Walk Through Fire (Chaos, #4)(115)

But it wasn’t the relief I expected it to be.

“I...?um...?this is a big decision,” I noted.

“Not anymore since it’s made.”

He hadn’t been a steamroller before when making decisions.

Then again, he had me then; he never thought he’d lose me, so he didn’t need to steamroll anything.

Cautiously, I shared, “We should get to know each other again, Low.”

“Came to you yesterday pissed as all shit. I know ’cause I saw you lose it, freaked at how pissed I was. But you lost that and got in my face. Told you all there was to know about the bad of the last twenty years with the Club. You took it in, let me f*ck you on your couch and, when I got you to bed, you were out in five seconds tellin’ me none of that shit was f*ckin’ with your brain. Millie, you’re an old lady. Doesn’t matter what you wear or where you live; it’s just in you. That shit happens when you fall for a biker and you got what it takes. You fell for a biker and never dug yourself out to find somethin’ else. There’s nothin’ more I need to know.”

“You seem to have an answer for everything,” I remarked, and his lips twitched.

“That’s ’cause I have an answer for everything.”

I frowned and replied, “You’re also egotistical.”

He started chuckling but asked through it, “Babe, you wanna sleep alone?”

I absolutely did not.

I decided not to answer.

He knew my answer.

“Right,” he stated. Then, “You work. I got my thing I do. We eat together. We f*ck. We go to bed together. We get up. We f*ck. You do your thing. I do mine. And repeat. Why would we do any of that without my clothes in your closet?”

I looked to his throat, muttering, “Apparently he does have an answer for everything.”

At that, he didn’t speak.

He just laughed.

I found that annoying but only annoying in the way any man who actually had a rational answer for everything would be annoying to a woman.

So I did not laugh.

I asked, “Are we done? Because I have the plans for a sweet-sixteen party to go over and that’s not gonna happen in this kitchen.”

He was still smiling when he replied, “We’re done.

I rolled up on my toes, touched my mouth to his, rolled back, and broke from his arms to move to my coffee mug.

I retrieved it and walked to the back door, murmuring, “Have a good day, Snooks.”

“Back at ya,” he replied when I had my hand to the handle.

I looked to him.

Very faded jeans. The blue Henley.

He’d retrieved his coffee as well.

He looked comfortable in my kitchen. Not like he belonged, say, should someone need a model to use to take a photo in order to advertise my fabulous marble countertops.

But like he belonged because those countertops and the entire kitchen were mine.

And he was too.

“Love you, Low,” I said quietly.

His face was turned away, mug to his lips, but his eyes were cast to the side and on me when I spoke.

After I said what I said, his expression softened, he dropped the mug, and replied, “Back at ya.”

I grinned at him.

Then I opened the door, walked through, and went to work.

*??*??*


My cell on my desk chimed. I looked from Justine, sitting across from me going over the formal offer I’d typed out, Rafferty crawling around on my office floor, and turned my eyes to my phone.

At what I saw, I snatched it up, slid my finger on the screen, and read the entire text.

“Hang on, babe,” I muttered to Justine.

“Sure,” she muttered back, then louder, “Raff, baby boy, no on the trash bin.”

Rafferty reached out from crawling position, latched on to the side of my trash bin, and pulled it to him.

Wads of paper flew out.

Raff squealed with delight.

Justine moved to deal with the trash I didn’t care that Raff was reorganizing.

I hit the buttons to make the call I needed to make and put my phone to my ear, telling Justine, “Don’t worry about it. You know I don’t care.”

“Babe,” Logan answered a beat after I said my last word.

It was my turn to squeal with delight.

“The kitties are ready to pick up!”

“Yee ha!” Justine cried.

Rafferty rolled to his diapered tush and clapped his hands, or tried. He missed a lot but it was a good effort.

Logan’s voice was filled with humor when he said in my ear, “When?”

“This evening. Any time after six.”

“You got the shit?” he asked.

“What shit?” I asked back.

“Litter box. Food. Shit like that.”

I didn’t have the shit.

I needed the shit.

I glanced at my day’s to-do list.

Then I asked, “Uh...?could you pick up the shit?”

There was a moment of silence before, still with humor but also with some resignation, he gave me the answer old Logan (who was very much like new Logan) would give.

“I’ll pick up the shit.”

“Thanks, Snooks,” I murmured, liking that he was going to pick up the shit. Then I ordered, “Kitty chow, not adult food. And that clumping litter, not anything that’s cheap. I saw online they have one that attracts kittens for litter training. Find that one. If you can’t, find one that might combat odors. And cute kitty bowls. Ones that match the house. Oh! And toys. Ones with feathers and stuff like that.”