Ride Steady (Chaos, #3)(72)

“Six, your place?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Text me what you like. I’m hittin’ Twin Dragon.”

“You got it.”

“Your day good?” he asked.

It wasn’t. It was just a day.

Now it was a good day.

I didn’t know if I should tell him that.

Then I decided I should tell him that.

“It was normal. It just got better.”

That got me silence and I worried I’d given too much too soon before he murmured, “Like that, Butterfly.”

Not too much too soon.

Phew!

“Right, gotta let you go,” he told me.

I didn’t want him to but I only had fifteen minutes and I needed some of it to freshen up in the bathroom.

“Me too.”

“Later, Carrie.”

“Later, but, um… Joker?”

“Yeah?”

I drew in breath.

Then I told him. “I hadn’t been in a restaurant for six months, which was the last time Dad came to visit. I haven’t had Chinese takeaway for longer than I can remember. And I love Mexican and Chinese.” I took in another breath through my nose and said, “Thank you for giving those to me. It means a lot.”

“Baby, it’s just food.”

“Maybe to you, but it’s a treat for me.”

He was again silent and I was again worried I shouldn’t have told him that before he stated, “Your ex is a total f*ckin’ *.”

I would use different words but he was right.

“It’ll get better, once I figure out how to go to school to be a hairstylist and then find a salon, clients, and start to get tips,” I assured him.

“Right.” His word sounded far from assured.

“But, also, it’s already better because I met you.”

“Rule,” he stated instantaneously.

His strange word made me blink at the lockers. “Sorry?”

“Rule. You can’t be like that on the phone. You can only be like that when I can kiss you.”

I lifted a hand and pressed it to the cold steel of my locker, leaning into it because my knees suddenly wouldn’t support me.

“You hear me?” he asked.

“Yes, Joker.”

“Right. Six. Text me what you like to eat. Later,” he stated tersely.

“Later, Joker.”

He rang off.

I took my phone from my ear and stared at it before I smiled at it and this was before I pumped it in the air three times happily.

Then I texted him my favorite Chinese selections, put my phone in my purse, locked my locker, and went about my business.

*

Joker’s hands in my hair pulled my head up which meant pulling my lips from his.

“We’re done.”

No! He still hadn’t even gone to second base!

It was after Chinese takeaway. After Joker played on the floor with Travis for a while, this consisting of Joker lying on his back in the narrow floor space available to him between couch and wall, allowing Travis to crawl all over him while giggling (this, incidentally, also made me gooey). It was also after Joker gave him his bottle while I futzed about. And last, it was after I put him down.

We’d been making out. It was hot and heavy. I’d just performed a miracle by forcing Joker from on top of me to our sides then maneuvering myself on top.

If he wasn’t going to go to second base, I was. So I’d gotten my hands up his shirt. His skin was silky. It was also blazing. And maybe best of all, it covered what could only be described as supple steel.

I couldn’t get enough. Of that. Of his hair. Of his tongue. Of his manly biker smell. I’d even run my lips over his beard to kiss his earlobe and the second I did it I wanted to do it again.

I could feel him hard against my belly through his jeans. I liked that feel.

How could he say we’re done?

“Just a little longer,” I cajoled, deciding now was a good time to run my lips over his beard again.

“Carissa,” he growled. “No,” he finished inflexibly.

I looked at him and blurted my lie semi-desperately, “You don’t know me, Joker. I’m actually a floozy.”

He burst out laughing.

It was the first time he did it. It was deep and sumptuous and hearing it was a multisensory experience, all of it good.

But it still peeved me.

“That’s funny?” I asked.

He focused on me. “Got here with food, were you in your LeLane’s shirt?”

“No,” I snapped, though I had no idea why he asked that question at this point in our conversation, and not only because he knew the answer.

“No. You got home and changed into a shirt that had more ruffles on it than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s cute,” I retorted, worried he didn’t think the same.

“It is. So are you. It is you. My Butterfly in her wings. What it isn’t is what a floozy would wear to lure her man to f*ck her on her couch in front of the news.”

It was safe to say he was correct, however I didn’t confirm that verbally.

“I didn’t say I wanted to go all the way,” I told him. “I just don’t wanna stop.”