I forced my eyes to look ahead and I forced my brain to find an explanation for this madness.
“You’re just being nice,” I whispered.
“I’m a nice guy,” he agreed. “But I’m not bein’ nice. I’m bein’ real. And now what I’d like to know is why every time I give you a compliment, you freak out and twist it into something bad.”
“I don’t do that,” I denied.
“I told you, you had good taste in music and you immediately jumped to the conclusion that it annoyed me because you played it too loud. How do you go from someone saying you have good taste in music to it being a complaint about you playin’ it too loud?”
I had to admit that sounded absurd.
“Um…” I mumbled.
“Same with your laugh. I say I like it, you take it as me sayin’ it’s too loud.”
He needed to quit talking.
“You need to quit talking,” I blurted and wished I could clap my hands over my mouth because I sounded like a fool.
I should have lied to him earlier. I should have kicked him in the shin and run away. I shouldn’t be in his SUV with him. I shouldn’t be anywhere near him.
“Yeah,” he muttered, “I bet you need that.”
My head jerked to face him. “What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he asked, “Why’d you stand me up on Sunday?”
Uh-oh.
“I didn’t stand you up.”
He glanced at me again and I felt his anger, which had dissipated, start to fill the cab again.
He looked back to the road and said, “Mara, we had plans. Pizza at seven thirty.”
I looked back to the road too and said, “I don’t really want to talk about this.”
“Yeah, I bet you need that too.”
I ignored what he said and told him, “I need to focus on what I’m going to do with Billy and Billie and what I’m going to say to Bill.”
“Yeah, I know, you need that too. You need to focus on anything other than what’s goin’ on with you.”
I fought back the urge to clamp my hands over my ears and chant “la la la” and decided to stay silent.
“Why’d you stand me up?” he repeated into the void.
“I didn’t. You said you were coming over but I didn’t agree.”
“You stood me up.”
“I didn’t.”
“Mara you did and you did it, essentially, twice.”
My head jerked to face him again and I snapped, “No, I didn’t!”
He shook his head and muttered, “Jesus, you got your head so far up your ass it’s a wonder you can breathe.”
“Pardon?” I hissed.
“You heard me.”
“Yes,” I bit out. “I did and what you said was not very nice.”
“No, baby, it wasn’t but it was the fuckin’ truth.”
Was I sitting in Detective Mitch Lawson’s SUV fighting with him? Two Point Fives didn’t fight with Ten Point Fives. It was against all the laws of the universe. How did this happen?
“I don’t have my head up my ass!” I snapped somewhat loudly.
“You live in a whole different world,” he retorted.
“Do not!”
“Oh yeah, sweetheart, you do.”
I crossed my arms on my chest, looked forward and announced, “Well I’m glad to know you can be a jerk. It’s easier to deal with a hot guy who’s a jerk than it is to deal with one who’s unnaturally nice.”
Of course I sounded like a fool but I didn’t care. I always sounded like a fool and anyway, he’d told me I had my head up my ass. What did I care that he thought I was a fool?
“Finally, I’m getting somewhere,” Mitch returned. “All I gotta do is be a dick to you, you let go and a little of that Mara Light shines through. What now, Mara? I keep bein’ a dick to you, you let me get my hands down your pants and the only way I can keep that privilege is continue to treat you like shit? Then eventually you’ll kick me to the curb and it’s a self-fulfilling prophesy that all men are dicks? Is that how it goes so you can retreat into that cocoon you’ve built around you and rest safe in the knowledge that you’re makin’ all the right moves?”
My head swung to face him again. I was breathing heavily because he was, indeed, being a dick and he’d intimated he wanted to get his hands down my pants, which was insane.
“Are you insane?” I asked with my voice pitched high.
“This is what I know. I’m nice to you, you’re scared as shit, you barely speak without ums and uhs and at one point you ran away from me, literally. I’m a dick; you got no problems communicating with me. Is that an insane conclusion?” he asked, shook his head at the windshield and answered his own question. “Fuck no.”
