“Yup.”
“You the oldest?”
“Youngest.”
I stared up at him.
Then I asked, “You’re the youngest with four older sisters?”
“Yup.”
“Ohmigod.”
This seemed impossible.
No man his size was the littlest or youngest of anything.
“All but one is married,” he shared.“All but that one havekids.I’ve got five nieces and nephews.”
I loved this.
I loved it like crazy.
And not just the fact that I could freely ask him questionsabout his life, his friends, his family, and not try to keep things distant andprofessional.
But that he had a big family.
I loved family.
“Are they named Norwegian names?”I asked.
“Signe, Marte, Lene, Trine, in order, oldest to youngest.”
That was a yes.
“And you’regonnameet them, soonas that can be arranged,” he announced.
I started to smile.
Then something occurred to me and I didn’t smile.
“Are theygonnahave a problemwith me being a stripper?”
A shadow crossed his face, which meant a shadow shrouded myheart.
But I would learn I shouldn’t underestimate Mo, or hisfeelings for me, and I’d learn it quick.
Like right then.
Because Mo rolled us both to our sides, gathered me close,but kept a lock on my eyes.
“You know, baby,” he said gently, “think the problem withwhat you do is with you.”
Hunh?
“I don’t have a problem with it,” I pointed out the obvious.
“First place you go, first question you ask, is if someonehas issues.”
