The First Rule by Nicole S. Goodin

8

Ryan

I’d always thoughtthat living with a woman would be a massive adjustment – not that any of my past relationships have got anywhere near the ‘move in’ stage, but still, I never guessed it could be this easy.

Sure, her shoes are always cluttering up the doorway, she’s completely changed the smell of the entire house, and she plays godawful girly music way too loud, but my house has never felt more like a home.

Three weeks Darcy has been living with me. Three weeks together in what I hope she now considers our home, and I can honestly say without a moment of hesitation that they have been the best three weeks of my life.

I quickly learned that her favourite snack is popcorn, and that attempting to watch a movie without it was akin to committing some type of sin. I now knew that she hated to cry in front of me, yet she insisted on watching shows that made her teary. I knew that she talked to her best friends on the phone at least once, every single day. I’d discovered that she couldn’t cook to save her life and that she was missing her glass of wine at dinner each night. Most importantly, I’d learnt that I loved this woman like nothing else in the world.

She’s it for me. She’s living in my house, carrying my child. I don’t see how life could get any better than this.

“I was thinking about making green curry for dinner,” Darcy says as she stares at the crossword she’s been working on for the better part of the past three hours.

I’ve spent the same length of time reading a book about pregnancy and childbirth while being constantly distracted by her little sighs when she can’t figure out an answer, and her triumphant grins when she can.

“Why don’t you let me take care of dinner?” I offer. “You can finish that.”

She pauses, the pen in her hand hovering in mid-air, a slight pout on her lips. “You never let me cook anymore.”

“I’d rather you put your feet up.”

“You’re not a very good liar.”

“Aren’t I?” I try to hide my smirk, knowing full well that I am a shitty liar.

Her gaze lingers a moment on my lips before flashing to my eyes. “No. In fact, you’re shitty at it. Do you not like my cooking? You liked those burgers I made last week, right?”

I ponder how to answer for a moment. They were edible, but they weren’t a raging success, that’s for damn sure. I don’t know how you fuck up burgers, but she gave it a nudge.

I’ve got two choices here – keep bullshitting her and risk getting food poisoning or fess up and tell her that she’ll never be cooking in this kitchen again. I decide on the latter.

“Honestly? You’ve got a lot of strengths, Darcy Shearer, but cooking isn’t one of them,” I answer, bracing myself for her reaction.

I was expecting a look of horror, or maybe for her to even get upset, what I didn’t expect was for her to giggle, and then full-on laugh.

I don’t know why, but I’m starting to think the joke is on me somehow.

“I’m terrible,” she says through bouts of laughter. “Even I don’t like my cooking.”

I don’t know what’s going on here, but something tells me I’ve been played.

“Princess, what the fuck?” I demand.

I’ve been calling her ‘princess’ more and more, and after she got over the initial shock, I knew she was growing to like it. The light blush that stains her cheeks every time I say it is my favourite part about it.

“Steph made a bet with Freya that you’d be too nice to say anything, but Freya was banking on you eventually cracking and telling me how bad I am.”

I glance at the page number of my book, committing it to memory, and then let it drop to the coffee table with a solid thud.

“You risked the lining of my stomach for a bet?” I question playfully as I eat up the distance between us.

Her eyes widen as she scrambles off her seat, looking for an escape, her crossword long forgotten.

She darts into the kitchen – a rookie mistake – I’ve got her cornered now.

She realises her error as I stroll in behind her, completely at ease as her eyes dart around frantically.

“Bet you don’t think it’s so funny now, do you, princess?”

She giggles nervously.

God, she’s so fucking breathtaking. A living work of art, right here in my kitchen.

“Our baby is going to be the most beautiful thing in the world,” I blurt out. I don’t know where the words come from, but they’re one hundred percent true, so I don’t really care if they catch her off guard.

A flush of red colours her cheeks.

Fuck, I want to kiss her so badly. I’ve been holding back this entire time, never making more than a flirty comment or a cocky glance. I’ve wanted to, God, I’ve wanted to, but this is Darcy. She’s my whole world, and I’d never forgive myself if I fucked it up, but seeing her like this, barefoot, carefree – blushing… I don’t think I have any more patience or self-control left in me.

