Ride Steady (Chaos #3)(67)

“You need to write that shit that just happened down, baby. We’ll go over it together to make sure you didn’t miss anything. And then you call it in to Angie tomorrow.”

“Right. We’ll do that after Travis is down.”

Joker was studying me closely. “You okay?”

“I’m fabulous,” I told him. “He’s scared and he thinks he can play me. But I’m done with his games. I just want him to sort himself out so I can take care of my son the way he deserves and get on with my life.”

On that, I turned away and headed to the bedroom.

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

I loved it that he thought that. Loved it.

And I loved it that I did that. I was proud of myself. Another new feeling that I liked.

“Thanks, sweetie,” I mumbled.

His other arm stole around me and he gave me a light squeeze.

Minutes passed before he asked softly, “You goin’ to sleep, Butterfly?”

“Do you mind?”

“Fuck no.”

He liked me there.

I liked that because I liked me there too. Right there. Doing nothing with Joker.

“One dollar and five cents,” I muttered, blinked, blinked again, felt something shaking, but it felt good.

So I fell asleep and missed that something being Joker’s long, hard, warm, strong biker body…

Laughing.

Chapter Eleven

What You Need

Carissa

I WAS JOSTLED gently before I settled, but I settled blinking.

I didn’t know where I was, though when my eyes finally opened it all came to me.

I sleepily pushed up on my forearms in the cushions and lifted my head to see a pair of jeans clad hips rounding the arm of my couch.

I looked up and over the back and saw a messy-haired, drowsy-eyed, phenomenal biker.

“Sweetie?” I called, and he looked down at me.

The second he did I became a puddle of goo on the couch.

“Hear him fussin’,” he said softly.

I stared.

Joker disappeared.

I pushed up to sitting and was on my feet when Joker walked in, carrying Travis, who was rubbing his face on Joker’s black T-shirt at the same time clenching it in his little fist.

I stared again as I became a new puddle of goo, but this time standing.