Jonas had left earlier with Pop, he was spending the night with him, I suspected because Tate had another birthday treat for me, one I was seriously looking forward to because I’d had more than one martini and I was seriously drunk.

I slid the sliding glass door shut and cooed nonsensically at Buster who was weaving around my ankles as I weaved my way toward Tate who was standing at the debris-filled, brand new, shit hot kitchen counter, something in his hand, his neck bent to look at it.

I sidled up to him and then plastered myself against his side.

His neck twisted to look down at me and I whispered what I hoped was a suggestive, “everyone’s gone now, we can have wild, crazy, biker on biker babe sex”, “Hey.”

“Who’s Matt Derriford?”

I blinked drunkenly.

“What?”

He lifted my phone pointed at me and I saw my call history, Mom and Dad and Carrie were on it but at the top was Matt’s name.

“Um…” I muttered, trying to think fast, however I was inebriated so thinking fast was an impossibility.

“College boyfriend?” Tate surmised.

“Um…” I muttered again, trying to read his face, however I was inebriated so reading his face was an impossibility considering it was carefully blank.

Tate looked back down at my phone. “When’d you talk to him?”

“Um…” I repeated, “At the bar, after my shift.”

Tate looked back at me. “Tryin’ to hide it, Ace?”

I bit my lip as my mind screamed, Yes! considering he didn’t seem too happy. Hiding it was a moral imperative and I decided next year to do a heck of a lot better with that.

I didn’t answer and Tate put my phone on the counter and turned into my arms. His hands came up and settled where my neck met my shoulders.

“You drunk?” he asked.

“Yes,” I thought it safe to answer.

“How drunk?” he asked.

“Very drunk?” I answered with a question even though it should have been said firmly as I was, indeed, very drunk.

“Too drunk to hold on, I take you for a ride?”

My belly fluttered at the thought of being on the back of his bike but my eyes slid to the new microwave over the new stove then back to him.

“Tate, it’s nearly one in the morning.”

“Too drunk to hold on, Ace,” Tate repeated.

“I’m never too drunk to hold on,” I replied.

“Get your jacket,” he ordered.

I stared at him and I couldn’t decide if he was pissed or if he was something else. Since he loved me and he loved me lots and he’d proved that over and over again, most recently with a bunch of expensive, brand-spanking new stuff in the kitchen, I figured I was safe even if he was pissed about my call to Matt.

I got my jacket and he led me out to the garage, threw a leg over his bike, backed it out and then I got on behind him.

Then we rode. It was cold, the wind whipped my face and hair and bit through my jeans.

And I didn’t care.

Because I had Tate’s back tight to my front, my arms wrapped around his belly and my cheek to his shoulder. I was drunk on martinis he’d made me and I’d drunk them in delicate glasses he’d bought me. And my mind was free, clear and free and I was, for the first time in my life, deliriously happy. Content, settled, safe, and happy with my family of three, me, Jonas and Tate.

It was late and it was cold but Tate and I rode for a long time. Finally, he stopped at a ridge, Carnal spread out before us, its lights blinking in the utter darkness of the hills and mountains surrounding it, covered in a blanket of midnight blue that was the sky.

Tate thrust down the stand, turned off the bike and I hopped off the back, Tate coming off after me. I walked to the edge of the ridge and stopped. Tate moved in behind me and circled me with his arms, one at my chest, one at my ribs.

“Next year, babe, you call him when I’m there,” he said in my ear.

My mind had been filled with nothing during the ride. Tate’s mind had been filled with Matt.

“Okay,” I whispered. “But, Tate, it isn’t a big deal,” I assured him, even though this year it was, I didn’t share that. “We’ve been doing it for –”

His arms gave me a squeeze and I shut up. “You do it when I’m there.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” I told him.

“I know,” he replied.

“So why –?”

“Don’t want you hidin’ anything from me.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

He was done with this topic, I knew that when he muttered, “Simple request, Ace.”

I was beginning to realize that, although some of the ways of a badass, biker, bounty hunting, alpha male would become clear to me, others would forever remain a mystery.

My hands came up and my fingers curled around his forearm at my chest. “Okay, Captain. Next year, I’ll talk to Matt when you’re there.”

His arm at my chest tightened and he kept muttering when he said, “Seal the deal.”

I blinked at the vista.

“What?”

His arm around my ribs stole away, then his hand came back, prying my left one from his forearm at my chest, I felt something cold at my ring finger and Tate slid its coldness to rest at the base.

“Seal the deal,” he repeated, his hand curling mine back on his arm and his lips went to my neck to give me a kiss.

That neck was bent and I was staring at a diamond glittering dimly in the night.

I simply stared at it, mind blank, stomach hollow, heart stopped as Tate kept talking.

“Seal the deal,” he said yet again. “You talk to him next year, another ring’s gonna be sittin’ at the base of that one.”

I felt my throat get tight.

Tate went on. “We’ll get married in April, anniversary we met.”

I swallowed and couldn’t tear my eyes from the ring.

Tate continued. “You want a big thing, we can do that, but, babe, I’d prefer it small.”

I stood statue-still, fingers frozen clutching his arm, eyes still locked on the ring.

Tate carried on. “Same people there as tonight, ‘cept your family too.”

I finally pulled my eyes from the ring and looked at the lights of Carnal but I still didn’t speak.

This went on for awhile and Tate’s arms, now both wrapped around me again, gave me a tight squeeze.

“Laurie?” he called.

“You spent thousands of dollars on me for my birthday,” I said, my voice rough, abrasive, sounding weird.