“What?” I asked.
“Carrie,” he said gently as I forced myself to focus. “That offer, straight up, I wanna take it, right now, on your couch. But, gotta tell you, baby, that what this is isn’t that. It isn’t me fuckin’ you for the first time on your couch. I want what you’re offerin’, but I’m not gonna give it to you. Not that way. When we get there, you’ll get it the way you deserve. The right way for the girl you are.”
“I, um… I, well…”
I trailed off because I was still in the throes of a certain mood at the same time (slowly) processing what he said.
And it was incredibly lovely.
However, my certain mood was urging me to urge him to take things further on my couch.
“When Travis is with his dad and it’s you and me so I can focus on just you and you can give that back to me, we’ll go there,” Joker said. “Meantime, we’ll work up to it.”
“You’re very good at working up to it,” I told him, because he was.
Aaron and I had had our times. There was a period where those times were frequent and so good I didn’t know there could be better. Those times became infrequent and then they became not so good.
But just making out with Joker was better than any time with Aaron.
I stopped thinking of that and started falling back into that certain mood when I saw the humor in Joker’s eyes as he muttered, “I’ll keep you in check.”
“Well, okay,” I agreed, mostly because it didn’t seem I had a choice.
“Now we’ll watch TV.”
I wasn’t a huge TV watcher. I liked to read mysteries (though the odd romance here and there worked).
But right then I had absolutely no interest in TV.
Nevertheless, with no other option open to me, I said, “Okay.”
“Then I’m gonna go, Carrie. You need a good night’s sleep in your bed.”
I hadn’t really thought of it until then but the best night’s sleep I’d had in a long time was the night before on the couch. Or, more accurately, on Joker.
I didn’t share this.
Again not by choice, I said, “Okay.”
Joker didn’t move so I didn’t either. What we did was stare at each other, which made me feel strange and suddenly uncomfortable.
Until he said, “I like you.”
Of its own volition, my hand fisted in his shirt.
“In a way I wanna do this right,” he went on. “For you and for Travis.”
Okay, I could get on board with that.
“I like you too,” I told him shyly.
“Got that when you rubbed that heat against my thigh.”
I felt my face burst into a different kind of heat.
Then I felt Joker’s body start quaking and saw his mouth in a full blown smile.
“The pink is cute, Butterfly, but no need for it. That shit was hot.”
“Um… good,” I muttered.
“Cute and hot. Only bitch I know who can pull that shit off.”
That certain mood left me, as did my mortification, and I immediately started glaring. “First, Joker, I’m not a bitch. And second, our day was so nice I didn’t share my running tally, but I do believe you’ve racked up a debt of twenty dollars and seventy-five cents.”
“That’s the cute part,” he returned instantly.
“Stop flattering me at the same time irritating me.”
“Cute, hot, and can hold her own against a biker or a stick-up-his-ass suit, that also being cute and hot.”
I decided not to reply, just glare.
“You ready to watch TV?” he asked.
“Whatever,” I muttered.
He gave me another grin that I refused to acknowledge I liked, dipped his head, touched his mouth to mine, then let my leg go and shifted us so his back was against the back of the couch, I was tucked in front of him, and we were spooning facing the TV.
It felt lovely.
Which was annoying.
*
On my first break the next day, I went to the little square locker in the staff room at LeLane’s where I kept my purse.
The night before, Joker left my house around the time my eyelids started drooping. He did this guiding me to the door by my hand, giving me a soft kiss goodnight, then leaving.
Now I was back at work, Big Petey was at my place with Travis, and I was wondering what was next.
I was also hoping, since Joker and I exchanged numbers, that right then I’d find out what was next because I wanted whatever was next with Joker really badly.
As I extricated my purse, I bit my lip, wanting there to be a text or a voice message from him, even if it was just to say hey, which would tell me he was thinking of me. After what he said the night before about treating me like the girl he saw me to be, I didn’t want him to be one of those guys who played games in order to play it cool.
I got hold of my phone and hit the button at the bottom to illuminate the display.
There was a text that said, Get a break, call me. And on the top it decreed it was from Joker.
My heart got light and my thumb flew over the screen. In no time I’d dialed Joker’s number.
It rang three times before, “Yo, Butterfly.”
My heart got lighter.
“Hi, Joker.”
“You’re up for it, I could hit your house tonight with Chinese takeaway.”
It was not an exaggeration to say that after the bills were paid, my budget for laundry, food, gas, and limited sundries was reached (as it always was), that at the end of the month I had six dollars and fifty-five cents to carry over to the next month. And if anything came up, which it did frequently, I had to use my credit card. As I could only pay the minimum monthly payment, the balance never went down and, alarmingly, nearly every month went up.
This hadn’t always been the case. In the beginning, when I had child support, I had some room to breathe. When I lost that, Dad had helped, but I’d stopped taking his money because it made me feel guilty. He was still working. When he had to go and help Gramma, he’d lucked out when his company transferred him. But he was paying a lady to watch Gram during the day; he didn’t need the added burden of me.