I drew in breath.

Then I told him. “I hadn’t been in a restaurant for six months, which was the last time Dad came to visit. I haven’t had Chinese takeaway for longer than I can remember. And I love Mexican and Chinese.” I took in another breath through my nose and said, “Thank you for giving those to me. It means a lot.”

“Baby, it’s just food.”

“Maybe to you, but it’s a treat for me.”

He was again silent and I was again worried I shouldn’t have told him that before he stated, “Your ex is a total fuckin’ asshole.”

I would use different words but he was right.

“It’ll get better, once I figure out how to go to school to be a hairstylist and then find a salon, clients, and start to get tips,” I assured him.

“Right.” His word sounded far from assured.

“But, also, it’s already better because I met you.”

“Rule,” he stated instantaneously.

His strange word made me blink at the lockers. “Sorry?”

“Rule. You can’t be like that on the phone. You can only be like that when I can kiss you.”

I lifted a hand and pressed it to the cold steel of my locker, leaning into it because my knees suddenly wouldn’t support me.

“You hear me?” he asked.

“Yes, Joker.”

“Right. Six. Text me what you like to eat. Later,” he stated tersely.

“Later, Joker.”

He rang off.

I took my phone from my ear and stared at it before I smiled at it and this was before I pumped it in the air three times happily.

Then I texted him my favorite Chinese selections, put my phone in my purse, locked my locker, and went about my business.

* * *

Joker’s hands in my hair pulled my head up which meant pulling my lips from his.

“We’re done.”

No! He still hadn’t even gone to second base!

It was after Chinese takeaway. After Joker played on the floor with Travis for a while, this consisting of Joker lying on his back in the narrow floor space available to him between couch and wall, allowing Travis to crawl all over him while giggling (this, incidentally, also made me gooey). It was also after Joker gave him his bottle while I futzed about. And last, it was after I put him down.

We’d been making out. It was hot and heavy. I’d just performed a miracle by forcing Joker from on top of me to our sides then maneuvering myself on top.

If he wasn’t going to go to second base, I was. So I’d gotten my hands up his shirt. His skin was silky. It was also blazing. And maybe best of all, it covered what could only be described as supple steel.

I couldn’t get enough. Of that. Of his hair. Of his tongue. Of his manly biker smell. I’d even run my lips over his beard to kiss his earlobe and the second I did it I wanted to do it again.

I could feel him hard against my belly through his jeans. I liked that feel.

How could he say we’re done?

“Just a little longer,” I cajoled, deciding now was a good time to run my lips over his beard again.

“Carissa,” he growled. “No,” he finished inflexibly.

I looked at him and blurted my lie semi-desperately, “You don’t know me, Joker. I’m actually a floozy.”

He burst out laughing.

It was the first time he did it. It was deep and sumptuous and hearing it was a multisensory experience, all of it good.

But it still peeved me.

“That’s funny?” I asked.

He focused on me. “Got here with food, were you in your LeLane’s shirt?”

“No,” I snapped, though I had no idea why he asked that question at this point in our conversation, and not only because he knew the answer.

“No. You got home and changed into a shirt that had more ruffles on it than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s cute,” I retorted, worried he didn’t think the same.

“It is. So are you. It is you. My Butterfly in her wings. What it isn’t is what a floozy would wear to lure her man to fuck her on her couch in front of the news.”

It was safe to say he was correct, however I didn’t confirm that verbally.

“I didn’t say I wanted to go all the way,” I told him. “I just don’t wanna stop.”

“Carissa, you feel that against your belly?”

I bit my lip because I did.

“Do me a favor,” he said to finish.

He had a good point, a very good one, I was being selfish and I needed to cool it for his sake.

I looked away, feebly pushing away, suddenly embarrassed.

Joker rolled so I was trapped against the back of the couch and ordered, “Look at me.”

“This is embarrassing,” I told his throat.

“Don’t know how. Not a man who has you in his arms would think anything about you wantin’ more of him than that he’s fuckin’ lucky.” His words made my eyes lift to his. “You’re honest about that and don’t play games, that’s even better.”

“You really think that?”

“Yeah. I’m still not fuckin’ you on your couch. Not now. Not the first time.” He grinned at me. “Maybe the third.”

I pushed at his chest and did it again weakly but this time I did it for a different reason and I did it slightly grinning.

After I did that, I curled my fingers in his shirt and bent my neck so my forehead rested at the base of his throat.

His next words sounded against the top of my hair. “Next week, I’ll take you to a nice dinner. You can dress up. We’ll do it up right. Then I’ll give you what you need.”

“That’d be nice,” I whispered, and it would. It made me nervous but it also made me excited that I had a variety of things to look forward to: a nice dinner, a chance to dress up, a night with Joker… and what I needed.

It was safe to say Aaron dumping me at my age was a hit to my confidence. Then again, if that happened at any age, I suspected it would be.

I was never a girl to strut her stuff, but I was a girl who knew from Aaron’s attention I had some stuff. After Aaron, I figured I didn’t.

A handsome, manly man like Joker liking me, obviously attracted to me, wanting to spend time with me, and wanting to give that to me while respecting me was brilliant. It gave that back, the feeling that I might just have some stuff. And that meant a lot to me.

Just like everything Joker made it seem easy to give to me meant a lot.

“Now, it sucks, but I got plans tomorrow night,” he continued.