That wasn’t exactly the truth. His room was really filthy. I still had a lot of work to do. Also, I had to cart his stuff to the Laundromat but I had a shift so I’d have to do that the next day. Therefore, I wouldn’t be completely done until tomorrow.

“I don’t want you goin’ through my stuff,” he kept at it.

I felt warmth creep up my neck but I ignored it and what he said, and returned, “Speaking of your stuff. I found an envelope full of money in a pair of your jeans that were on the floor in the bathroom. It’s there.” I motioned to his dresser. “And I’ll, uh… commend you on your obvious commitment to safe sex. Though, the unwrapped prophylactics are now in the drawer of your nightstand, not scattered among the wrappers on top. Easier access since you won’t have to sort through the wrappers to find a new one.”

At that, he looked fit to be tied, or fit to tie me, and he leaned slightly toward me.

“That right there is why—”

“I’m doing it, Joker,” I whispered. “You can be all scary and scowl at me and get angry, but I’m doing it. I’m doing whatever I have to do to feel better about what you’re all doing for me. I have to.” I drew in breath and finished, “And I’m asking you to let me.”

His jaw flexed again.

I watched his jaw flex, thinking two things.

One, for some reason, I found that appealing.

Two, I didn’t feel even a little bad about lying by omission by not including the fact that I was there to do other things as well. Those including being around him, attempting to flirt with him, and doing everything I could to get him to kiss me again and/or ask me out on a date (with that last, I was hoping for and).

Of course, I did want to give back to him and the Club. Definitely.

It was just that I wanted other things too.

We stared at each other, and this lasted a long time. Long enough for me to have a strong urge to end the staring contest by running to him and throwing myself in his arms, but this time, not allowing him to let me go.

Unfortunately, when I was just about ready to do that, he broke the contest, asking, “My clothes in those cases?”

“Yes,” I answered, lifting my hand with the paper towel in it, palm out. “And I’m doing your laundry and I’m not taking any guff from you about it.”

“You got a washer and dryer at your house?”

“No, I’m taking it to the Laundromat.”

He went scary again. “Butterfly, you are not payin’ to do my laundry.”

“I absolutely am,” I returned.