Further, I was a little confused. Mostly about why I barely knew this man but all of this seemed so important to me. Very important. More important than, rationally, it should be.

But last, and most, I was excited. Things had been terribly lonely since I lost Aaron. Joker’s question about when I got to live my life had hit home. I had no life. I had my son and I had my work and I had my worry about what was going to hit me next.

But I had my son. And I wasn’t teaching him anything that was good if I taught him life was narrow. If I taught him that life was about sacrifice, not about living. If I had nothing but him to make me happy, rather than just being happy all around with things to do and good friends to do them with.

So I was excited. I was excited I suddenly had places to be, things to do, and people to do them with.

And I was excited to have exciting things to think about.

Those things being Joker. How his beard felt against my skin when he was kissing me. How he tasted. How tight his arms closed around me. How I wanted to know what his hair felt like (I should have taken that shot when I had my arms around him, but his shoulders felt so lovely, I didn’t). How I wanted to know what was behind that guard he had over his eyes. How I wanted to know if he liked my pie.

And being mostly excited, for the first time in so long I couldn’t remember the last time (outside having Travis), I was happy. I had a spring in my step. I had something to look forward to.

And it felt good.

* * *

I felt terrible.

This was a disaster.

An utter, complete disaster.

And I wasn’t talking about the disaster that was me assuming, since it was a party, the done thing was to bring something when absolutely no one brought anything. So I’d looked like an idiot when I strolled in with two bags of LeLane’s fresh tortilla chips and a huge tub of their signature guacamole (that was handmade to order at the deli counter).

Although that was embarrassing, the chips and guac were all gone and I hadn’t even been there an hour.

“Girl, you want a fresh one?”

I turned my head from my wounded contemplation of Joker with the big-haired, tube-topped, ultra-mini-miniskirted brunette at the pool table (I just knew biker babes wore tube tops!).

Joker was not smiling and flirting. But he was still flirting. I knew it. I knew the way she sashayed around him and gave him knowing looks and rubbed up against him every chance she got and licked her lips after they’d take a shot of whatever they were shooting.