So it was unfortunate I missed Joker staring after me, at first disbelievingly.

Then he was smiling.

* * *

I was camped out on the couch.

No, correction.

I was camped out on Joker who was stretched out on his back on the couch.

There had been no making out, which was disappointing.

But when I came back from putting Travis to bed, Joker and I sat at my bar as I recorded Aaron’s visit.

Done with that, we headed to the couch, Joker going before me. So when I moved in front of him, he’d grabbed my hips and pulled me to the cushions, him on his back, me on him, me mistakenly tensing in a good way, thinking he was instigating a make out session. But that had been all he did.

I liked the way he kissed. I wanted more.

But something about this was (almost) better.

Part of that better was that Joker sensed this—and not a hot and heavy make out session—was what I needed.

Most of that better was that this was exactly what I needed even though I didn’t know I needed it because until then, I didn’t really know it existed.

To veg out in front of the TV, relaxing, mind clearing, body melting, Joker’s fingers gently teasing my ringlets, his hard body warm and strong beneath me, his breath coming steady and easy.

Just that. Just us. Just nothing.

Nothing taxing.

Nothing exhausting.

Nothing annoying.

Nothing upsetting.

Okay, so also nothing exciting.

But I found lying on Joker that I liked this kind of nothing.

It wasn’t the same as having nothing when you were alone.

It was vastly different.

And I liked that different a whole lot.

“You drink beer,” I mumbled, my voice quiet and kind of sleepy because I was the same.

“Is that a question or a statement?” Joker’s deep biker voice vibrated under my cheek.

“It’s a statement.”

“Then I’ll confirm. I drink beer.”

I grinned against his chest. “I’ll get some in.”

“I’ll bring some.”

“I can get it.”

“You know what I like?”

“Uh… no.”

“Then I’ll bring it.”

I’d allow that but only because if it was in my fridge, I’d see it so I could replenish it when it ran out.

“That question mean I’m comin’ back?”

He wanted that.

I did too.

I melted deeper into him and pressed my cheek into his chest.

That was part of my answer.

The rest of it was, “You’re way more comfy than my couch.”

His fingers stopped playing with my hair so they could tangle in it.

That wasn’t part of his answer, it was his whole one.

It was also a good one.

“Did good with that asshole tonight, baby,” he said, the vibration in his chest a soothing rumble. “Didn’t hold your own, you bested him.”