Fire Inside (Chaos, #2)(53)

He straightened and moved away while Cody raced back with the game and got on his knees beside the coffee table. Molly moved in to help him set up.

I took in a deep breath and let it out right before I felt cold on my arm. I looked down, saw a bottle of beer pressed there, and lifted a hand to take it even as I tipped my head back to smile my gratitude at Hop.

He smiled his acceptance.

Definitely better than TV with Dad.

Pads and pencils disbursed, timer at the ready, we settled in and I played Pictionary with badass biker Hopper Kincaid and his two kids.

The best.

The best I’d ever had.

And, incidentally, Molly and I whupped their butts.

Three times.

*

Hop and I were standing outside his condo door making out, me in my jacket, him in his thermal henley.

This was lasting awhile and I was going with it, hoping Hop knew the drill inside where his kids were getting ready for bed, so he’d know how much time we had to enjoy what we were doing.

I was also going with it because we’d never just made out, it leading nowhere but to the goodness of taste and touch, bodies pressed together in the cold.

It was fabulous.

Eventually and regrettably, he broke the connection of our mouths but not our embrace.

“Gotta make sure they’re good,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” I muttered back.

“Also gotta let you know, before you got here, got a call from an old buddy of mine. He’s gonna be close. In Denver for the first time in a while. I don’t wanna miss seein’ him. We were tight back in the day. It’ll be good seein’ him but my only shot is Monday night.”

This was a disappointment but still I said, “Okay.”

“Want you to come with me.”

I held his eyes in the outside lights.

I’d made a decision. It wasn’t conscious, it was intuitive. Going with my gut, leading with my heart, I was moving forward not thinking about the consequences.

I’d let Hop in.

That day, I’d eaten breakfast, spent the day and played Pictionary with his kids.

Was I ready to meet an old buddy?

“I’d like that,” I stated before my brain could catch up and do something other than go with my gut and lead with my heart.

“Good,” he replied on a grin, then his arms tightened and his grin faded. “Check in in the morning. Wanna take your pulse.”

Afraid for a long time where my gut and heart might lead, I hadn’t listened to them for years. It was good to know, from Hop’s concern, I could trust them again.

“I’ll call.”

“Do that,” he murmured.

I grinned.

He touched his mouth to mine.

When he lifted his head, I whispered, “I better let you go.”

“Don’t ever do that.”

His words flowed through me in a way I couldn’t help but press close, angle my head and push my face in his neck.

“Are you real?” I asked his skin.

“Baby, you’re standing in my arms,” he answered.

“Please be real,” I whispered.

“Feel this.” He gave me a squeeze. “I’m real, Lanie.”

I drew in breath, drawing him in, then I pulled back and looked at him.

“Okay, then I won’t let you go but I will say good night.”

“That, I’ll accept,” he replied, his lips curving up.

I moved in to touch mine to his. He let me then shifted to kiss my forehead.

He let me go and I moved to the stairs. Hand on the railing, I looked back to where Hop stood in the doorway.

Hop was watching me and, for my troubles, he gave me a grin and a chin lift.

I returned the grin and raised it with a wave.

His grin turned into a smile.

I let his smile feed me as I skipped down the last few stairs and headed to the village.

It was late and, I hoped, late enough my mom would be passed out so my dad would have joined her.

I felt guilt that I’d left them to play Pictionary with Hop and his kids. But Mom was down for the night and Dad wasn’t a brilliant conversationalist, preferring to stare at a television set and let the screen mute the guilt he should feel at what his deception and disloyalty had manifested upstairs in his bed.

He didn’t need me around for that.

I slid inside the door to our condo, closing it quietly, feeling the house at rest and letting the tension that had grown during my walk ebb, knowing that I’d timed things right. I could just go to bed, look forward to checking in with Hop tomorrow and endure the best part of my parents’ visit. The end of it.

Hand on the banister and foot lifted to walk up the stairs to my room, I stilled when my Dad’s voice hit me.

“I know what he is to you.”

I turned at the foot of the stairs to see him standing there, his fingers curled around a cut crystal glass of Scotch. He rarely drank. He let Mom do the drinking. His addiction was betrayal and he indulged in that liberally.

“Hey, Dad,” I said quietly, my mind reeling to find the right way to play this.

“You think you two are being clever but you didn’t hide it. Maybe your mother missed it and his kids are too young to understand, but I didn’t miss it,” Dad declared and I looked at him.

He was angry.