“Can you explain exactly why you were so all fired up to take me to Billy and Billie? Is it so you could be an asshole about not getting to taste my pizza?” I asked acidly and with very bad timing.
We’d come to stop at a red light which meant he could turn his full attention to me. This he did, with his arm draped on the steering wheel and his eyes locked to mine.
Then he said, “I hope I got a little window into Mara World and this gets through because it’s really fuckin’ important,” he growled, at least as angry as I was, maybe angrier. “I don’t want to taste your pizza, Mara. I don’t give that first fuck about your pizza. Clue the fuck in, sweetheart, before you wake up at eighty-five years old and wonder where your life has gone.”
I stared at him, or more like glared at him and shot back loudly, angrily and with a fair amount of exasperation, “Then why’d you make such a big freaking deal about the pizza?” I hesitated then finished on a near shout, “Twice?”
He glared back at me and his glare was pretty scary. Luckily I was so angry I didn’t care.
Then he closed his eyes, turned his head away and muttered, “Jesus Christ.”
I faced forward and informed him, “The light’s green.”
I heard him pull in a deep breath.
Then we were moving forward.
Chapter Four
Exactly the Kind of Friend I Intend to Be
Mitch had barely come to a halt in the parking space outside the door to the Stop ‘n’ Go before I had the door open and was jumping out.
This was because I wanted to get to the kids but it was also because I was freaked out and really, really pissed off.
It was late April nearly May. We were having a warm spell so I was in flip-flops, jeans (unfortunately the jeans that Bradon told me to wear last Saturday, which even I had to admit did great things for my ass) and a tee. My flip-flops were thin strap Haviannas and a nice, muted gold color and my tee was cream with a square neckline, cute, pleated ruffles as sleeves and it clung to my breasts and ribs fairly provocatively. Not exactly skintight but it stated its case. My hair was in a ponytail at the back of my head, that fat, stupid lock at the front had fallen out. I shoved it behind my ear as I yanked open the door.
Billie ran screaming straight at me before I cleared the door. I stopped and braced because I knew she wouldn’t stop.
She didn’t. She slammed into me with all her six year old, happy it’s a wonderful life no matter what exuberance and I started to go back on a foot. The thing was I didn’t and this was because Detective Mitch Lawson wasn’t only beautiful and a big, fat jerk who moved really well but he apparently moved really fast. He was right behind me so when Billie slammed into me, I slammed into Mitch.
One of my hands went to her head, one to her shoulder as I twisted my neck to glare at Mitch. He absorbed my glare and hurled back his own. His was more effective so I scrunched my face at him in an added effort to tell him nonverbally I thought he was a big, fat jerk. His eyes dropped to the vicinity of my nose and mouth and his glare instantly evaporated. He pressed his lips together in a weird way as his eyes lit with what appeared to be amusement.
Jerk!
“Auntie Mara!” Billie screamed and I looked down at her to see sh
e’d tipped her head back to look up at me. “I want burritos!” she was still screaming.
Whenever I saw them, I always took them out to a meal. This was because Bill filled the house with junk food (when he remembered to buy food at all) and forgot to make certain his children ate and never made certain they ate well. Therefore, Billie was conditioned that seeing Auntie Mara meant a full belly.
“All right, baby, let’s see what your brother wants,” I said softly to her. Then I felt Mitch’s hands at my hips and he was shuffling us in and to the side, the front of his body still in contact with mine at the back.
I noticed belatedly that a customer was wanting out the doors we were obstructing and I tried to sidestep for the customer and to get away from Mitch. I didn’t succeed in this because Mitch’s hands clenched my hips and he kept me right where I was. Plus I felt it was undignified to struggle even if we were only at the Stop ‘n’ Go.
He did move us out of the way and when he halted us, Billie had forgotten about her empty belly and, like any girl be she six or sixty, she noticed Mitch.
