Chapter 104 I Lost Weight
Ranger’s POV
I slide out of Les’s Range Rover and grin. Mrs. CJ is standing on her porch, smiling. Her hair is blonde this time. I have a twenty on her and Lula having the same shade.
“Ric! Boy, you did lose weight! Come here and let me fatten you back up.” She’s off the porch and walking over to me, hands on her hips, like a woman on a mission.
Steph’s jaw has dropped to her chest, but I jog over to Mrs. CJ, pick her up and twirl her around. I look down at her wide smile and grin. Impossible to stay unhappy or upset around her. “Not too much. I only need five pounds this time,” I tease. “Not twenty.”
I love Tank’s mom. She’s a wonderful woman, so loving and giving to everyone, regardless of who shows up at her door. She lives her beliefs and there’s a lot less pressure staying here or at Bobby’s than in Newark with my family. Mrs. CJ doesn’t ask questions and she lets us come and go as we please. Plus, no pressure to get married or have babies. I’d die for this woman in a heartbeat.
She pinches my cheek and pats my face. “Well, Tank”—she makes a face and I laugh—”told me about your love of something called flan—”
I see a streak of green as Les runs right by me into the house. Mrs. CJ is yelling because I’m right behind him, still holding her. “Boy, put me down! Put me down! I ain’t no young plug! You carrying me like I don’t weigh nothin’!”
I hear Tank and Bobby laughing like hyenas outside but I don’t give a damn. More flan for me!
Les found the flan. He passes me a fork while he cuts a big chunk of it away. He puts it on a plate, digs in, and moans.
“Oh my god . . . this goes in the top three. I have to bump my mother’s flan down.”
I put Mrs. CJ down and she laughs at Les’s face, but I find the plates and cut a big slice. I have to agree with the first bite. Top three. Meanwhile, Tank and Bobby have walked in and are taking pictures with their phones.
“Well! Bout time! I finally found a sweet you boys will run for.” She looks over at Bobby. “You the only one left and I got a new guess. Pecan pie?”
“I’ll never tell,” Bobby answers with a grin. She turns and he glares at us. That is his favorite dessert and his mom’s is excellent, but we have to do extra weight training to work that off.
“Ranger?” I look over. Babe’s looking at me like she’s never seen me before. “That was . . . scary.” She picks up a fork and tries to cut a piece of my flan but I move my plate.
“Sorry, Babe. I don’t share flan.”
“The temple?”
“Doesn’t exist in Carencro, Louisiana.”
Her mouth drops again. Actually, all of the women look a sight. It’s almost as funny as the moment they found out I was stateside.
-oOo-
Flashback
“OK, so you guys said nothing about the beard burn on my face all day last Saturday,” Steph says, pretending to be furious. “I mean, honestly! I looked horrible and you said nothing!“
“Steph—” ML begins, but Connie cuts her off.
“Honey, if you didn’t want to tell us that Ranger’s here, we were going to play along.”
“Ranger’s—”
“Ranger’s here. Obviously.” Connie sounds amused. I’m in the bedroom listening. “Joe’s a non-entity now and you have one hell of a hickey behind your knee. Of course Batman’s here. We refuse to believe you’ve been sleeping with Les or Bobby.”
“Or Hector,” ML says, giggling.
“I could have!” Steph cries.
Hector makes a face and gags. We—me, Tank, Bobby, and Les—laugh silently at him. He looks disgusted by the idea.
“Steph! Hector’s gay,” ML replies.
“Fine. Then Les, who looks like he might be a great time in bed”—Les grins—”Or Bobby.” I glare at both of them. They roll their eyes.
“Isn’t Bobby the doctor?” ML asks.
“Physician’s assistant.”
“So he knows the human body,” Connie muses. “And I’ll tell you, a man who knows the human body is one hell of a lover.” Bobby smirks, completely smug. “And Bobby is solid and gorgeous. One hell of a body on him. He might be a great lover.”
It’s quiet for a moment. Bobby preens. We flip him off.
