This felt unpleasant because, although it came naturally to Hop and Mitzi, I suspected it wasn’t all that fun for Cody. I also suspected both Hop and Mitzi knew it, didn’t like it, but had no intention of doing anything about it.

Further, I chanced a glance at Mitzi at a time she was looking our way, her mouth tight, her eyes on Cody. I didn’t have much of an opportunity to take in her bleached, teased out but still attractive biker babe hair or her hard face that managed to be very pretty, before her gaze shifted to me and I felt the glacial sting. I fought the chill, gave her a small, noncommittal smile and aimed my eyes back to the stage.

I didn’t talk to Hop about this because there was nothing to be said. It probably wouldn’t surprise him his ex gave me an icy look. That was what exes did and considering Mitzi’s reputation and what Hop said about her, it was not out of character so I didn’t need to get him riled up by sharing.

However, although nothing nasty happened, the night was underlined with an uncomfortable feeling, It made me sad to think that not only Mitzi and Hop had to perform this avoidance dance every time they were around each other, but the kids had to endure it too.

This, in turn, made me wonder about my father. I wondered if he’d partially made the decision to stay with Mom so Lis and I wouldn’t have to choose sides.

If this entered his mind, it didn’t excuse what he’d been doing. But it still made me think.

The kids went back to Mitzi after school on Monday and now it was again Hop and me, dinner, chatting, sometimes TV and then bed.

But while Hop rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher and I put away the food, tidied and wiped down the counters, I told him about my old agency making overtures to steal my big new account. I also shared a bit about how they’d repeatedly been trying to undercut me in an effort to drive me into a merger.

I wasn’t surprised at Hop’s firm, biker badass response. I hadn’t been spending time with Chaos and my best friend, who was married to the president of the Club, and not come to know how these men worked.

Therefore, I moved to the sink, threw the sponge in it, turned to my man and said, “Hop, honey, I told you because it’s a pain and I needed to vent. I didn’t tell you so you’d do something about it.”

Hop shoved a plate in the dishwasher, pushed the rack in and closed the door with his boot before turning to me.

“Lanie, baby, that might be so, but my woman isn’t dumb. You may not have been officially folded into the life but you been around the Club enough to know exactly what tellin’ me that shit is gonna lead me to do.”

“This stuff with my old company is halfhearted and eventually it’ll die down,” I explained.

“Don’t give a fuck if it’s halfhearted but I do know it’s gonna die down,” he declared.

Oh dear.

He wasn’t backing down. He was intending to intervene. Biker badass against ad agency.

This was not good.

“I meant naturally, Hop,” I protested, trying to cut him off at the pass. “Not them backing off because my man and his biker brethren pay them a threatening visit.”

“Chaos doesn’t make threats, babe.”

Gah!

“Hop!” I cried, quickly losing patience as was my wont. “Seriously. I do not want you to get involved. I didn’t tell you so you’d get involved. And, most importantly, if you do,” I leaned into him, “it’s going to tick me off. Like, bad.”

He grinned at me like I amused him and asked, “Like, bad?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” I snapped.

“Don’t be cute and I won’t make fun of you,” he returned, still grinning.

“I’m not being amusing, Hopper Kincaid, I’m being very serious,” I warned. “This is my career and I’ve worked hard to make a name in this business. I’ve worked hard to build my agency. It means something to me,” I shared. “I can’t have a bunch of badass bikers stomping around in their motorcycle boots and leather cuts giving me a reputation I do not need.”

The grin faded clean from his face and it got hard before he asked, “A reputation you don’t need?”

Uh-oh.

He took that the wrong way.

“You know that wasn’t what I meant,” I said.

“Then, babe, it’d be good you tell me what you did mean and do it real fuckin’ quick,” Hop shot back and I stared at him as an unpleasant burn hit my belly.

Then I said softly, “That isn’t cool.”

“Damn straight it isn’t,” he retorted and I shook my head.

“No. You don’t understand me. That isn’t cool, not even close to cool, Hop, that you’d think for one second that’s what I meant.”

“Again, lady, you need to tell me what you meant.”

“Not once,” I pulled in a calming breath before going on, “not once, Hopper, not since that very first moment when Brick walked into my house with Tyra, when she told me Elliott was making whacked decisions and then you showed later to put me on the back of your bike and take me to Ty-Ty’s, have I ever, ever,” I leaned in again, “done one stinking thing to indicate I was a biker bigot.”

“Yeah, until you just told me you’d get a reputation, I get involved in your life,” he returned, not letting it go.

“No, I didn’t say that. I said I’d get a reputation if you got involved in my business,” I amended sharply. “And it wouldn’t matter if you were a biker or a businessman, Hop. I’m a businesswoman and we’ve come a long way but it’s still a man’s world and any man sticking his nose into my business makes it look like I can’t see to my business. I’ve worked too damned hard to prove I’m good at what I do, to demand credit for my work when some ass was taking it from me, to prove I can manage accounts, staff, an entire agency, to compete for business and best the competition, to have another man, no matter he’s my man, I care about him and he thinks he’s looking out for me, make me look like I’m not strong enough to do it.”

I was glaring at him and breathing heavy when I was done with my speech so it took a few moments for me to see the hard had gone out of his face and his eyes had warmed.

He understood me.

I didn’t care.

What he said was bad and I was still ticked.

He made a move to take a step toward me but since I was still ticked, I stepped back. He stopped and his eyes locked on mine.

“Not lost on me the way you live,” he said low, his hand swinging out to indicate my house. “Your office. Your clothes. The sweet ride you drive. Your parents. That fuckin’ condo that was three times the size of the one I gave my kids.”

“And?” I prompted acidly.

“Eventually we were gonna have this conversation,” he explained, but it didn’t explain a thing.

“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 asshole?”

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 fuckuva lot what you think about me, about the way I live my life, about how you feel you’ll fit in it, about fuckin’ 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 fuckin’ 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 fuckin’ 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 fuckin’ five thirty in the fuckin’ 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 fuckin’ 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 fuckin’ 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.”

The anger slid out of his face as his lips muttered, “Baby.”

I shook my head and kept talking.

“You all mean something to me. You’re family and you intimating that I might think I’m better than you or think badly about you…” I drew in breath before I admitted, “I went over the top when I got ticked because you all mean something to me and I don’t want any of you, because of my clothes or house or job or car, thinking I’d ever think bad things about you. And, for obvious reasons, I especially don’t want you to think that way.”