Page 85 of Joker

“Then let tonight be educational.”

That wipes some of the smile off her face. Not enough. She still thinks this is a game.

Hard to blame her. Men like me don’t usually give sudden speeches about boundaries, and she’s spent enough time around the clubhouse to know I’ve never exactly been a monk.

She tilts her head and lowers her voice. “What, you playing hard to get now?”

I look at her for one flat second too long and feel absolutely nothing.

That’s new too.

“No,” I say. “I’m telling you to find someone else.”

Her expression tightens. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

She shifts closer like maybe proximity is still going to fix the problem. “You sure this isn’t because of that girl on the porch? I can make you forget her real easy.”

That gets my attention in a way she probably doesn’t enjoy. I lower my voice. “You don’t say shit to her or about her.”

She nods, “okay.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

Now she’s irritated, which is fair. Confused too. Also fair. Still not my problem. “What is this?” she asks, crossing her arms. “You got some new rule I missed?”

I’m done being polite. “No,” I tell her. “I just won’t ever be touching you again.”

The words land hard enough to finally strip the disbelief out of her face. That’s the version she understands.

Cold. Direct. Final.

She stares at me for a second, probably waiting for some sign I’m joking, some crack in my face, some familiar edge that tells her this is all part of the dance.

She doesn’t find it. Then her mouth goes hard. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s how you’re gonna do it?”

“That’s how I just did it.”

She shakes her head once and mutters something under her breath I don’t bother catching.

I don’t move. I don’t soften it. I don’t explain that the idea of taking anyone back to my room now feels wrong in a way I’m not prepared to unpack because another woman’s room is right next to mine and my body hasn’t belonged entirely to me since the first night Raven walked into my truck in that cheap blonde wig.

That explanation isn’t for her. It’s barely for me.

She exhales sharply, lifts both hands in surrender, and takes a step back. “Fine.” Then she adds, because some people can’t help themselves, “Could’ve just said you were taken.”

My patience evaporates. I take one step toward her and drop my voice low enough to make sure every word lands. “You can accept the answer or you can get the fuck out of my space. Those are the options.”

That does it.

She glares, but she also knows me well enough to recognize where the line is. She steps aside, mutters, “Asshole,”and disappears back into the common room without another look.

I should probably feel something about that. Regret. Relief. Irritation. Instead, I just stand there on the porch for one extra beat staring at the empty space she left behind and acknowledging the obvious.