“I vote for Lester,” ML says. “He’s fun out of bed. Bobby’s kinda serious.”
“Les and Bobby are both clowns,” Steph says.
“Yeah, but Les looks like the guy who’ll keep you laughing and moaning at the same time,” ML says. Les is grinning. “He looks intense in everything he does. I bet he’s a two orgasm minimum man.”
Les pumps his fist. We’re dying to laugh in the bedroom.
“Well, my Tank—”
“Stop!” they all yell.
“Honey, we’re speculating on Bobby and Les. You could give us the blow by blow on Tank and I want to continue to think of Tank as I already do. Quiet, deadly, serious,” Connie says.
“Not in bed, he’s not,” Lula grouses. “In bed he’s a hell of a lot of fun. As long as you don’t mind being sore the next morning.”
Tank is completely smug hearing that.
“I’m so not ready to hear this about the guys,” Steph moans. “I have to work with them! I have to look them in the faces.”
“You’ve never considered what it might be like to sleep with them?” ML asks.
“I was busy avoiding sleeping with Ranger.”
“Were you successful?” Connie asks.
“She had beard burn and a hickey behind her knee,” Lula points out. “I think that shows she was pretty damn successful in getting Batman naked and busy.”
The women are all quiet. I’m trying not to smile.
“Am I wrong to wonder what Hector’s like in bed?” ML asks. “You think he’s a top or a bottom?”
That did it. That broke us. First Les, then Bobby, then we’re all laughing. The women crowd around the door and gape. Hector walks out and looks at them.
“Top,” he says and walks out.
-oOo-
Les and I are working our way through that flan, Tank and Bobby are laughing their asses off and my nose is telling me to turn.
No need. Mrs. CJ puts a big heaping bowl of shrimp étouffée and three biscuits in front of me and another in front of Les. “Y’all finish that and let me get the gumbo going for everyone else.”
She turns to Hec. “Please tell me you’re Hector.”
He smiles. “Yes.”
“Oh baby, I’m glad to finally meet you.” Tank does the translation and Hector steps over to her and kisses her cheek.
“I’m glad to meet you too. I’ve heard the normal food rules don’t apply here.”
“Food rules?” Mrs. CJ turns and looks up at us.
“That ultra-healthy diet Bobby cooked up,” Les supplies helpfully. Bobby kicks him under the table and he winces.
Mrs. CJ turns back to Hector. “Honey, the only way I see a stick of celery is smothered in étouffée with some shrimp. We good?”
Hector grins big. “Yes.” He looks at Tank. “I love your mother already.”
“Uh . . . momma?” Tank says, but Mrs. CJ passes him, Hec and Bobby bowls of étouffée too. They sit at the table with us and dig in.
Mrs. CJ turns to Steph and her friends. “Ladies, welcome to my home. I’m Mrs. Carol Jean LaPierre and it’s a pleasure to meet Lula’s friends.” She walks over to Steph and gives her a tight hug. I can see Steph’s eyebrows rise. “You must be Stephanie. I’d know you anywhere! Lula’s told me so much about you and it’s wonderful to finally meet her friends.”
“Thank you.” Steph is still staring at us. Hector managed to get a slice of flan and his eyes have gone wide. Les and I nod solemnly. “Does that happen a lot?” she asks, gesturing to us.
Mrs. CJ turns and looks at us. “Honey, those boys know the rules. You eat what I put in front of you. Half the time, when they show up here at my house, they’re half dead from some trip overseas.”
Steph is still staring but Lula takes Mrs. CJ by the arm and introduces her to Connie and ML. Mrs. CJ ushers the ladies into the kitchen and dishes up bowls of étouffée for them while we try not to lick the bowls in front of us.
Les and I have no shame. Mrs. CJ is a great cook and we’ll check that fridge before the day is over. We finally sit back, stomachs tight, and smile.
“Creamy,” Hec says.
I nod. “Silky. Hint of vanilla, not an overwhelming aroma.”
