Wreck You

 

I walked toward the security door at Dove House, hand in my purse, looking for my phone.

“Amelia.”

I looked left and saw Mr. Dennison in an armchair, hand up, finger crooked to me.

I pinned a smile on my face and headed his way.

“Need something?” I asked.

“Closer,” he answered when I stopped at his side.

I crouched so he could look down and I was looking up, something he couldn’t do often considering he was stooped and further, had to walk with a Zimmer frame.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He studied me with his fading blue eyes.

“Mr. Dennison,” I called. “Can I get you something?”

Finally, he focused on me. “You ever need to talk, love, my ears are old, but they can still hear.”

Well, that answered that. I was not hiding the fact that I was still bleeding from that scene with Mickey last night even if I’d finally pulled myself together enough to call Robin back, tell her all about it through silent crying hiccups and listen to her ranting about how men were all jerks and I was better off knowing sooner rather than later, like I’d learned with Conrad.

She was not wrong.

But somehow, what happened with Mickey hurt more than Conrad’s betrayal, even when recent news could make it fresh.

I had no idea how this could be. Except for a shining twenty-four hours that held the promise of him, he and I never were.

It still destroyed me.

But this time, older, wiser, maybe stronger, but definitely tired of this crap, I thought I was letting it do it quietly.

Mr. Dennison didn’t agree.

I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Maybe we’ll have a gab over a cup of tea when I’m back.”

“You bring some bourbon, you’re on,” he told me.

I didn’t need to bring bourbon. He had a stash his son augmented every week when he came to visit.

I smiled at him and gave his hand another squeeze. “See you later, honey.”

He squeezed me back. “Later, love.”

I walked to the security door, punched in the code, pushed on the bar, walked through but stopped in the vacant reception area to pull out my phone.

I activated it and scrolled through the notifications.

Bad news: another call from Boston Stone.

Good news: my attorney in California had called me back.

Unbelievably great news: Pippa had texted me.

Flowers are pretty. Thanks.

I was grinning like a fool (inside, outside, after the Mickey thing, I still couldn’t do it), as I poked at the screen and sent a text back to my daughter.

Glad you got them. Chin up, kiddo. Hope you know how much your mother loves you.

I sent that, poked the screen again and put the phone to my ear. I listened to it ring, got his secretary, and considering my last name, she put me right through to my attorney.

Only then did I again start walking.

“I got the message, Amelia,” Preston Middleton said in my ear. “Are you sure about this information?”

I pushed through the front door. “Not really but I’m sure enough I’d like to invest in being absolutely certain.”

I walked down the sidewalk to my car, eyes to my feet, as Preston replied, “I can set a private investigator on it.”

“Consider this the go-ahead to do that,” I told him, looking up.

My step faltered when I saw Mickey in his hot guy dusty construction outfit leaning against my driver’s side door.

Really?

What now?

What could he possibly have left to use to destroy me?

I kept my gaze on him as I made my way right to him and stopped just off the curb by my bumper.

“Is there something you’re thinking in having this information?” Preston asked in my ear.

“I want my children back,” I answered, gaze to Mickey, seeing his eyes in his impassive face flare at my words.

“Full custody?” Preston was sounding enthusiastic and I envisioned him rubbing his hands together and not only because of the billable hours but because he liked to get his teeth into a good fight.

“I’ll not be greedy,” I replied. “Every other week. My children love their father and I don’t want them to lose something they love. I need some time to see where the kids are, but when I’m ready, this time I don’t intend to lose. And I don’t care how much it costs. I want every woman he had sex with while he was married to me contacted, deposed and ready to testify should Conrad push this to ugly.”

Mickey’s body slightly straightened at my “had sex with” but mostly he stayed leaned against my car, his gaze on me.

“I’ll talk to my investigator,” Preston said.

“Thank you,” I replied.

“You’re doing well?” he asked.

“I am, but I’m also on my way somewhere. I don’t want to be rude but I need to go.”

“Of course, I’ll call you with updates, Amelia.”

“Thank you, Preston.”

We disconnected and instantly I asked Mickey, “Can you step away from my car?”

“You’re fightin’ for your kids?” he asked back.

That was none of his business.

But after what he did to me last night, he thought he could ask?

I’d answer.

