“So, it’s my ladder too. Or are you gonna take it with you on your next job?”
It was the next morning, after sex in cabin eleven, a shower in cabin eleven (something else that made Deacon and my dreams come true in spectacular ways, though, these didn’t end in tears, only moans—me, and groans—Deacon) and coming back to the house to have breakfast (eggs and bacon for Deacon, made by me, but I had oatmeal).
We were dressed and almost out the door when Deacon checked his wallet then said he needed to go upstairs to get some money.
I told him he didn’t.
He told me he did.
More words were said.
This brought us to now.
“We’re havin’ words, woman, don’t make yours sarcastic,” Deacon returned, his voice getting growly and not in the good way.
But he was right. There was no need for that, ever.
“You’re right,” I conceded. “But the point is still valid.”
“I’m eatin’ your food, sleepin’ under your roof, and buyin’ your gutters,” he declared.
I got his point.
I just didn’t agree with it.
“You’re also putting them up.”
“Yep. I’m doin’ that too,” he confirmed.
“Deacon—”
He cut me off to ask, “Fuck, can you argue about anything?”
The answer to that question was yes.
I didn’t give him that answer.
I asked, “Can’t you see where I’m coming from?”
He stated the obvious. “No.”
I moved closer to him, taking away a foot of the four that separated us in my foyer.
“I’m uncomfortable with allowing you to pay for something that expensive.”
“They’re not expensive,” he returned. “And I’m uncomfortable with a woman keeping me.”
I leaned back in surprise.
“I do my bit,” Deacon finished.
“Your bit is putting them up.”
“How about I decide what my bit is, not my woman deciding for me.”
It occurred to me right then that we’d hit the Badass Zone, a zone that was not simply the un-capitalized badass zone I was normally in with Deacon. A zone that needed capitalization. A zone I’d never been in. A zone I realized belatedly was a zone where I should tread cautiously.
So I did that.