At least it didn’t smell like cat piss, like the first house Ryn had flipped.
Though he saw rat droppings, which wasn’t good.
But no matter what a mess it was, there was a certain vibe to the place that he liked.
Truth be told, he liked it a lot.
It was roomy.
Open.
Rambling.
Big back yard.
And set on an elevation that had an unobstructed view of the Front Range.
This was why, even in the state it was in, the price tag was substantial.
She’d still rock it when she flipped it.
He looked back to his woman.
“You should get it,” he said.
“We should get it,” she returned.
That was Ryn.
To her, they were an us.
In everything.
He had his job with Hawk, she still danced for Smithie.
But when it came down to the important shit of life, it was we.
It was us.
And in this, her gig at flipping houses, it wasn’t only emotionally true, it was technically true as well.
He invested money, and when he had time, he worked with her on her projects (of which she’d flipped two so far, but she had grand schemes to do more, welcomed hard work, had a good eye for the bones of a project and a better one for décor, so they’d scored big on both—that said, Cisco had helped in a way with the first, Boone just decided not to think about that part).
When his buds had time, they worked with her too.
Mostly, though, she’d formed a loose alliance with the Chaos MC.
Even though it was “loose,” no matter what, when she was on a job, one or more of those brothers was always working beside her.
They did it only for lunch, they didn’t take a cut.
They said it was their “hobby.”
This wasn’t a surprise.
For decades, Chaos had made a “hobby” of making sure women landed on their feet.
Ryn’s alliance with the MC had started as a necessity. Not due to the needs of the house she was working on, due to shit fucking with her life.
The shit fucking with her life had ended.
The alliance had not.
Case in point, Hound, one of the brothers of Chaos and the one Ryn was tightest with (something that didn’t surprise Boone, Hound was a wild man, and Ryn had no fear) wandered in.
He looked to Ryn then looked to Boone.
Oh shit.
“It’s solid,” he gave his approval. Then went on, “I’ll take it outside,” and he immediately walked his ass outside.
Boone felt his eyes narrow as he shifted his attention back to his girl.
“What?” he asked.
“How much do you like it?” she asked back.
That wasn’t the answer he was expecting to his question and not only because it was also a question.
He expected to hear about a concern with the foundation. Black mold. Faulty trusses. Hefty shit that killed a flip’s budget.
“How much do you want me to like it?” he replied hesitantly.
She moved, her wavy blonde hair swaying along her back, but his attention focused more on her hips.
Ryn could move.
Wielding a hammer.
Commanding the stage at Smithie’s.
Riding his cock.
She turned back to him and pressed, “Does this kitchen work for you?”
There wasn’t much in the way of a kitchen left.
Still, Boone felt a tickle in the back of his throat with the way she asked this question.
The kitchen was in the center of a big room. There was a family room area open to it. There were floor-to-ceiling, one-and-a-half-story windows that came to a point beyond that.
And beyond that was the view to the Front Range.
In other words, it fucking rocked.
“Baby, talk to me,” he urged.
“This isn’t a house, Boone. It’s a home.”
He didn’t move a muscle.
“Could you be happy here?” she asked quietly.
Not a house, a home.
In other words, not a house, their home.
“You want this for us?” he asked.
“Do you want this for us?” she returned.
“I don’t give a fuck where we are, your place, my place, the moon. What I give a fuck about is if you think you’ll be happy wherever we are.”
His woman was gorgeous, flat-out beautiful.
But that look on her face right now?
Staggering.
Her response was, “I want you to have the kitchen you want because you love to cook.”
His first thought was to order her to get her ass to him immediately.
But if she did, they’d be fucking on rat droppings and that shit wasn’t going to happen.
“Are you sayin’ with this that Hound knew you were gonna pitch this as our place before I knew that shit?” he asked instead.
She shot him a big, white smile, and he saw the tension ease out of her shoulders.
She wanted this for them.
She wanted to build a life with him there.
Raise their kids there.
Christ, he wished he’d brought the ring he’d gone out with Mag to buy a few weeks ago when he’d met her there that day.
He didn’t care about rat droppings.
This would have been the perfect timing.
He’d have to find another.
