Another shiver. A bigger one. And my legs started shaking.

“Okay,” I repeated breathily.

“Now, lunch.”

I nodded.

“After I feed you, we’ll come back and get my laundry.”

Another nod, but this time I did it with the curious feeling of being utterly delighted at the thought of having more laundry.

He lifted his hand my way. “Come here, Butterfly.”

I went there.

I took his hand.

He gripped mine tight.

Then he walked us out of his room to his truck, where he put my son in his car seat in the back.

He took us to lunch.

And later, after we went back and collected his laundry in a duffel (as well as a plastic bag), while Travis had his afternoon nap, Joker made good on his promise.

We had a quiet, necessarily muffled but spectacular laundry celebration on my couch.

And it was naughty.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Waver

Joker

THE NEXT EVENING, Joker sat in his truck, idling at the curb in front of a huge-ass house that screamed I’m fucking loaded.

He did this watching Carissa walk up the path to the home she once shared with her ex-jackhole, carrying her kid and his diaper bag.

He’d parked visible and he’d done it so he could watch and be seen.

Not surprisingly, the jackhole opened the door.

Also not surprisingly, even after Carissa gave her boy kisses and cuddles and handed him and the bag over, her jackhole kept her engaged in conversation.

Further not surprisingly, he saw the jackhole clock him the minute the man had opened the door.

As this went on, Joker didn’t honk. He didn’t get out of the truck, round it, and make his presence known more aggressively by leaning against it and watching. Or more aggressive than that, walking up to the house.

He waited.

It cost him.

But Carissa was who she was, where she was, with that jackhole, and where she was with Joker.

So as he knew she’d do, when she’d had enough, she shut it down and turned her back, walking away while the guy was still talking.

Joker looked to the steering wheel and fought back a grin.

He heard the door open and turned his head to watch her get in.

The second her door was closed and she reached for the belt, he didn’t fuck around getting them on the road.

He heard the click and stopped crawling, putting on the gas as he asked, “You okay?”

“Every time, hate that.” She paused and it was lower when she repeated, “Hate it.”

He could see that, he didn’t like it much either.

“What can I give you, Butterfly?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t answer.

He glanced at her. “Want dinner?”

“Not hungry,” she mumbled.

“Wanna talk?” he offered.

“Nothing to talk about,” she said.

“He give you shit?” Joker asked.