“Good eggs. You can tell,” Les says, running his finger along the rim.
“Yeah.”
Bobby has tears running down his face. “I wish you could have seen the way you and Les moved! You looked like a former football player, the way you rushed the house.”
Tank’s shoulders are shaking. “Thank you for picking my mother up instead of running her over.”
I blush. Hell, I couldn’t help it. Flan? Les and I smile at each other.
No matter how old we are that’ll never change.
-oOo-
Steph’s staring at me as if she’s never seen me before but I kiss the top of her head and get started on my assigned ‘chore’. I have dusting, so I find the micro-fiber cloths and start wiping everything in sight. Bobby takes inventory of the fridge and cabinets, Les has dishes, and Tank vacuums. Hector drags Lula and Tank’s suitcases inside for them and joins me dusting.
The women are in shock.
“How did you do it?” ML whispers.
Mrs. CJ laughs. “The first time Tank brought Ric home, Ric simply couldn’t sit still until he’d done something to repay my hospitality. Now, mind you, the boy looked half dead. He’d lost 25 pounds, Tank had lost 35 and they were both weak as kittens.”
I make a face at Tank at that description. He flashes me a grin, rolls his eyes, and blanks his face again.
“I couldn’t let them sit and starve. Now, they nearly ate me out of house and home but they cleaned as payment.”
Les walks over and kisses her cheek. “When Bobby and I graduated Ranger school, Ranger and Tank drug us here. We recovered here too and it was the best thing ever.”
“Remember when we caught you licking the gumbo pot clean?” Bobby calls and we all laugh.
“Yeah, Ranger laughs but he’d done it when he graduated Ranger school,” Les replies, shooting a finger. Mrs. CJ swats his butt for that and we crack up.
Steph and the women, including Lula, are all looking at us as if we’ve been invaded by aliens.
“Now Lula baby, I did what you asked me to do. I got four different caterers scheduled to meet with you starting this afternoon. I told them to bring their best since you wanted to try all kinds of food.”
“OK, sounds good.” Lula and ML break open Lula’s wedding binder. We’ve finished the first round of cleaning (I see Tank eyeing the oven. He’ll break out the toothbrushes soon), so we join Mrs. CJ in the dining room, where she’s spreading out her lists.
“Y’all got a guest list?”
“We started one . . .” Lula looks uncertain. “I know we need to get those in the mail.”
“Yeah. You need to do that before Thanksgiving, baby. For a May wedding, you need to give folk plenty of time.”
“What’s the guest list looking like right now, Lula?” Connie asks.
“I got 40. Tank’s got 85.”
We look. “That’s . . . unusual. It’s usually the other way around.”
Lula shrugs. “I know less people. I want people on my wedding day that are happy to see me getting married and happy for me and Tank. I’m not inviting people just because.”
We nod. That’s smart.
“Your list?” I whisper to Tank.
“Family, RangeMen, Momma invites,” he whispers back. I nod.
“How many people are gonna be at this wedding, Lula?”
“We’re estimating 200.”
“Two hundred?” the women ask, in unison.
“Is that a big number?” Lula asks, uncertain.
“Well . . .” Connie hesitates. “My wedding was considered big and I had 250. So yeah, I’d think 200 is a big wedding.”
“Steph, how many did you have?”
“Invited or showed up?”
ML snorts. “Her wedding was a production. At least 100. Her mother wanted to crow.” ML looks at Lula. “Courthouse. I needed my wedding date to be a little sooner rather than later.”
We men smirk and silently toast Lenny.
Lula looks over at Tank, who has his blank face in place. “This is your day—”
“This is our day,” Lula corrects him. I silently toast Tank, for getting the right one for him.
He smiles slightly. “Our day. Whatever you want. We’re doing this once and big.”
Lula grins. “So . . . the ice sculptures?”
“Why?”
“Vodka?” Les supplies helpfully.
“Dry wedding,” Tank and Lula retort in unison.
“What about doves?” Hec asks.
