Dirty Thirty (Stephanie Plum, #30)(90)

I parked at the curb, and Bob and I went to the door. Bob was obviously excited. His ears were up, his eyes were bright, and his tail was furiously wagging. Bob liked me… but not as much as he liked Morelli. And this was clearly his home. I was less enthusiastic. I’d once thought that this could be my home, but it didn’t happen, and now I was going to marry Ranger. And I was going to have to tell Morelli.

I unlocked the door and Bob rushed in. I switched the lights on and followed Bob to the kitchen. I filled his water bowl, went to the fridge, and got myself a beer. The kitchen was unusually tidy. This meant that after Morelli’s brother left, his mom came in and cleaned. Morelli had a cleaning person who came in once a week, but no one cleaned like Mama Morelli. Except Ella. The difference being that Mama Morelli cleaned up after her sons, and her sons weren’t exactly neat freaks. Ella cleaned up after Ranger, and Ranger didn’t leave toothpaste in the sink or fast-food wrappers and empty beer cans spread throughout his apartment.

I heard the front door open and shut. Bob gave a woof and took off to greet Morelli.

“He missed you,” I said when they came into the kitchen.

“And I missed him.” Morelli reached out and drew me close. “And I missed you,” he said. “All the time. Every moment.”

“Even when you were in the titty bar?”

“Especially in the titty bar. The pole dancers were all eligible for Medicare. It was the only place I could get a beer and a burger without walking a mile. My hotel didn’t have room service. The city of Trenton doesn’t provide a per diem that covers the Ritz-Carlton.”

His lips brushed across mine, his hands moved under my shirt, and he kissed me. The kiss deepened and I felt the heat start in my chest and rush through my belly to points south. I’ve known Morelli for almost my entire life. I played choo-choo with him when I was five. I was the tunnel and he was the train. He didn’t get to see much more than my cotton undies but it was still a memorable experience. I gave him my virginity when I was in high school. And here I was, all these years later, still hopelessly attracted to him and in love with him. A voice that sounded a lot like Jiminy Cricket whispered in my ear that I was also in love with Ranger and was about to marry him.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said to Morelli.

“Me first,” he said. “When I was in Miami, I realized that I hated being away from you. I don’t want to live like this anymore. I gave the pool table to my brother. He’s making a rec room in his basement. I want a dining table. I want kids of my own. I want to get married.”

My heart stopped dead for several beats. I didn’t see this one coming. “Excuse me?”

“I want to marry you.”

Oh boy! Holy crap!