It wasn’t until we were emptying our kitchen utensils onto the check-out belt, and I turned to Asa with a glare, holding not one, but two orange peelers, that he finally spoke.

“Westerns are American history brought to life. Those fuckers were badasses, Callie,” he told me with a smirk. “Plus, John Wayne’s the fuckin' shit.”

I shook my head at his smirk and continued emptying the cart, “I’ll take your word for it as long as you don’t make me watch them.”

“Fuck that. You’re sitting through every single one…”

“I’ll just read or something,” I told him distractedly as I watched the numbers on the register move higher and higher while biting the inside of my cheek.

I wasn’t prepared for him to move in behind me and settle his hand low on my belly.

“I’m pretty sure you’re gonna watch them, Callie,” he whispered in my ear, pushing his hips lightly against my ass.

“Oh yeah?” I replied, trying to sound dismissive but ending up breathy like Marilyn Monroe.

He didn’t answer back right away because he was busy swiping his credit card and gathering his receipt from the clerk, so I moved slightly away from him, thinking the conversation was over. I was surprised when, instead of grabbing our bags, he moved to me and slid a hand into my hair at the base of my neck, tilting up my face for a quick peck on the lips.

“Yeah, baby. You’ve got a hickey the size of Texas on your neck that tells me you’re not gonna be tellin’ me no.”

He chuckled once and let me go, slapping me on the ass before picking up our purchases and walking toward the exit.

I should’ve been annoyed but I wasn’t. His words had flipped a trigger, and my mind grasped on to one simple fact.

Almost every minute I was conscious, my mind was consumed with grief and guilt. It was burying me slowly in a depression that I had no idea how to deal with. It just kept beating at me, never letting a smile cross my face or a feeling of gratefulness sink in before I felt like shit for enjoying anything when my parents were dead.

But when Asa was touching me, I wasn’t thinking about anything else. Not one single thing.

It was a heady feeling—knowing I’d found my oblivion.

Chapter 23

Callie

Once I realized that Asa was expecting to share the house when he could, it was easier for me to pick out the things I thought we’d need, like an electric slow cooker. Sure, a slow cooker wasn’t a huge purchase—or even really important in the greater scheme of things—but my mom had taught me how to use one. I had a ton of recipes that I knew were really good, and I wanted to make them for Asa. So for the first time, without his prodding, I’d bought something. A freaking electric slow cooker.

I had no idea where Asa was getting the money for our huge shopping spree, but he seemed to be unconcerned with the grand totals as we made our way through different stores.

I thought the big TV he wanted would be our largest expense, but it was nothing compared to the cost of all the small things we had to buy. It was daunting, trying to remember everything we needed. At one point, I had to try to remember a pad of paper and a pen just so I could write a list of all the other things we’d forgotten as we made our way through store after store.

We drove the moving truck around town as we picked up our supplies, and we must have looked like idiots putting seven bags of groceries into the empty cargo area. Asa refused to return the truck until we’d found the bed and couch we wanted. And by we, I mean him. The couch and bed he wanted. If it had been up to me, we would’ve bought the least expensive ones we could find, no matter what they looked or felt like.  However, Asa was adamant that we get furniture that were both comfortable and appealing, so he eventually stopped asking my opinion after I told him a lime-green couch with bright orange flowers looked nice. In my opinion, the nicest thing about the couch had been the bright red clearance tag hanging off its arm.

By the second week in the new apartment, we’d completely settled in. I hadn’t been sure about, well, anything to do with Asa, but the longer we spent time together, the more comfortable I became with him. It didn’t help my anxiousness, however, when we set up the new furniture, or the thoughts racing through my mind the entire time I got ready for bed.

We hadn’t discussed what the sleeping arrangement would be.

Since the day we’d left San Diego, Asa hadn’t done anything beyond stealing a kiss or two and leaving the massive hickey on my neck—even though we’d been sleeping together on the floor every night. It was cozy and comforting sleeping wrapped in Asa’s arms, and the thought of waking up after a nightmare alone didn’t appeal to me—but sleeping in the bed seemed so much more intimate than camping out on the floor. It was a situation that I had no idea how to handle, but once again, I didn’t actually have to handle anything. Asa just stepped in with little fanfare and made the decision for me by stripping down to his boxers and climbing into my bed before I’d finished brushing my teeth.

I felt my hands grow clammy as I took in his broad shoulders and inked skin against my pale blue sheets. Since the hickey incident at IKEA and the subsequent light bulb that went off in my head, I’d been trying to get the courage to start, at the very least, a heavy make out session. Many nights, I was falling asleep with a splitting headache from controlling my emotions all day. I was a mess. It wasn’t helping my nightmares because every time my headaches were at their worst, I was waking up in a cold sweat halfway through the night.