Page 19 of Swamp Kings 2

“Another one of your love languages not listed.”

“Yeah?”

“Me despising all other women.”

She stifled a big laugh right on his mouth then whispered, “Very good my Valhalla Hunk.”

****

“Oh, this one’s for us, momma,” Hurricane muttered, stealing another kiss, obsessed with how she blushed every single time he did. Kissing her was definitely his love language. Touching her. With every part of himself. Like a fucking leech. He needed to add that to the love language list. Leeching.

“I realize this may be new territory for a lot of us,” their Belle Eveque went on, “but I promise it’ll be well worth it.”

Oh, it already was. He’d never learned how dumb he was about something in such a short span. Everything she laid down was a grand revelation.

“Now… let’s take a step back and think about the tools we are all born with—touch, taste, smell, sight, and sound. How can we use these in the five love languages? Well, so very many ways,” she assured. “Let’s start by focusing on one sense at a time. Think about touch, for example. When your partner touches you—whether it’s a hug, holding hands, or a casual brush on your arm—how does that make you feel? Does it make you feel closer?”

“More like makes me fear for my life.”

Hurricane turned and a laugh escaped him at seeing T-Boy with his arms crossed in his chair, eyes all for real.

“Okay,” Belle Eveque said, curious. “If you’re comfortable, I’d like to understand more.”

Bruh, he was ballsy to say that with a wife like Georgia. She didnotplay. And the way she glared at him had Hurricane turned in his chair, ready with grins and giggles at what was brewing. “Well, go on, Harold,” his wife urged cooly. “Tell the class why you fear for your life so we can all be clued in."

“Well, the hugging part, for one,” he clarified, getting a dramaticwhat the actual fuck alllook from his wife.

“And when thehell’sthe last time you ever tried to hug me?” she challenged.

His eyes went huge. “I don’t remember ‘cause I like breathing.”

She jerked a whole six inches back in herseat. “That’s some bullshit right there!” She regarded the Belle Eveque. “He ain’t afraid uh shit, that man ain’t hugged me since my mother died and that was like gettin’ a beatin’ with dumb wooden arms.”

Holy fuck. The snickers were afoot.

T-Boy fired back with, “Lady, you damn well know you’re like a venus fly trap. She even has one,” he informed the class. “And they’re as innocent looking as she is, shardy teeth in every direction, ready to bite off the first head that’s stupid enough to get too close at the wrong time which is every minute she ain’t sleepin’.”

“Well it sure as shit don’t stop you from getting in my bed, now does it,” she said loud and pissed.

“Never said you’re not worth some risks,” he amended, adding another foot to his grave. “But if I’m gonna put my life on the line it ain’t gonna be for no hug. And look, I’m fine with never huggin’,” he swore up and down, “I realize it ain't for everybody.”

She jerked back again, chair and all this time. “That is some swamp stupid right there. So I don’t mind wrappin’ around you in bed but I mind huggin’? Harold, what thehellkind of boggy-brained-backward is that?”

His eyes fuckin’ bugged in shock. “You sayin’ you want hugs?” he cried.

“How the hell would I know, I never get ‘em!” she yelled.

“Okay,” Beth cut in loudly, hurrying to their table with Bishop right on her six. “Believe it or not, this is good,” she said. “Seems we’ve uncovered a massive misunderstanding. Harold thought Georgia didn’t want hugs and it turns out—”

“Idon’twant hugs,” Georgia said, annoyed.

Harold shot his hand out at her. “Now you heard it.”

“No, you don’t fuckin’ hearshit,” Georgia assured, leaning toward him. “I don’twanthugs, and I don’tnotwant hugs, but you are full of fuckin’ shit about what you said.”

He stared at her, shaking his head. “You tellin’ me there’s a chance in heck youmightwant hugs?”

“I’m tellin’ you I don’t give a rip if you hug me or not. You don’t wanna hug me, that’s you. I’m not begging you for no fuckin’ hugs.”

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