Page 90 of Love Takes Home

“No, I load it all up once a month and take it home to my momma and she does it for me,” I deadpan.

She laughs. “Asshole.”

“Guilty. And yes, I do my own laundry. I am a man in my thirties. And I was in the Army. But my mom taught me how to do it a long time before I was eighteen.”

“Davis didn’t learn how to do his until he went to the Academy. His mommy washed his delicates until she helped him pack to leave. He also burned water. How he survived all those years still amazes me.”

“He learned how to make a mean cocktail and traded services. He was pretty good with an engine, too. You can find a lot of people to feed you when you can fix their car.”

“Is that right?”

“Absolutely.”

As we’re finishing our meal, I finally ask her something that’s been on my mind for a while.

“Why do you call me Harrison when we’re, um, naked?”

She avoids my eyes, her cheeks turning a bright pink. “I don’t want to tell you.”

“Is it bad?” She shrugs, and I reach across the corner of the table and squeeze her hand. “I won’t be mad.”

“I’m not worried about you being mad. I’m worried you’re going to laugh at me.” She bites her lip, and it’s not in a come-hither way, but in a worried way.

“Hey, I might laugh, but it’s never at you.”

She finally looks at me, and I can see the internal debate all over her face. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but I really do want to know. I give her the time she needs to open up, and when she does, it almost brings me to my knees.

“How many people call you Harrison?”

“Now? I’m not even sure anyone other than my mom knows my first name. I guess your dad, but he tries to call me Joker, like everyone else.”

“That’s why. Well, one of the reasons. No offense or anything, but when I’m in the moment, yelling Joker just makes me want to laugh. And I don’t think you’d like that.”

I smile, thinking about it. “Huh. I guess I can see that. It does sound a little silly, doesn’t it?”

“I love that your friends call you Joker. I love that you did something that earned you that nickname, even if I don’t want to hear the stories of what you lived through to get it. But at the end of the day, you aren’t that man with me. You aren’t the stuffy, broody, grumpy, scary-looking, ‘I know how to kill you in thirty-two different ways with my pinky’ guy.”

I do laugh at that one. “It would take at least two fingers to get to thirty-two.”

“You aren’t that guy with me. You’re sweet, and caring, and loving, and everything a woman could ever hope to find in someone to love.”

“It’s because I love you,” I tell her with all the feeling in my body. “I don’t have to be grumpy, or broody, or…stuffy?”

She snickers, nodding. “I love you, too, Harrison.”

“But could you maybe not pull it out in front of my friends?”

“It’s a very handsome name,” she says, getting up and coming to sit on my lap. “It sounds really good when I’m moaning it with no clothes on.”

I run my hand up her thigh, her silky skin igniting the electricity in my body.

“I think we need to test that sound out.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

And that’s what we do for the rest of the night. I make her moan, groan, and scream my name as many times as I can before we both pass out. She does have to get up early tomorrow for yet another day of 'prick keep away'.

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