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"Dies. Is it that bad, then? Is he...Joker, strong like Colton?" The man is so massive, it feels like standing next to a wall. I can't imagine how much effort it would take to hurt him that badly.
Jonas shakes his head, his thumb running over my fingers absentmindedly as he stares off into the cafeteria. The clatter of plates and low hush of voices make me lean in, so I can hear him. It's not because he's so warm, and I’ve been cold for a month.
"No. He's not like Colt. He's bigger. Not by a lot, but bigger." He pauses, frowning. "His face is different. It's always cold. Colton's face is more expressive."
"Is he...in there for a long time?"
Jonas tilts his head, studying me. "I forget that you don't know all of these things. In my mind, you have been a part of everything since that day in Ransom's office."
"I suppose I'm a part of a lot of things, at work at least. But there are a lot of things I don't know too. About all of you."
"Joker has been in prison for eighteen years. He's supposed to be released in a few days. Maybe that's why this happened now."
"What...how did he end up there?"
"Murder," he says simply.
"I see."
I don’t, really. I have so many questions, but it feels like the wrong time to ask. I turn and head into the cafeteria, Jonas trailing me, still holding my hand. He only lets go when it's time to pile a tray high with sandwiches, yogurts, fruit, and anything else ready-made. Jonas stacks the tray with a single-minded focus that has my mind drifting into dangerous territory. He pays so much attention to small things. What would it be like to have him pay that much attention to me?
"Grab my wallet," he says, chin resting on top of the pyramid of food. He turns, presenting me with his rounded butt, and the bulge of his wallet in his pocket.
My plan is to extract it carefully, but the damn thing is wedged in there tightly. I end up having to wiggle my fingers in between the fabric and the wallet, the back of my hand against the rock-hard muscles of his ass. Finally, with a cry of victory, I pull it free.
"Why do you have this thing wrapped with elastics?" I ask, baffled by the thick blue elastics wrapped around the brown leather.
His words are low, and his gaze is locked on my hand. "Makes it harder to get out of my pocket."
The air is so dry in here. I clear my throat. ”Yeah, it really does."
He shakes himself, glancing at the cashier, and older woman, her salt and pepper hair covered in a hairnet. "Take two hundred out."
I carefully unwrap his wallet, sliding the elastics onto my wrist, pulling it open, and fishing out two of the many hundred dollar bills inside. I step over to the cashier, presenting them to her. She eyes Jonas with a bit of panic, probably imagining the tower cascading to the floor. I watch in awe and growing shame as Jonas easily rattles off all the items he has, the dollar amounts, the total, and then calculates the tax.
The woman's tired eyes shift from worry to amazement as she stares at her screen. "You're right!"
"I know," Jonas says, standing patiently as she counts out his change into my hand.
He turns and very carefully heads out into the hall. I walk beside him, our steps slow and measured, mind-reeling. He did those calculations so easily. I knew he was smart, but somehow I didn't realize how smart. It makes me feel small and stupid. A feeling I'm all too familiar with.
Jonas brushes off my offer to carry something the entire way back to the waiting room, determined to do it all himself. He carefully places the tray on the table, and together we distribute the food, his murmured instructions guiding me. 'The ham for Zach. The turkey for Nick' and so on. He knows everyone's preferences and takes care of them so easily.
There is a lot about my husband I don't know.
Finally, he turns to me with a sandwich in one hand, and a lemonade in the other, his expression bashful. "I looked for one with mustard, but I could not find one. This has mayonnaise instead."
"Mayo is okay," I murmur, taking the ham sandwich and my favorite Lemonade from his hands. "I...thank you. This is my favorite. I love anything sour."
"I know. You always twist up your face when you drink it. I always wondered why you like it if it tastes so awful."
I smile at him, my cheeks warm. "It's a hurt-so-good situation. A bit of pain with the pleasure. The mix of the two just makes it so much better."
"Contrasting sensations," he mutters, staring somewhere around my neck. "Like hot and cold, soft and rough." The tension in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. The man is thinking sex. No doubt about it. He's wondering, maybe planning. His imagination is running wild.
My hands drop limply to my sides, clutching my sandwich and drink. The way Jonas looks at me, but not right in the eyes, is freeing. It gives me the ability to stare at him and not feel rude. I let my gaze trail over his wide shoulders and the strong cords of his neck, exposed by the v of his soft sweater. The man is strong. Very strong. It’s easy to forget how big he is when Kade, Micah, and Colton are around. Compared to those men, Jonas is leaner. But compared to an average-sized man like Mark? It's obvious how massive he really is.
We're standing there, both lost in our imaginations, when the door opens, and Evie walks in. She's in her nursing scrubs, a plain blue with rainbow-patterned clogs on her feet. Everyone in the room quiets.