“I got a 20 on the birds shitting on them,” Bobby replies. We smirk.
“Well, is this a sit-down formal meal or a buffet or a cocktail . . . oh right, dry wedding,” Connie says.
“I wanna do a buffet but Mrs. CJ says I need to think about lines. I don’t want a fight to break out at a carving station, so maybe it’s best to do this sit down.”
“Or you could do what I’ve seen lately in Atlanta,” Bobby says. We look over at him. “A combination buffet and sit down reception. A reception where everyone who arrives is seated first, given a choice of appetizer and/or soup to start and while they enjoy that first course, the chefs take their place to begin the buffet part of service. Gives some time for the lines to form.”
The ladies are nodding. “That’s a great idea, Bobby,” Connie says, getting excited. “Plus, it stops people from getting up and eating before the bride and groom have appeared, before the wedding party is seated, and before the toasts are made. If they’re already seated and eating something, they’ll keep their butts in the chairs.”
ML sighs. “I know you and Tank keep saying ‘dry wedding’, Lula, but you need to consider a cocktail hour.”
“Why?” Tank asks.
“Because you have time to kill between the end of the wedding and the start of the reception,” ML replies. “You need something for the guests to do while we take pictures as a group.”
Lula looks at Tank. He stares back at her. We watch as Tank and Lula have a completely silent conversation. At the end, Tank grunts, and Lula smiles and turns to her mother-in-law to-be. “OK. Cocktail hour.”
“Alright then, baby!” Mrs. CJ says, beaming. “I was hoping y’all would change your mind on that. I wouldn’t mind a little nip or two.”
I see Tank groan mentally. I smirk. “Top shelf?” I whisper.
“I’m not paying for everyone to get drunk.”
“You’ll look cheap.”
“Shit. I hate wedding planning.”
I’m mentally laughing my ass off.
The ladies all start talking about timing, the photographer’s ‘set list’, possible appetizers to keep everyone busy, all the stuff that makes my head spin. I look over and each of the guys looks just as overwhelmed. Well, not Bobby. He looks as if he’s enjoying this discussion. Then again, planning parties and soirees like this is what his mother does for a living. Tank jerks his head and we decide now is a good time to leave.
We walk outside just in time to watch Antoine pull up with Chenae. I decide to shelve Señor Scary for a while. I hear Chenae may have had something of a conversion.
Chenae exits the Mercedes and stops dead at the sight of me. My blank face is in place. “You don’t see him,” Tank says firmly. “If asked, he was never here, he’s overseas, and you know nothing. Understood?”
She nods mutely before turning to Hector. “Hello. Are you Hector?”
He nods. “Yes. You must be Chenae.”
“I am.” She approaches and extends her hand to shake. Hector smiles and shakes her hand. She nods at me and hugs Tank.
“He’s much less scary than your partner,” she whispers. I smirk internally. I’ve still got it. Hector, meanwhile, is scowling. Chenae looks over, does a double-take and swallows hard. “Then again, I might have that wrong.” She pats Tank’s arm and walks indoors.
Hector smirks and we all smile internally. He loves his rep.
I’m looking at Antoine. He’s . . . got a low fade.
“Just couldn’t do it, huh?” Tank says, bumping fists with his brother.
“Nah, man. I mean, I did everything else Chenae said and we’re headed to court after Thanksgiving, but me and Tamika been talking. I don’t wanna drag the boys on tour with me and the mediator pointed out that my known drug possession, even after cleaning everything up, will make it hard for any judge to wanna give me custody, so we worked out an agreement.”
“Word?” Bobby asks. “How you come out?”
“Private school for the boys, I upped my child support, and I get all weekends and the summer. We just fighting over Thanksgiving and Christmas now. She wants both holidays. I wanna trade off every year.”
“Sensible,” I tell him.
“Yeah, well, don’t fuck a chick with no sense,” he says.
We snort. Condoms, Antoine. Spermicide if you’re paranoid. Make those items your best friends.
