Carissa eyes got huge one beat before she burst out laughing at the same time she burst into tears.
Joker pulled her into his arms, took her laughing, sobbing mouth in a long, wet kiss, and through it, he heard the salesperson murmur, “I love my job.”
*
The front door opened and Joker looked that way to see Carissa walking in.
“Yo,” Boz called from beside him at the dining room table.
“Carrie,” Snapper greeted, also at the table.
“Babe,” Roscoe, at his other side, said.
“Hey, Carrie,” Rush, at the foot, called.
Hound grunted.
Joker just kept his eyes on his woman and smiled.
She smiled back, calling, “Hey,” to the men at the table drinking beer and playing poker.
But she came right to him.
Putting her hand to his jaw, she bent in and kissed him lightly before repeating a much softer, “Hey.”
Like always.
Right in his dick.
“Hey, baby, how was girls’ night out?” he asked.
“Good. But… um, can I talk to you a sec?”
He tried to read her face, saw something he couldn’t put a finger on, didn’t like that, so he nodded and didn’t waste time putting his cards facedown on the table.
“Be back,” he told his brothers.
“Time for fresh ones,” Roscoe announced, pushing back in his seat.
Joker got up and Carissa took his hand.
She walked him down the hall, asking, “Are you winning?”
“I haven’t lost the house,” he said by way of answer.
She tossed him a grin as she moved them into their room. “Hound’s kicking your booty again.”
Joker didn’t return the grin, he was still trying to read her, but he did reply, “The man’s a poker savant.”
Her grin turned into a smile and she asked, “Can you close the door?”
Joker closed it then gave her his full attention, begging, “Please tell me that you and your bitches didn’t decide tonight was the night to light my father’s house on fire.”
She burst out laughing.
He watched, hoping that was a no.
She sobered and informed him, “No. And actually, this is a show not a tell.”
Carissa giving him a show.
He thought of Roscoe getting fresh ones.
Then he thought none of his brothers would be too concerned they had to slam them and get the fuck out because he might not tell them he was going to get a show, but they could guess, and they wouldn’t be brothers if they were the kind of men to stand in the way of that for a game of poker.
So he crossed his arms on his chest and ordered, “So… show.”
“To preface this, I’ll say I like my promise ring.”
Joker shook his head but did it grinning.
He knew that. In the week since she’d got it, he’d seen her staring at it. She’d even made a habit of rubbing the diamond against her lower lip more than occasionally.
If he caught that last and was in a position to do so, he put her in a position of using that lip in a different way, among other things.
“And also,” she went on, “this is the culmination of what Elvira calls a ‘wild hair,’ something I’m told happens when cosmo two turns into cosmo three.”
“Butterfly, get on with it.”
She slid her hands down the skirt of her cute dress, her eyes on his but his eyes dropped to her hands.
“Also, it should be said that Tyra’s in the know about practically everything,” she informed him.
Joker didn’t say anything. He was watching her pull up the skirt of dress.
She shifted to the side, telling him, “Including where the brothers get their tats.”
His chest got tight because he saw panties and under them, at the top right corner of her ass, in from her hip, down from her waist, a bandage.
Carefully, she pulled her panties down over the bandage as he stood immobile and watched.
Still silent and watching him, she peeled the bandage away.
“I got a ring,” she whispered. “This is your promise.”
Without moving a muscle, Joker stood there staring at the gooed-up red flesh in which, smaller but fucking magnificent, was the card he’d designed for his tat guy to ink on his chest.
But it was on his girl’s heart-shaped ass.
“I’m not a tattoo person but I thought… Joker?”
She ended on a call to him because he’d dropped his arms and turned on his boot.
He threw open the door and yelled down the hall, “Party’s over! Get out!”
He heard a “What the fuck?” and a guffaw but that’s all he heard before he slammed the door and turned back.
“Sweetie, that was rude… oh!”
She cried out because he was stalking.
She was backing up.
She had a hand up and was looking at him closely as she moved.
“Does this mean you like it?” she asked.
He didn’t give her an answer verbally.
But a while later, when he was not doing his usual watching her * take his dick but instead his eyes were locked to his card on her ass as she took his fucking on her knees, her whimpers muffled by the covers where her face was pressed, he figured she got the message.
*
He figured she also got his message when she sat next to him, babbling about wedding plans, co-workers at LeLane’s, her and her girls’ predictions of when Malik would pop the question, as he laid back in the chair, the buzz sounding as his tat guy worked at his chest.
Like the joker card, it was his design, so he could change the deck to whatever the fuck he wanted it to be.
So the card the guy was inking slanted over his heart next to the joker was the queen of hearts.
And butterflies.
*
The back door flew open and Carissa flew in carrying the handles of a LeLane’s paper bag in one hand, a massive stack of magazines tucked in her other arm, her purse over her shoulder, and wearing her khaki’s and LeLane’s polo, Converse on her feet.
Joker was at the stove.
Travis was unsteady on his feet as he ran to her, shouting, “Moomah!” then he took a header, landed on his hands and knees, tipped his head back and giggled.
“Googly,” she greeted, dumping bag, magazines, and purse and cutting her eyes to Joker. “Please tell me you’re browning the ground beef.”