isn’t. Took work. Took time. Took love. But we’re here and nothing’s gonna change that.
“Yo, Princess?” I holler. Everyone at the damn club quiets, listening.
Whipping her head around, Kane on her knee, she gives me a dirty little look. “What?”
“I treat you good?”
She doesn’t answer me right away. She acts like she’s thinking about it, until she cracks a smile. “What do I get if I answer yes?”
Little shit. “A new car?”
She smirks, licking her bottom lip. “Then you treat me like a queen.”
“Good girl.”
Looking at her brother, looking at all my brothers, I know they see it. There’s no hiding the way I feel about the woman. “We good?”
T nods, frowning. “We’ll see.”
Taking a pull from my beer, Samantha hollers, “Yo, King?”
“What?” I bark, giving her as much shit as she gives me.
“You love me?” That has got to be the stupidest question she’s ever asked me.
“You know goddamn well I do.”
“Good. Just checking.” She smiles at me, and I know I’ve found it. I finally found love.