Smoke and Steel (Wild West MC #2)(2)

“That’s why I’m here now. I was going to—”

I wasn’t listening, yet again, to what he was “going to” do.

“So when I left this morning, I asked you to take care of it before you left. You didn’t. I came home to it. By then, every inch of my apartment smelled like stale beer and pizza.”

“Like I was going to say,” he stated with forced patience. “I’m here now to do it. You just did it before I could get to it.”

I did a lot of things before he could get to them.

“It’s my house, Bryan. And when I say you can hang here, and all I ask is you throw away some fucking bottles and put away some pizza, shove some plates in the dishwasher, toss some napkins in the trash, it’s not a lot to ask. Hell, you’re a grown man. I shouldn’t have to ask. And I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t mean something to me.”

He was giving me the “whoa” sign with his hand.

“Okay, I fucked up, but—”

“I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.”

He shut his mouth and tried not to let me see his smirk.

But I saw the smirk.

And, oh yeah.

Oh yeah.

Now I was pissed.

“Is something funny?” I asked quietly.

“No.” He sounded choked because he was trying not to laugh, which meant he was lying.

“What’s funny about me slamming my head into the cabinet door you left open over the toilet, even though I’ve asked you to close it probably thirty times, because last night wasn’t the first time I slammed my head into it? Which means, I don’t only want you to close it because cabinet doors should be closed. That’s the reason the cabinet has a fucking door, so you can close it and not see all the crap inside. But also, because, when I slam my head into it, it hurts like fuck.”

Me putting it that way, he looked remorseful again.

“Is it amusing to you to cause me pain?” I asked.

“Babe, I’m sorry. I’d had a few. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I let that go.

For now.

Instead, I pointed across the kitchen.

“Do you see that under-cupboard light that doesn’t work?”

Bryan turned his head that way and made an “oh shit” face.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I mentioned it was out and I was going to email my apartment manager to fix it. You reminded me, if it isn’t an emergency, it takes them a while to do something. You then said you’d do it. I said I thought that was great, if you did it, you could show me how and I wouldn’t have to ask anyone again. That was a month ago. My apartment manager might not jump all over changing a lightbulb, but it’d be done in a few days. I’ve asked you five times. You keep telling me you’re on it. I emailed them today. They’re coming Monday.”

He took a step toward me.

“Don’t come closer,” I warned.

He grinned, because he was good-looking and had a great smile, so just doing that allowed him to get away with a lot in the past—not by me, but others—and he kept coming.

“Bryan!” I snapped. “Do not come a step closer.”

He was nearly to me.

“Dammit!” I shouted. “Do I need to call my brother-in-law to deal with your ass?”

He stopped, his face paling.

And I could not believe, while in the midst of this very conversation, I had to threaten him with Jagger in order for him to listen to me.

“That,” I said softly. “That right there. That’s why all your shit is in a box in the living room. Because you don’t listen to me, and you don’t respect me. You respect Jagger, because he’s in an MC and he’d fuck you up, but you won’t respect me, even though you’ve told me you love me.”

“Hellen, babe,” he cajoled. “None of this is a big deal. I’ll go out now. Grab a bulb, show you how to fix it.”

“No, I’ve waited on you to do that, and you didn’t, so I took care of it myself.”

“I’m good to do it now.”

“I needed you to do it a month ago.”

“It can be fixed in an hour.”

“That’s a month and an hour longer than I’m willing to wait for you to take care of it.”

He started to lose patience. “Jesus, Hellen, none of this shit matters.”

I crossed my arms on my chest.

“You see, this is the problem,” I informed him. “None of this shit matters to you. When you use my washer and dryer, I ask you to get it done and leave them empty. Half the time you come over here to do your laundry, you leave your clothes in my machines for days, and by the time I wanna do my own, I have to deal with yours first, so I can do mine. Have I told you about this more than once?”

“Okay, I see this is a thing for you, so I’ll be on it from now on.”

“Why do I have to box all your stuff and be done with you before you agree to be on it, Bryan? Why can’t words come out of my mouth, you take a second to listen, process, and if you have some issue, discuss, and if not, just be a decent partner?”

“Because it’s just…fucking…laundry,” he bit out.

“First, they’re my machines, and I let you use them. And second, do you ever have to wait for me to clear my clothes out when you want to use them?” I didn’t pause for him to answer. “No, because I get it done and clear them out even though they’re my machines. Still, it’s in my mind that you also use them. I’m doing you a favor, so maybe you could return that by not hanging up my machines.”