“Will this real estate agent be looking at three-bedroom, two-bathroom houses?” I started telling myself to stay calm, so when and if this took a turn for the heated, I could better manage it.

Jude groaned, but it wasn’t his full-fledged one, like he was also trying to catch himself before either of our tempers could escalate. “You realize how much money I’m making this year? Right, Luce? And how much I’ll be making from now—”

“I know. I know,” I said, biting my tongue so my next comments stayed inside. “But how does that change who you are? And who I am? And what we want?” Those were, at the core of it all, the questions I needed answered.

“It doesn’t change me, or you, or what we want at all, Luce,” he said calmly. “All it changes is our style of life. And how many sweet rides we have in our five-car garage.”

I set my coffee down on the nightstand. He wasn’t getting it, or I wasn’t being clear. I didn’t want more cars than I had fingers. I didn’t want more garages than I had hairs on my head. I wanted Jude. And a roof above us, along with a reliable car and food in the cupboards would be nice.

“I don’t want to change our style of life,” I said. “I thought our current style of life was pretty great.”

“It is pretty great, Luce. It’s pretty fucking great,” he said, keeping me close. This was the way to have a tough talk, held tightly against him. “But it could be that much better. All those times I wanted to go to the jewelry store and buy you the biggest, sparkliest damn thing I could, all those times I wanted to take you to some fancy restaurant and order the most expensive thing on the menu just because I wanted you to have the best. All those winters I wanted to get you an SUV that would laugh at winter driving.” He paused and leaned his head into the headboard. “I’m sick of not being able to get you the things you deserve.”

What he was saying was tugging on my heart, but it did nothing to alleviate the tension that built whenever he started talking about money. “I know you are, baby. I know you are,” I said. “But the thing is, all these years you think you’ve been giving me second-best—”

“More like fourth-best,” he muttered.

“Well, then, I must be a fourth-best kind of girl, because I’ve never felt cheated or that I was missing out.”

We were quiet for a moment, although our thoughts were so loud it wasn’t exactly silent.

“Luce? What is it about money that makes you so uncomfortable?”

Shit. He might as well have just laid me back out on that table, for how naked and vulnerable I felt with that question in the open. Jude had this uncanny ability to cut through the bullshit and see what was at the heart of what I was trying to hide. Some days I loved this gift of his. Some days I hated it.

I wasn’t sure what kind of day it was yet.

I inhaled and exhaled, shoving the half-truths I was hiding behind me, trying to get to what was really bothering me. Now I was ready to say what felt like was close to the heart of it. “I come from a place where I know what it’s like to have so much money in the bank you didn’t even realize you could worry about something like money,” I began, twisting in his arms so I could curl closer. “And I come from a place where I know what it’s like to have so little in the bank you’re not sure if you’ll have a house to call your home the next month. I know the highs and the lows. Money can’t make you happy. I don’t want to pretend it can, or will.”

“Luce, I know that,” he interrupted. “I know it can’t make you happy if you weren’t already. But you and me, we’ve created something so damn great before all this that it can only get greater with a little cha-ching in the bank.”

“No,” I said abruptly. “See? That’s it. I don’t want my life-contentedness meter to be tied to something like money. In any way. I want them separate.” I lifted one hand, extending it to the right. “Here’s Lucy and the roller coaster that is my emotions.” Jude was smart enough to keep from smiling his acknowledgment. “And here’s money,” I said, lifting my other hand and holding it off to the far left. “I don’t want them to ever be connected. Ever.”

“Ever? Or never, ever?” Now he was smiling. “Because there’s a difference.”

I elbowed him before answering. “Never, ever, ever.”

He contemplated that for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I think I can manage that.” He sounded as sincere as he looked.

“Yeah?”

Grabbing my outstretched hands, he kissed each one. “Yeah.”

Who would have guessed a round of wild tabletop sex and a night of sleep could pave the way for a productive conversation over something we’d been screaming about yesterday?

Oh, yeah. Men guessed that. From the time of the caveman, when tabletops were nothing more than flat boulders. It was time I, as a woman, figured that out and started using it to my advantage.

“Do you need anything else?” He kissed my forehead before rolling out of bed. “If I don’t leave in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to be late to practice.”

“I need . . . something,” I answered, throwing the sheet to the side, “but it sounds like you’ve got places to be.”

Jude’s eyes stayed on my face, but I could tell it was killing him to do so. “You’re cruel, Luce. You know that?”

“Mm-hmm,” I said, rolling onto my side to give him a better view. I smiled when his gaze drifted for the shortest second.

Slapping his cheeks, he spun around and grabbed his jeans. “Why don’t you go shopping or something while I’m at practice?” he said, pulling his wallet out. “There’s a shitload of stores around that would be eager to cater to the soon-to-be wife of an NFL quarterback.” Sliding that black shiny card free, he held it out.

I pulled the sheet back over me.

He scowled.

“Were you here for the conversation we just had?” I asked, glaring at the black card.

His scowl went another shade darker before it ironed out. “Yeah, I was.” Putting the card back into his wallet, he stood there, looking helpless.

I didn’t want him to feel this way. I knew Jude wanted to take care of me; that was at the forefront of his mind with everything he did. I just didn’t need or want to be taken care of with a shiny black card.

“Do you think I could borrow your truck?” I asked, hoping this would ease his need-to-do-something-for-Lucy-itis. “I was thinking about going to the beach and vegging all day long.”

“Of course,” he said, digging into his pocket again. As predicted, he looked relieved to be able to do something for me that I was willing to go along with. “It’s got a full tank, so take that baby for a spin.” He held out the keys to his new truck. They were shiny, too.

Everything was so damn shiny now. I never thought I’d be so anti-shine.

“Come on, I couldn’t see over the steering wheel of that thing, Jude,” I said, winking to make the blow easier. “That is, if I was actually able to climb into it without your help. I’d need a step stool or a ladder.”

“Do you want me to call you a driver or something?” he asked, and then his face lit up. “Or why don’t you go buy yourself that new sports car I’ve been wanting to get you. This way you can pick out your own color.”

I raised my hand and bit my tongue. “Thank you. On all offers,” I said, “but I was thinking I could just take your old rust bucket.”

Jude’s forehead wrinkled.

“Then if I’m snoozing on the beach all day, I won’t have to worry about some punk-ass kids ripping your brand-new truck off.” This was partially the reason I wanted to take the old truck, but certainly not the main reason.

A flash of annoyance lined his face, but it passed. “The keys are in the ignition,” he said, sliding into his jeans. “And I just changed the oil and gave it a tune-up, so you shouldn’t have any problems with the old piecer.”

I glared at the shirt he was reaching for. I knew clothes were the requirement, but they should have been the exception in Jude Ryder’s case.