-oOo-
We head to the church to try the caterer. Mrs. CJ told each caterer that the entire wedding party would try their dishes. This is the part Lula’s been looking forward to the most. Steph too. The first cake vendor is scheduled to appear right after the caterer finishes and they’re anxious to try the desserts.
“Now, I told them this was gonna be buffet but classy buffet,” Mrs. CJ says. “Chenae says ‘sumptuous’ is the word. Uniformed folks serving the food, not just anybody. And the guests ain’t dipping on they own.”
“Right,” Lula says. “I want it to be classy.”
Tank seems to be looking for his center. I sense a flash and look over. Hector looks extra innocent.
“New spy camera?” I murmur.
“Might as well field test it.”
The first caterer appears and introduces his assistant for the day. After that, we have a parade of delicious dishes. Lula and Connie debate the choices with the expertise of food critics while Steph simply works her way through the plate. At the end she sits back, a happy smile on her face.
“Babe?”
“Hmm?” She looks beautiful, soft and happy with a piece of something in the corner of her mouth. I swipe at it with my napkin and she blushes and wipes her mouth. I laugh quietly and kiss her.
“Cute, Babe. What did you like most?”
“Well . . .” She looks down at her empty plate and at the scoring sheet next to it. She didn’t mark anything. She leans over to look at mine and I flip it over.
“Carlos,” she moans. The sound goes straight to my cock and I shift in the seat.
“Nope. No fair. I filled mine out.”
“Well, I was trying to enjoy the selection.”
“What do you remember?”
“The steak. It was perfect.” I mark her sheet. “The scalloped potatoes—”
“Dauphinoise potatoes,” I read from the sheet. She rolls her eyes.
“The potatoes were excellent. The seafood stuffed mushrooms were fantastic.” She sighs. “The gumbo and étouffée tasted flat next to Mrs. LaPierre’s. Hers is outstanding.”
I agree. I mark Steph’s choices on her sheet and smile.
If we do this, I’m thinking courthouse.
-oOo-
The women head off to do more wedding stuff. We decide to hit Antoine’s studio.
I’m surprised. The place is much nicer than I expected.
“I know,” Tank mutters. “That was my first thought.” He smirks. “You have the advantage of not having to wade through a cloud of weed smoke to see it.”
“Weed?”
“Thrilla.”
“Damn.”
“Seven hours.”
“Tylenol?”
“Fiancée.”
I laugh silently. We head inside and upstairs to Antoine’s office, where Antoine pulls his list of songs for the reception.
“I got my DJ equipment ready and I’ve been working on a list—”
“Wait.” Tank stares at me and I nod. I turn and motion for everyone to leave. Once outside, Hector looks at me.
“We’re outside because?”
“So Tank can ask his brother to stand for him.”
Bobby’s and Les’s jaws drop. I shrug. “They’re getting there. He thought it was the right gesture to make. Antoine’s always liked Lula, never said anything against her.”
Bobby’s and Les’s mouths close with a snap and they nod.
“That’s going to throw the number of bridesmaids off,” Bobby points out.
“Lula plans to ask Chenae.” Again, their jaws drop. “She’s removed her head from her ass and that’s Tank’s baby.”
Les snorts. “Well, no disagreement there. Still . . .” He looks confused.
“He wants to make a fresh start with both of them.”
The guys nod and the door reopens. We walk in and tactfully ignore Antoine’s red-rimmed eyes.
“So, like I was saying, I’ve got my DJ equipment and I’m hunting for a DJ. Meanwhile, you need four hours of music.” He grins. “Let’s start picking stuff out.”
Steph’s POV
Lula’s wedding dress is perfect for her.
I thought a mermaid dress would look like a disaster on her, but I was wrong. It was perfect for her. Her dress is a Monique Lhuillier, heavily embroidered with a sweetheart neckline and a trumpet skirt. It even has a lace bolero to go with it.
Lula looks so happy and gorgeous I’m tempted to dress shop for myself.
Instead, I hit the racks looking for the perfect bridesmaid dress.