I take another deliberate step towards her.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t try to bolt. Just watches.

I take another.

“Ryan,” she whispers as I’m right before her.

“I’ve been thinking about kissing you for 22 days, princess.”

She doesn’t speak; her light blue eyes just stare at me, like cut crystal sparkling in the sun.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for longer than you’ll ever know.” I confess another truth she won’t comprehend the full reality of.

My rough palm finds her jaw, and she leans her cheek into my touch, her eyelids fluttering closed.

“You’re so beautiful, I can’t believe it.”

“We shouldn’t do this,” she breathes, but the way she’s leaning into me suggests that she’s not entirely convinced of that fact herself.

“Give me one good reason why. One good reason, and I’ll stop.”

“It makes things… complicated…” she offers weakly.

I huff out a laugh, my thumb trailing gently over her cheek. “How much more complicated can it get?”

I move my thumb lower, to her mouth and over her plump bottom lip. She moans softly.

Fuck.

The sound sends shockwaves to my brain and my cock. Those moans have been on my mind ever since I sank myself deep inside her all those weeks ago.

“Exactly,” she replies, her voice slightly stronger. “Am I not enough to handle already?”

Her line of thought pisses me off. I hate the way she views herself as an inconvenience.

“You’re not something to be handled, Darce, you’re something to be treasured.”

Our eyes meet again, and she softens. She gives in to this energy that we share. She wants me as much as I want her – I can feel it. I see it in the way her breath catches when I come close and her eyes linger on my lips.

I should stop and check that she’s really okay with this, but I’m willing to be selfish in this moment. I know what I want, I’ve always known... and what I want, is her. I know I’m good for her. I know this is inevitable.

I dip my head, lowering it to her level and brush my lips softly against hers. She sighs, a relieved sound that has my heart speeding to a gallop.

I press deeper, my mouth melding to hers while she pushes her body forward, leaving no space between us as her small hands grasp handfuls of my shirt.

We kiss for what feels like forever, neither of us wanting to lose contact. I kiss her until I can barely breathe and my head is spinning, it’s so full of her.

She pulls away, her breath heavy as I rest my forehead against hers, her body still firmly in my grasp.

“Go out on a date with me,” I half ask, half insist.

“A date?” she repeats.

“A date,” I confirm, “I want this, princess, us – the whole nine yards, for real this time.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“You think I don’t know that? I want to do this.”

“We were drunk that night, Ryan, it doesn’t mean you have to be tied to me for life.”

I scoff at how utterly absurd she’s being. “I wasn’t that drunk.”

“We drank more than a bottle of tequila between us, there’s no way you couldn’t have been drunk,” she argues with me.

“I brew alcohol for a living, Darce, trust me, it takes a hell of a lot for me to get so drunk that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You weren’t that drunk?” she asks again, confusion marring her perfect features.

I shake my head.

“Then why?” she whispers.

It’s only half a question, but I know what’s she’s asking. Why on earth did I agree to something so reckless... something so crazy.

“Because it was you asking. Lines blur when it comes to you, Darcy.”

She doesn’t have an answer for that, instead choosing to bury her face in my chest.

I kiss the top of her head and wait as patiently as an impatient bastard like me can.

“I don’t know what to say,” she finally admits.

“Say yes. Just say yes.”

She pauses for a few beats before I hear a whispered, “Yes.”

* * *

“What,so you’re dating her now?”

I tense my fist at my side before stretching it out to relax.

Chill, I tell myself. Rebel might be my best friend, but I couldn’t give a fuck if she understands this or not – she doesn’t need to. Nobody needs to understand this but us. As long as it makes sense to Darcy and to me, that’s all I’ll ever need.

“Yip,” I reply curtly.

I might not be able to see the fieriest red head in my life through the phone, but I know she just rolled her eyes so hard at me that they might have actually gone completely back into her head.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Dinner at Needle and Thread.”

She humphs in reply. Rebel loves that place, so I know I can’t lose any points for my choice of location, it’s just my choice of date that offends her apparently.

