It was impressive.

It was attractive.

And it was surprising, but listening to him, I realized it was another side of what was all just Snap.

The older men kicked back on my furniture surrounding the women who were on their asses or their knees around my coffee table as they proceeded to loudly and hilariously get smashed playing a game only college students were unwise enough to play.

In that time, listening to the talk, enjoying the laughter, I did this assessing my surroundings.

And I decided on a smaller dining room table so I could have another seating area on that side of the house, definitely a reading nook so that chair could be dragged in when I had company, and a portable crib that I could keep in the garage (this last I added when Travis passed out on Joker’s chest, and to my utter agony and profound delight, Nash did the same on Snap).

The women got shitfaced and loud, all but Carissa, who was surprisingly crazy-good at quarters.

Eventually their men peeled them off the floor as they declared undying love for each other, gave shit to their men for spoiling the fun, and made plans to get shitfaced again, and soon, all the while their men guided them into their coats, out the door, and then poured them in their trucks.

Except Joker and Carissa, who stayed, hanging with Mom, Snap, and me, them cuddled on one side of my couch, curled around each other providing a human crib for Travis, Mom in my armchair, and me and Snap cuddled into the other side of my couch.

Yes, I said cuddled.

I wasn’t being stupid, stupid Rosalie.

I was being stupid, dreamer, happy Rosalie.

And stupid, dreamer, happy Rosalie was the “dreamer” and “happy” part of that because I saw that the night had just made my mom the “happy” part.

There was also, of course, the important addition of Snapper being a crazy-good cuddler.

Like we’d done it a million times before, with skills innate to males and females passed down from generation to generation, even if we were all together, the men talked and the women talked, holding entirely different conversations in the same space.

Mom and I learned Joker wasn’t Travis’s dad. He was Travis’s really awesome stepdad. They lived together, had Travis every other week, Carissa worked at LeLane’s, and they’d gone to high school together, been in love with each other then, but it wasn’t until relatively recently they hooked up.

She gave us more and Carissa learned a lot about Mom and me.

Through this, sipping Corona, I watched her with Joker, the ease they had with each other and with Travis, and I wondered if she knew about the shit storm that was swirling around the Chaos MC.

If she did, it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

She had her man. She had her son. Her man loved her son and her son worshiped her man.

In the bubble of Carissa’s world, all was good and happy even if the bigger bubble of the Chaos world was in danger of exploding.

Along with this I came to realize that I really liked Carissa and Joker. I liked them all. I liked that there was food and booze and fun and loudness and laughter. I liked that no one pushed Snap and Joker and me to join in, they let us be quiet in the corner with the kids. I liked that there were kids and they were part of what was happening in a natural way. I liked that once some folks left, we got something different, mellow and comfortable and relaxed. I liked that Snap fit into all of this like he was born to it. And I liked that Snapper fit me (and Mom) into it like we’d been there for years.

Liking all of this, lulled by all of this, eventually I passed out on Snapper’s chest, still in the throes of nodding to try to stay awake as Mom and Carissa chatted.

The next thing I knew, Snap was lifting me from the couch.

“I can walk,” I’d mumbled.

“That’s good, baby, because you just got over a concussion and I could get you up normal stairs, but it’d be a tight fit not to slam your cranium into the center pole of these.”

He put me down at the foot of the staircase and I glanced groggily around as, with Snap’s hands on my hips spotting me, I lurched up the stairs.

The space was dark and empty.

“Where’s Mom?” I asked.

“Joke and Carrie drove her home.”

“Oh.”

I made it up to the bedroom, through the bedroom and bathroom, managed to snap on the closet light and stood swaying, staring at a set of drawers in the closet.

“Where do you think my pajamas are?” I asked Snapper, who’d followed me.

He opened and closed two drawers.

And there they were in drawer number three.

I snatched up a pair that was shorts and a loose cami in a peach/mauve/lavender/gray paisley and then pulled off my tee.

That was when I sensed Snap leaving me.

I put on my pajamas, saw High had set my suitcases just inside the closet, decided I was too exhausted to dig through them for my toothbrush, and then lurched into the bedroom.

Snap was standing at the end of the bed, arms crossed on his chest, ankles crossed with boot heel up, toe down on the wood floor, watching me.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” I asked.

His body jerked and his brows cocked.

“Bed,” I muttered, making it to the side of that piece of furniture and yanking down the fluffy duvet.

Very fluffy.

Upon sleepy inspection, totally choice.

“Babe,” Snapper called softly.