“I gotta say, Lula, you’re the best bride I’ve ever had to work with,” I remark, looking at a floor length strapless gown. “Your only request is color. I’ve worn some disaster dresses for brideszillas.” I look at her. She’s smiling. “Thanks.”
“No prob,” she says quietly. “I’m just happy you’re still willing to be my maid of honor.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask, frowning.
“You’re busy. You doing big things with the company and you always got something going on. I’m glad you still have time to do this.”
I smile. “I always have time for my friends. You and Tank are my best friends. Of course I’ll be at this wedding. I wouldn’t miss it no matter what!”
Lula swallows hard and walks off. I pull three dresses to look at and try them on. Dress one is a bust. Dress two is perfect. V-necked, with a lace overlay on top and a small bow at the waist, it flows down to my ankles after that.
I step out and look. ML’s found a great dress too.
It’s the exact same as mine and makes her smaller bust look great but her hips still look big.
“Hips.”
“I know,” she moans and heads back into her dressing room.
Mrs. CJ looks at me. “Not bad, honey.” She steps closer and whispers, “Are you Ric’s sweetheart?”
I hesitate before saying, “Yes.”
She beams. “I thought so. You two just seem to gravitate to each other, like there’s a little pull between you.” She pats my arm. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day that my son got married and his best friend found hisself a woman.” She smiles. “I’m so happy to see it. The boy finally looks at peace.”
She walks off to help Chenae and I feel as if I’ve been hit with a bat. I turn around and look at myself in the mirror.
Are we that obvious?
-oOo-
We spend an hour trying to convince Mrs. LaPierre to find an outfit for herself. She shooes us away.
“Ain’t nobody gon’ be looking at me! It’s Lula and P—”
“Tank!” Chenae shouts. Everyone looks at her but she’s looking at her mother. “Lula and Tank’s day.”
“Right,” Mrs. LaPierre says, rolling her eyes. “Lula baby, you and Tank talked about how y’all gon’ get around the issue of his name at the wedding? You know, when Marquise says, ‘I now present to you Mrs. and Mrs. Hmmmm LaPierre?’ “
Lula’s eyes go wide and she sits. “Oh crap.”
ML and I catch each other’s eyes and start laughing. “Lula, you and Tank have to talk about it.”
“Yeah, but he don’t want no one to know his name!”
“Well, unfortunately, you’re not going to be Mrs. Tank LaPierre legally. Tank has to give that battle up, at least for a day,” Mrs. CJ says.
Lula moans and gets up. “I better call him. Now.”
Connie and ML walk over to me. “Do you know Tank’s real name?”
I nod. “I’ve known for years. He’s not fond of his real name.”
Tank’s POV
We have a solid hour of music. After adding in wedding marches, quiet instrumentals for dinner, and trumpet music to announce our entrance, I’m sitting back trying to pick out classics. I prefer 60s and 70s soul.
Ranger seems to have joined forces with my brother to include jazz and some rap.
“I’m not playing Master P at my wedding,” I mutter.
Bobby and Ranger grin at each other.
“Break them handcuffs,
Forget your man,
Move somethin’,” Bobby raps.
“And if he ask you what you doin’,
Say, “Ooh, nuttin’ ” Ranger finishes.
They get up and start dancing and I’m dying inside. Idiots.
Antoine cracks up and Hector looks over in confusion. “What the fuck?” he mutters, looking at them.
“I thought you said he didn’t know English,” Antoine whispers.
“He doesn’t know English if you like living,” I reply.
“Gotcha.”
Les is cracking up, filming them sing the clean version of Mystikal’s ‘Shake Ya Ass’. “Add that to the playlist. That was the club jam when we were in college,” Bobby says.
“He’s right,” Ranger says. “Antoine, you can find the clean version, right?”
“Shake It Fast? Yeah.” Antoine looks. “I got it.” He looks at my face and grins. “Hey baby bro, you gotta remember, people gonna want to party. Classy is all good, but how many folk know how to waltz or want to at a wedding?”