“My best friend in Cali just found out that my husband didn’t only fuck, and then fall in love with, and then put an engagement ring on the finger of a nurse in his hospital in San Diego, this all while still married to me,” I shared. “He fucked his way through his hospital in Boston, the one in Lexington, perhaps the one in San Diego too, and he’d had at least one sexual harassment claim against him. As this is new information and I’m tired of not seeing my children, should he not agree to a more equitable custody schedule, I’m afraid I’m going to have to fight dirty.”

“That’s not dirty, Amy, he’s dirty,” Mickey said quietly.

“Thank you for your opinion,” I returned tartly. “Now will you step away from my car?”

He straightened from it and turned to me.

But he didn’t step away.

“We gotta talk,” he told me, his voice gentle, his eyes not leaving me.

“No, you see, you’re wrong about that,” I replied. “We’ve done that and I’ve found it isn’t much fun for me.”

“I was outta line last night,” he stated.

“You were,” I agreed. “Is that your apology?”

“Yeah, Amy, that’s my apology.” His voice was still gentle.

It sounded amazing.

It didn’t work on me because just standing there looking at him, I was still bleeding.

“Apology accepted. Now will you step away from my car?”

He shook his head not taking his eyes from me. “I’m here askin’ you to give me a shot at explaining that fucked up shit I spewed last night.”

“I’m not an imbecile, Mickey,” I informed him instantly. “You explained it pretty clearly last night. You had a wife who you loved who did something you couldn’t control. It was a betrayal against you and your kids, as sure as if she’d gone out and slept with an entire army. Being a man’s man, a protective man, possibly a good man, it hurt you that you couldn’t give her what she needed. I suspect you could handle that, but she hurt your kids and keeps doing it. You’re now forced to tolerate that, even as it’s intolerable. And being a man’s man, you’re not about to put yourself or your kids in the same position with another woman. Do I have that right?”

“That about sums it up,” he confirmed.

“I do believe we decided that was where we stood last night so I have to admit to some confusion about why you’re here today,” I remarked.

“Because I fucked up last night,” he returned.

“You’re right. You did. And it’s done. I still don’t understand why we aren’t moving on…separately.”

He made as if to move to me but stopped when he saw my body lock.

His expression went as gentle as his voice, and with that look on his features, that was a sight to see.

It also didn’t work on me.

“I’d like a chance to fix it, baby,” he said softly.

“No,” I returned firmly. “You see, in three months, you’ve made me feel unattractive, undesirable, unwanted, unneeded and it took two decades for Conrad to make me feel all that.” I fought past his flinch, a flinch even as much as he hurt me I felt right to the heart of me, and concluded, “I’m not yearning for more, Mickey. So why don’t we just let what never was really anything be just that.”

“That’s not going to happen,” he declared.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I can’t do that,” he answered.

“Why?” I snapped.

“Because we both want more.”

“We did,” I confirmed. “Now I don’t.”

“We got something, Amy,” he returned.

“Wrong,” I retorted. “We might have but then we didn’t.”

His jaw got hard as his patience started waning. “You know that’s bullshit. There’s something here. Something strong. Something I tried to fight but couldn’t. Something that draws us to each other. Something we’re both old enough and smart enough not to ignore. And there’s something you don’t even know that makes it more.”

Twenty-four hours ago I would have loved knowing he thought that.

Right then, I wouldn’t allow myself to.

“This might have been true but it no longer is, Mickey,” I replied. “And since you aren’t catching my hint, I’ll say it straight. I don’t wish to discuss any further what we might have had when in future we won’t be having anything.”

“You’re not the only one with a legacy, Amy,” he shot at me, patience definitely waning. “That fishing company my brothers run is Maine Fresh Maritime. The fillets and fish sticks you can find in the green, white and orange box in your local grocer’s freezer.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Yeah,” he grunted. “That’s why my dad could drop a shit ton on selling his house to me because that was part…part of my inheritance. I coulda been a part of that but I didn’t want a desk job. I wanted to fight fires. I wanted to stay in Magdalene. I wanted nothin’ but that and eventually a wife and kids sittin’ around a dinner table. I tried to work the boats, take my stake of that legacy in a way that worked for me. Found bein’ on a boat for weeks cut into my time chasin’ skirt while also lookin’ for a wife. So I quit and volunteered doin’ what I love to do and found a way to have a life, and when the time came, take care of my family.” His eyes moved to the nursing home then back to me, doing this to hammer his point home but he also did it verbally. “You get that, Amy?”

This heretofore unknown parallel of our lives was shocking.

