Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(112)

“Where?” I asked cautiously, due to the possible hurt look.

“Black left his clothes on the floor.”

My back went up.

We were not going to go there. Not right then.

And I had to make it so it was not ever again.

“Yes, he did, until I broke him of that habit,” I shared then went on to what was important. “But this isn’t about Black. And I think it’s crucial at this juncture to state that there’s nothing about Black when it comes to you and me. Except for the love we share for him, that’s all the part he plays between you and me. If I’m talking to you, it’s about you, or you and me, and not about Black. Not ever about Black.”

He looked somewhat relieved.

But still irate.

He didn’t hesitate to explain the irate.

“So why you lookin’ at me like I’m a freak?” he demanded.

“I’m not looking at you like you’re a freak.”

“Woman, you’re lookin’ at me like I’m a freak.”

Since I didn’t know how to change a look I was sure I wasn’t giving him, I did my best to rearrange my face and shared, “You’re a biker.”

“Bikers clean their clothes, babe.”

“Your place was a sty when I first started it with you,” I reminded him.

“I wasn’t tagging hot chick pussy on a regular basis at my pad when you first started it with me.”

That was a good point.

“But the pussy I tagged wherever I tagged it, I tagged it wearin’ clean clothes, that is before I took ’em off,” he continued.

“It’s just … you were a confirmed bachelor … until me.”

“I was. I’m also a man who’s now livin’ with a woman and I might spend most my time with men and have my own dick, but most those men have women. I hear them talkin’ and bottom line, I’m just not stupid. So I’m not gonna move in with my woman and court her gettin’ up in my shit ’cause I leave my clothes on the floor or hear the dryer go and don’t unload that fucker.” He flung an arm toward the closet door. “But you’re puttin’ that shit away. I don’t know where your crap goes, and if it was up to me, I’d shove all my shit on a shelf or in a drawer and not bother with hangers.”

“So you absorbed being a good partner through your Chaos brothers?” I queried skeptically.

“Maybe, but more, I kinda like you and I definitely like tagging your pussy so I also might want this to last awhile. And you got somethin’ good, you put work into it to keep it that way. It’s no skin off my nose to fold some clothes and haul them up the stairs so that’s what I did. Though, not sure I’ll do it again, I get shit about doin’ it.”

Oh no.

We weren’t going there.

I hated folding laundry.

Hell, I hated doing laundry.

“I’m not giving you shit.”

He lifted both hands to his sides before he crossed his arms on his chest, making his tats dance, thus making them even more awesome, asking, “So what is this?”

“I was just surprised.” Before he could say more, I added, “In a good way.”

“If it’s in a good way,” he retorted, “don’t bust my chops.”

“I’m also not busting your chops.”

“Doesn’t seem that way from where I’m standing.”

Okay, I needed to get this under control, pronto.

“Shep, I was just surprised. It took Dutch and that other recruit three hours to clean your apartment. It doesn’t take me that long to clean this entire house.”

“That other recruit is called Chill,” he educated me.

“Chill,” I murmured.

“And just to say, we’re not in my apartment, which we’ve had this conversation, but I’ll say it again, it was a shithole and the only reason I fixed it up was because you were there.”

“And thank you for that.”

He didn’t comment on that.

He went on with what he’d been saying. “Now we’re in your house.”

“Our house.”

“Your house, Keely.”

Oh boy.

“You live here, Hound,” I said quietly. “So it’s our house.”

He stared at me.

This lasted some time so I asked, “Do we need to have a conversation?”

“No,” he answered.

“Are you sure?” I pressed.

“If I wasn’t sure, my answer would have been ‘I don’t know,’” he returned. “That wasn’t my answer. My answer was no.”

“You jumped right to the conclusion I was thinking about Black when I made a comment about you bringing those clothes up,” I pointed out carefully.

“He was the last man you lived with,” he pointed out right back, though not carefully.

“A long time ago, honey,” I said.

“Doesn’t change the facts,” he retorted.

I was right.

Oh boy.

“So we do need to have a conversation,” I whispered.

“Keely—”

“I’m yours,” I declared.

“I know that,” he gritted.