Rebel knows the whole story, every last detail from the moment Darcy and I met, up until now. I’ve learnt that it’s easier that way – if I ever chose to keep something from Rebel, she’d find a way to extract it from me regardless. Keeping secrets is futile.

Rebel doesn’t even know Darcy, but she’s never been able to understand how Darcy could have made such a blunder, and she’s therefore held a grudge against her ever since.

“She getting fat yet or what?”

I chuckle because sometimes all I can do is laugh when it comes to my best friend and her total lack of tact. “No, she’s not really showing yet, but we’re just about into the second trimester so she’s bound to pop out a bit any time now.”

“Listen to that chat, sounding like you know what you’re doing.”

“Thought I better read a book about it.”

“Fair enough. But I still don’t see why you need to date her. So you knocked her up, who cares? Doesn’t mean you have to marry the woman.”

“It’s dinner, not a proposal... I’m saving that for the third date.”

“Don’t even joke,” she deadpans.

It irritates me that she’s always like this wherever Darcy is involved. I love how loyal and passionate Rebel is, but on this particular subject, I wish she’d just chill the fuck out.

“Well... listening to you bitch and moan about my life choices has been thrilling, but I’ve gotta split. I’ve got a date waiting for me.”

“Yeah, whatever, just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

I refrain from losing my cool. I don’t want anything to put me in a bad mood for the evening ahead, so I let it slide. This time.

“Noted. A pleasure as always, Rebel. See ya.”

She makes a dismissive noise and then the line goes dead.

I get where she’s coming from, I really do. She’s picked up the pieces of my broken heart more than once, hell, more than ten times when I’ve gone through the worst of it, pining for a woman I couldn’t have.

But that was then and this is now. I can have her now, and it’ll take an army to stop me from doing exactly that.

“You ready?” Darcy’s voice behind me pulls me from my thoughts.

I spin in my chair, my reply getting lost as I take her in. She’s got on a light blue satin dress that make her eyes look fucking incredible and her body look sexy as sin.

“Woah.” The word comes out on an exhale.

“What?” she asks quickly, looking down at her outfit as though there’s something wrong with it.

“You look... woah.” I shake my head, at a loss for words.

Her cheeks colour a pretty light pink, and I crave a cigarette instantly. I need to calm my nerves. My heart is racing and my palms are sweating. I’m caught by those crystal blue eyes, locked in. I’m staring down the barrel of the rest of my life and it’s the single most terrifying sensation I’ve ever experienced. I need a hit of nicotine before I lose my shit – but I can’t. I gave up my casual smoking the day she moved in here.

Breathe.

This has to be perfect. I can’t fuck this up. I couldn’t survive losing her a second time.

Breathe.

“I can change if it’s too much.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I reply quickly. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” I get to my feet and take her delicate hand in mine. For a gesture so small and innocent, it still shocks me to my core. Her hand in mine sets me on fire, burns me from the outside in, until every inch of me is totally alight.

She bites her lip, clearly embarrassed by my compliment.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“Did I just hear you take a compliment without argument?” I tease.

I’ve been giving her a hard time about arguing with me any time I say something nice to her. She doesn’t have too many bad habits, but that’s one I can’t stand. She’s everything to me, and the fact that she doesn’t see it, or has been led to believe she’s not worthy, infuriates me.

Another thing I can blame my dipshit brother for, no doubt.

I’ll fix it in time. If she hears me tell her every day, everything I love about her, she’ll have no choice but to believe it herself.

She smiles – my favourite sight in the world – before rolling her eyes. “I guess so. This bossy guy keeps telling me off every time I argue. I figured it’s just easier to give him what he wants and do what I’m told.”

I refrain from groaning. I can think of a million different things that I want, and being ‘bossy’ and her doing what she’s told fits in all too well with most of them.

“Who knew it would be so easy to bend you to my will,” I reply, brow raised, insinuation clear as day.

A quiet moan slips through her lips and her cheeks blush deeper red.

I swallow deeply, I can feel my Adams apple bob in my throat.

I run the back of my finger slowly down the side of her face. “I think... that we better leave this house right now, before I get so carried away that I can’t.”

It’s her turn to swallow deeply now as she gently nods. “I think that might be wise.”