Fire Inside (Chaos #2)(68)

“Why?” I asked.

“Babe, you are not of my world,” he informed me.

“Really?” I retorted. “So do I have a Biker Babe Lanie Clone I don’t know about who’s been going to hog roasts and shooting the breeze in the Compound the last seven years?” I asked sarcastically.

He rested his weight in a hand on the edge of the sink and said in warning voice, “Tone it down, Lanie. We gotta talk this out but we don’t have to do it ugly.”

“Okay, so, when I infer you’re a bigot or something equally distasteful, I can rest in the knowledge you’ll be cool in the face of me being an ass**le?”

His jaw tensed hard before he replied, “No, babe, I get where your anger is comin’ from but you gotta rein in the drama and see where I’m comin’ from.”

“Your turn to tell me what you mean,” I snapped.

“I’ve met your parents,” he began. “I know how you grew up, who you grew up with, and how they think. And you know, babe, they raised you and so it isn’t a leap to think there’s a possibility that at least some of that shit is in you.”

He could not be serious!

“First, Hop, it is since you’ve known me years and you’ve been getting to know me for weeks and you know that’s not right. Second, I thought you didn’t care what people thought of your lifestyle.”

“I don’t but you aren’t people, Lanie. You’re mine and I care a f**kuva lot what you think about me, about the way I live my life, about how you feel you’ll fit in it, about f**kin’ everything when it comes to you.”

Okay, that was nice, very nice but I was still ticked.

Too ticked.

And too Lanie Heron to fight back the drama.

Therefore I fired back, “Right now, I’m rethinking that life option,” and I felt him lose it.

I didn’t see it. I didn’t hear it.

I felt it.

Then I heard it.

“Everything,” he said in a sinister whisper, “everything about you, I like. Including the drama. I’ll stop likin’ it if you blow shit like this out of proportion and you say shit you can’t take back.”

“So far, I haven’t said anything I’d like to take back,” I replied and his eyebrows shot up.

“So you’re good with threatenin’ to take you away from me, you, somethin’ you know I want and I want it bad, bad enough to work at it, bad enough to twist myself in f**kin’ knots for it because you’re justifiably pissed but unjustifiably not opening your mind to where I was comin’ from and therefore not seein’ I’m explaining myself or givin’ me a shot at apologizing?”

That shut me up because unfortunately he was right. I was mad. I wasn’t listening. And I’d threatened to take me away from him when he was definitely working on us and doing it by twisting himself into knots.

I didn’t speak. Hop didn’t either.

This lasted a very long time. So long, I was inwardly squirming and it was so uncomfortable, I was about to say something to smooth things over, get us back on track.

Unfortunately, I waited one second too long to do this.

“Fuck me, I can add f**kin’ stubborn to high maintenance and a drama queen. Not good, babe,” he bit off.

My temper, which was cooling, flared again.

“I’m not high maintenance!” I exclaimed and he pushed away from the sink.

“Seriously?” he asked incredulously. “Been in your bed when you get up at f**kin’ five thirty in the f**kin’ mornin’ to do your gig in the bathroom before you go to work and I’ve hauled your shit up to my bedroom so you can do it at my place. Lanie, you live fifteen minutes away from your office and you get there at eight. Over two hours every day just to do your hair and makeup. Diana f**kin’ Ross in her heyday probably took less time to get ready for a show. Babe, if that isn’t high maintenance, I do not know what is.”

The Diana Ross comment was funny but I didn’t laugh.

“I eat breakfast in that time too, Hopper,” I reminded him.

“You swallow down some yogurt and suck back coffee, lady. You don’t bake a quiche and eat it at your dining room table with cloth napkins and mimosas,” he fired back.

It was unfortunate he was amusing when he was angry. Hop even saying the word “quiche” was hilarious.

I wanted to laugh. I really did.

I didn’t.

He wasn’t done.

“Fuck, you stand in your closet for a full fifteen minutes every f**kin’ time I’ve been at your house in the morning like you’re makin’ your wardrobe selection of the day to announce your candidacy for president.”

“Stop being funny, Hopper,” I hissed, leaning toward him, and he leaned toward me.

“Baby, I am not bein’ funny.”

I took in his expression.

He wasn’t being funny. Definitely not. He was funny but he wasn’t being funny.

He was angry and this was serious.

“You cushioned my fall.”

That came out of my mouth and I knew Hop didn’t get it when he blinked.

“Say again?” he asked.

“Chaos. You. Tyra. Tack. Big Petey. Brick. Dog.” I threw a hand out toward him. “You all cushioned my fall, Hop. You all knew how far I fell and landing after a fall like that could destroy you. It didn’t destroy me because Chaos cushioned my fall.”