“Hi!” she chirped.
“Hey there,” Mitch’s voice rumbled in my ear, down my neck, all down my back and I had to fight the goose bumps rising on my skin. A fight I lost.
“I’m Billie,” she announced.
“Mitch,” he replied.
Her eyes came to me. “Is he your boyfriend?”
Oh God.
“No, he’s my neighbor,” I answered.
She was still latched onto me and since her arms were around my hips and Mitch’s hands were at my hips, her eyes had a direct line of sight to his hands, including his hips which were snug against me. She took this in then looked back up at me, her head tipped to the side in little girl confusion (and, honest to God, I felt her pain) and she smiled.
Now Billie’s smile was wonky and it was one hundred percent adorable. My Mom’s which meant Bill’s Mom’s side of the family had all the dominant characteristics. This meant Billie looked a lot like me. Except on Billie, it was cuter: long, thick, lush, shining dark brown hair, beautiful, wide cornflower blue eyes, flawless skin and long limbs. If you didn’t know, you’d think she was my child except she was going to be a knockout because she was already a mini-knockout.
“Auntie Mara,” I heard and I looked beyond Billie to see Billy.
Billy was a slightly older, male version of Billie and I figured Mitch probably looked like him as a kid. There was no mistaking it; Billy was going to be gorgeous when he grew up because he was already a mini-hot guy.
Bill, their father, could have been all of this. But a hard-living, hard-drinking, stupid-decision-making life meant he was tall, not built but reed thin. His skin was sallow, he had dark marks under his once shining blue eyes and his hair was too long, lank, lifeless and often dirty.
This hit me harder than normal when my mind took that moment to fast forward to the future and I didn’t like what I saw. I wanted these two beautiful kids to be able to be all they would be. Not just gorgeous but Billy to have the chance to use his brains, loyalty and sweetness to find a good life and Billie always to have a bit of that lively, innocent girl somewhere inside her.
It was definitely time to make a decision about what I was going to do with Bill but more, what I was going to do about his kids.
“Hey, buddy,” I greeted Billy. “You hungry?”
His eyes flicked to Mitch then back to me. He’d stopped throwing himself in my arms a while ago. He was too grown up for that now. I missed it. But he wasn’t usually this distant and I could see he didn’t know what to make of Mitch. Billie had adored Destry because Billie adored everybody. Billy not so much.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“You want burritos?” I asked, knowing he would say he did because he knew that was what his sister wanted. I’d never know what he actually wanted because he’d do what he could to give his sister everything her heart desired.
“Yeah, burritos sound good,” he replied then his eyes flicked up to Mitch again and back to me.
“This is my neighbor, Mitch,” I told Billy.
“Is he gay like Bray and Brent?” Billy asked and I heard and felt Mitch’s chuckle again.
“No,” I answered.
“Is there a reason he’s touching you?” Billy asked straight out and I noticed his nine year old face had gone nine year old boy hard and protective.
“Um…” I answered
“We’re not just neighbors, we’re friends,” Mitch put in.
“Goodie!” Billie cried and did a couple of jumps up and down, shaking me against Mitch. “I like all your friends!” she declared.
“That’s good, honey,” I said to her.
“Bray and Brent and Derek are your friends and they don’t touch you,” Billy, keeping his distance and his hard expression, pointed out.
“Well –” I started.
“I’m not that kind of friend,” Mitch said over me.
“What kind of friend are you?” Billy asked.
“A different kind of friend,” Mitch answered.
“What kind of different?” Billy shot back.
“A good kind of different,” Mitch replied.
What on earth was he talking about?
No, no, I didn’t care. Moving on.
“Let’s get food,” I butted in. “You ready for dinner?”
“Yes!” Billie shrieked, jumping up and down again which meant I moved against Mitch’s body again.
I didn’t know what it meant when his fingers tightened their grip at my hips. Did this mean he was holding me still or something else?