“I’m not trying to increase the birthrate,” I reply. Les and Bobby crack grins.
“Lula told me and Hector to strap down.”
“She didn’t lie.”
Everyone cracks up.
“Yo, first dance song?”
I shrug. My phone rings at that moment. I look. Lula. I raise a finger and Antoine cuts the music.
“Lula?”
“Tank, we have a problem.”
“OK. Whatcha need?”
“Nothing. How you plan to address your name at this wedding?”
A million tons of weight hits me at that moment. I didn’t want to address it. I wanted to go by Tank and be done. “Tank.”
“And when Rev. Fulmer says, ‘I present Mr. and Mrs. Something LaPierre’?”
Shit. Everyone here in town knows my name, but I’m inviting the XOs and some of our longest serving employees. They damn sure don’t know my name and I wanna keep it that way.
“Tank?”
I exhale heavily. “Lula, you know how I feel.”
“I know, but our day ain’t about him. It’s about me and you and besides, how you plan to keep it a secret? The first time one of yo momma’s guests calls you by your name, that’s over.”
Crap. She’s right.
“Right. Fine. Include my real name on everything.”
“OK. Thank you, baby. Bye.”
“Bye.” Click.
I look up and Ranger nods once. “I’ll call the men together and encourage them to forget your real name the moment they leave.”
And that’s why he’s my RB.
Ranger’s POV
We head back to the hotels and Steph and I get undressed and ready for bed. I pull her into my arms and kiss the top of her head.
“Had fun?”
She sighs. “Lula’s dress is beautiful. If Tank doesn’t shed a tear at the sight of her, he’s not human.”
“He’s been trained to hide all emotions, Steph.”
“This’ll break him.”
I smile at the thought.
“What did you guys do today?”
“Wedding playlist.”
“Yeah. What’s Tank’s first dance choice?”
“Give You More by James Moss. Lula?”
“You by Jesse Powell.”
I nod mentally. “Good choice. I can see Tank choosing that one.”
“I’ve never heard it.”
I reach for my phone, search the internet for it and let it play.
“Oh, that’s . . . beautiful,” Steph says. “And appropriate.”
“Antoine, his brother, plans to play the piano portion for them. A nice touch.”
We lie in bed quietly. I’m drifting off, wondering what to say in my best man speech, when she shifts.
“Let’s talk seriously.”
I was wondering when she’d decide to. I assumed it would be as I went to sleep. She seems to have that timing.
“Are we getting married?”
“Do you want to?”
She blows a breath. “Way to romance me, Ranger.”
I cringe mentally. “Well, it’s hard to gauge with you. You’ve made your complete disinterest in getting married clear more than once. So have I. I told you last week I’d changed my mind, that if you want to get married I’m willing, but I still don’t know if you’ve changed your mind. Is marriage on the table?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what brought this on?” I look at her. She blushes. “Wedding dresses?”
“Lula’s dress is beautiful,” she mumbles.
I flip over and sit up. “You want to go looking?”
“I want to know what we are.”
“We are what we choose to be. This relationship is about me and you, no one else.”
“Except Tank. And Hector,” she says, crossing her arms and glaring at me.
I sigh. My RB and I are crap at talking. I can see this has been brewing.
“If I know Tank, what he meant, and I might still get this wrong, is that he will always be concerned about my happiness, just as Hector is concerned about yours.” I stop and think of how to explain this.
“OK, example.” She looks suspicious. “Hector knows how much you hate gossip and people talking about you. He also knows how much you hate being tracked and not having any freedom. He spent this year removing access to your trackers from everyone except him and Hal. I had no idea where you were.”
“Really?” She looks flabbergasted.
“Really,” I reply firmly. “Hector is a factor in our relationship for me because he’ll do things to make you happy that might piss me off.”
“Although you could order him to show you my trackers,” she mutters.
“Except I’d never put him in a position to do that,” I reply. “I trust Hector.” I grasp her chin and turn her head until she’s looking at me. I look her in her eyes. “I trust Hector, with my life even. Which means that he’s just barely competent to protect yours.”
