“This isn’t EIT,” I tell her. “This is something else entirely. You told me that you’d one day want to talk to ghosts instead of screaming and running from them.”
“No,” she says, taking her hands away and putting them on her hips, her saucy Italian side coming out. “You said that we could become paranormal investigators like the Warrens. That was never my idea. And I believe I said I’d file it as a to-do in five years. It’s been three.”
“But what’s the harm in doing it once?”
Her eyes nearly bug-out. “What’s the harm? Dex, what did I just say? Things have been good because we’re not dealing with the dead. We’re not seeking shit out. Ada’s life is all over the place now that she’s got Jay and can see demons and whatever the fuck. That’s bad enough as it is, do you really want that for us?”
“This would be different. This man is asking us to talk to his dead wife. Don’t you feel for him? Don’t you want to help? You have a gift Perry, why can’t you use it for good?”
“Nice, Dex, you’re trying to guilt me now. Why are you so insistent on this?”
“I’m not, I just want you to look at our options. This is a good opportunity.”
Her eyes narrow at me for a moment. “You know who you sound like right now?”
I stare at her. “Who?”
“You. The Dex from day one, when I ran into you in that lighthouse. That’s who you sound like. Opportunistic, not giving a shit why I’m putting my foot down, forever forcing me to do something I don’t want to do, something I know is a bad idea.”
I cock my head as I stare at her, my pulse picking up in my throat. “Are we fighting here?”
“Maybe,” she says with a sigh, running her hand down her face. “Look, I get that it’s a lot of money, but there’s just too much risk.”
“You won’t even think about it?”
She turns and walks over to the window, passing by our Frenchie, Fat Rabbit, who is sleeping on the couch. The fat pooch sleeps through everything, and since our personalities have always been combative, the dog is used to this kind of shit with us. Okay, maybe it’s not fair to say we’re both combative. I’m usually the problem and I’ve gotten pretty good at pushing her buttons…in more ways than one.
Perry exhales and leans against the windowsill, staring out at the Seattle skyline as it grows darker and darker with the coming evening.
I follow her. I know I should give her a lot of space, especially when she’s been so prickly and emotional lately, but, like I said, button-pusher.
“Baby,” I tell her softly, placing my hands on her shoulders. “We could do so much. We could sell this place, buy a house. A real proper house where there isn’t a monorail chugging past us all day long, where there’s a yard for Fat Rabbit. We can finally get another dog, the fat gray pit bull you want to adopt. Remember? You want to call it Lil Hippo. Lil Hippo and Fatty Rab can run around the yard. We can have peace and space and…” I want to tell her we could have space for a baby, but that’s a topic we don’t discuss anymore. “We could have enough for a house on the Sound. We could revitalize the business.”
I could film my documentary…
I feel her relaxing under my palms. “It really would fix a lot of problems, wouldn’t it?”
“I just want you to think about it,” I tell her softly, kissing the back of her head, breathing in the tropical-scent of her shampoo, a smell that feels like home to me. “I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to do. I’m not that guy anymore.”
She lets out a light snort. “That guy is still in you, Dex. Maybe a little older now, a little more subdued. And, really, you never forced me to do anything. It’s just that you’re extremely persuasive.”
“I’d say my dick drives a hard bargain, but that was before I was screwing you.”
She leans back against my hands, sighing. “That it does.” She turns her head to glance up at me over her shoulder. “I’ll think about it. But no promises.”
Chapter 2
“Happy anniversary,” Perry whispers into my ear.
Before I even have time to fully wake-up and register what’s happening, I feel her warm hand slip underneath the covers and wrap around the hard length of my perpetual morning wood.
“Happy anniversary to you too,” I manage to say through a groan, my eyes fluttering open. My head rolls to the side and I focus on her face in the morning light of our bedroom. Fucking hell, it doesn’t matter that I met her four years ago, or that we were married three years ago—my wife never fails to take my breath away.
Especially when she’s holding onto my cock.
“I know tonight isn’t exactly the anniversary that you hoped for,” she says, biting on her full lower lip for a moment, mischief sparkling in her eyes. This morning they’re the color of the ocean on a cloudy day. “But I figured I could at least get your morning off to a great start.”
“You won’t hear me complaining,” I tell her, my heart rate picking up as she climbs over me, her hair falling over her face and tickling my bare chest. Though I sleep nude, she’s always wearing some old threadbare concert tee, and while she looks phenomenally hot in them, there’s nothing like feeling her bare skin first thing in the morning.
I reach down and try to remove her shirt, but she just gives me a wicked smile.
“Nope,” she says, trailing her fingers over my chest, over the words tattooed there, And With Madness Comes the Light. “This is all for you. The least I can do for making you have dinner