I decided against trying to figure that out. Mostly because I probably never would. Also because, suddenly, I was hungry too.
“All right, everyone out to Mitch’s truck,” I ordered.
Billie let me go and raced to Billy. She grabbed his hand and hauled him with fake, hilarious grunts to the doors all the while Billy dragged his feet and eyed Mitch who still hadn’t taken his hands off me.
They made it to the door and I was about to pull away to follow them when one of Mitch’s hands moved and I froze. I froze because it slid from my hip to my belly and pressed in just as I felt his lips at my ear.
And it was there he whispered, “You jump outta my truck again before I’ve come to a complete halt, swear to God, baby, I’ll turn you over my knee. You with me?”
My chest was rising and falling swiftly. I’d lost the ability to see, everything went blurry and I’d also lost the ability to think.
His fingers at my hip gave me a squeeze at the same time his hand at my belly pressed in again and he prompted, still whispering, “Mara, you with me?”
I nodded.
I got another squeeze and belly press then I kid you not, I felt his lips against the skin of my neck where he murmured, “Good.”
His hands dropped away. My body realized it had its opportunity and it started to take flight. I got one step away before I was hooked with a strong arm, turned before I was hips to hips with Mitch again, this time full-frontal. His arm locked around my waist while his other hand lifted to curl around the side of my neck.
“Now a couple more things we’re gonna get straight,” he said quietly.
Oh God. He was close. He looked serious and he was talking quietly but he was also talking in that bossy voice that was very firm. All of this equaled trouble for me, I just knew it.
I was not wrong.
“Mitch, the kids –” I breathed.
“First, we’re goin’ to Lola’s and giving them a good meal.”
I blinked at him.
Lola’s?
Lola’s?
Lola’s was awesome and had absolutely fantastic food but it was also not what the kids were used to. It wasn’t fancy but it wasn’t Taco Bell either and it wasn’t exactly inexpensive. I hadn’t actually asked Mitch to accompany me but since he did, I thought we’d pop to the nearest fast food joint, go through a drive thru and get the kids home. After, I
would do whatever it was I was going to have to do at Bill’s then get home and away from Mitch.
Lola’s meant sitting down. Lola’s meant time. Time spent with Mitch and time Mitch spent with me and the kids.
What man wanted that? Kids he didn’t know and a woman who he thought had her head up her ass.
Maybe he was insane.
“But –” I started and Mitch talked over me.
“I’m payin’ and if you even open your mouth to argue with me, I’m gonna be forced to find a way to stop you speaking and the way I’ll pick means Billy’s gonna get an eyeful of exactly the kind of friend I intend to be.”
My mouth dropped open and I felt my eyes get wide.
“We straight?” he asked.
No. No, we were not. We definitely were not. We absolutely were not straight.
“Um…” I mumbled.
“Yes or no, sweetheart,” he prompted.
“Uh…” I muttered.
He grinned and I swallowed. Then my throat closed when his face dipped closer to mine.
“Um and uh aren’t options, baby,” he told me softly.
“Mitch –”
His grin built to a smile, I clamped my mouth shut and he declared, “We’re straight.”
Then he grabbed my hand, hauled me to the doors the kids were standing at, both of them staring at us with polar opposite expressions on their faces (Billie happy, Billy not at all happy). He led the three of us to the SUV. I opened the door for Billy to climb in. Mitch opened the door and hefted Billie into her seat, something which made her giggle but then a lot made Billie giggle. I got in the passenger side while Mitch folded in behind the wheel.
“We all buckled in?” Mitch asked into the cab.
“Yes!” Billie shrieked.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Bray, Brent and Derek don’t touch Auntie Mara in any of the ways you touch her,” Billy stated on a clear accusation instead of answering Mitch’s question.
“No, they don’t,” Mitch agreed. “You buckled in?”
There was no response until I twisted in my seat to look at him. He glared at me.