“I’m capable of protecting my own life,” she says. “I don’t need a protector—”
“What I mean is that your life is so important to me that even Hector only barely makes the cut. That’s how much I trust him. My life? My life is expendable. Your life is important. I’d only trust my best to be your partner. I only trust Hector to partner you.”
She’s quiet. “You’re not expendable, Ranger. Not at all. Not to me.”
She leans forward and kisses me gently. I pull her into my lap and explore her mouth thoroughly for a few minutes. We both come up panting for air and ignoring my obvious erection.
“I thought Tank was your best.”
“Tank? Pfft.” I smile. “Tank’s OK. Solid in a firefight. Good in a shit storm but I heard this horrible rumor that he faints.”
“He’s a rock,” Steph says, smiling.
“Yeah, well, I heard the rock faints.”
We both look at each other and laugh.
“Do you understand now?”
“Yeah,” she says. “It’s about making sure each man goes home to his family.”
“Right.”
We’re quiet again. I’m waiting on the next question.
“You do a much better job explaining than Tank.”
“He’s that bad, huh?”
“He has his moments.”
I chuckle. “We give orders, Babe. Explaining? Bobby and Les is the best at explaining. Tank and I issue orders.”
“Makes sense,” she says. “Les and Bobby talk. You and Tank take ten words or less as a personal challenge.”
Damn right. I smile. “I know how your mind works.”
“Really?” She turns to me. “Want to explain it to me? Sometimes, I don’t understand how my mind works.”
I smile but sober when I realize she isn’t laughing. “It was a joke, Babe.”
“Really?” She’s skeptical.
“Really.” I shift. “Your mind goes places I can’t even dream. I love trying to follow it. It’s the ultimate puzzle. Your life experiences are different from mine. Your mind works differently.”
“Oh.” She nods. “Anyway, marriage.”
“Right. Marriage.”
We stare at each other.
“How did you see this, our relationship, going?”
I shrug. “I romance you.” I kiss her hand and watch her smile. “Show you what life with me will be like.”
“I’ve already seen that.”
“No, you’ve seen what my life is like. You have no idea what life with me is like yet.”
She nods. “Good point. Next?”
“We decide how we want our relationship to work, Babe.”
“I know. It’s just…” She sighs. “After the wedding, your life changes.”
“If that’s true, that’s a bad marriage.”
She twists. “How would you know? You weren’t married a year.”
I shrug. “Common sense. A relationship where everything changes overnight won’t last. I don’t expect my life with you to change overnight. A wedding should be a moment to acknowledge the situation, a piece of paper that says the state acknowledges what two people already know exists.”
I pull her close and kiss her cheek. “Tank and Lula? This blowout is just a day to acknowledge to everyone that they’re in this together for the rest of their lives. They’ll go on their honeymoon, come back all happy and relaxed and Lula will go to summer school. Tank will call a meeting to discuss the business. We’ll all keep living. That’s marriage.
I’m never going to wake up one morning and say, ‘OK, we’ve practiced long enough. I want breakfast on the table once I’m done with my shower and you need to clean this place up.’ Not only would that be ridiculous, but Ella would think I’m insane and you might try to kill me.”
“I’d give it some effort,” she mutters.
“I’m appropriately afraid.”
We look at each other and laugh again.
“What do you want, Babe?”
She sighs. “I don’t want my life to change after I get married. I don’t want to stay at home and wash windows.”
I snort. “You’re not Angie Morelli.”
“Exactly.”
I look at her, waiting. She’s chewing her lip. I smile mentally and rescue her lip.
“How about this? Let’s start with simple things. Is marriage a possibility?”
She stares at me for what seems like forever before nodding.
“OK. Then let’s try moving slow. Let’s try dating, living together, the normal stuff that comes first. We know that if we’re both ready marriage is on the table, but not right now. Agreed?”
Her shoulders relax and she smiles.
“Agreed.”