And enthralling.

I obviously didn’t share I thought that with Mickey, but he didn’t give me a chance to because he wasn’t finished speaking.

“I could go to Bar Harbor and walk into Frank’s office, ask for a job, get it and make ten times more than I do right now just for bein’ his brother. That’s my choice not to do that. That’s my choice not to give my kids what they could get outta that. You made another choice that’s different, but it’s yours. Though, don’t think I know a single soul who might come close to getting me and my choices, except you.”

“This is true, Mickey, I get you. But that doesn’t mean one thing. That’s impressive. Maine Fresh Maritime, very impressive. But I have three trust funds that I’m not turning my back on because I like the way I live and I’m not going to be made to feel less because I do or be judged because I do or feel pressured to be anything but what I am.”

“That’s not my point, Amy.”

“I’m not sure I care to understand your point, Mickey.”

“Tough, ’cause you’re going to.”

I rolled my eyes to the heavens and asked the clouds, “Why is that not surprising?”

“Babe, my point is, you got that, you live the way you want, and still you got it right about the only thing you need to be happy. And it isn’t those trust funds.”

I rolled my eyes back to him and narrowed them. “Don’t you dare use my killshot of last night against me, Mickey Donovan,” I spat.

Clearly coming to the end of his patience, he leaned toward me and bit back, “I’m usin’ it to point out, last night your aim was true.”

I threw out my hands and looked back to the heavens, crying, “Well hallelujah! I can die happy.”

My gaze shot back to him when he asked irritably, “Why is it when you’re a smartass I wanna fuck you more than I normally wanna fuck you?”

“You wanna fuck me?” I asked back, injecting these words with deep disbelief. “Shocker considering I’m…” I paused and leaned into him, “Attractive.”

His brows snapped together. “Wouldn’t wanna fuck a woman who wasn’t, Amy.”

I glared at him. “Fascinating, since you didn’t want me until I got highlights.”

His brows stayed knit and his eyes got dark. “You got what?”

“Highlights,” I snapped, jerking a pointed finger to my hair.

He looked to my hair and muttered, “Fuck, thought something was different.”

I blinked.

He looked back to me. “Looks nice. Definitely like the bangs.”

I blinked again.

Then I took a step his way, got up on my toes and accused, “Do not stand there and tell me you didn’t notice my highlights or my new clothes.”

He looked down his nose at me. “Noticed the haircut, babe, like I said, it looks nice. Definitely noticed the clothes but didn’t think they were new. Thought the old shit was shit you were usin’ because you hadn’t unpacked all your stuff yet ’cause when you did, it was more you.”

“So you’re saying this newfound attraction to me isn’t about my highlights and clothes,” I scoffed.

“Babe, don’t hand me that crap,” he growled. “You’re old enough to know you got it. And you’re also old enough to know a man does not get in the face of another man and then offer to help around the house unless he’s into the woman he’s offerin’ that shit to.”

My heart jumped, my teeth clenched and Lawr was proved correct.

However, I could not let this get to me.

Instead, I found it was time to share something with him.

“I am aware that your preferences run to tall redheads with big breasts.”

Surprise washed over his features as he asked, “What?”

“I saw you,” I spat. “With that beautiful redhead at the movies.”

That was when his features turned smug.

I felt pressure build in my chest, throat, but especially in my head. “You like that I saw you?”

“May not say much for me, Amy, but after watchin’ you make a date with Stone right in front of me and make out with that douche, yeah. I like it that I gave you a little of that torture you handed me, seein’ me with Bridget.”

That torture you handed me.

That hurt him.

God, he was into me.

I couldn’t let that get to me and leaned deeper into him in order to remind him, “I kissed you and you pulled away.”

He bent his neck to get in my face and called sarcastically, “Hello, Amy. First, fightin’ your pull because I didn’t need to be fuckin’ the woman across the street, and if that shit went south, puttin’ myself in an awkward situation when I got my kids every other week…or puttin’ myself in that situation at all. Second, fightin’ your pull because you’re you and you’re loaded and I had my head up my ass about protectin’ me and my family. But last, not gonna fuck some cute brunette with great tits on my couch while my kids are in their beds.”

“I’m not cute,” I snapped waspishly.

“No, you’re not, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous. But when you wake up on my couch after playin’ Frisbee with my kids, you’re cute.”

I rocked back, staring up at him, lips parted, liking too much the way all of that made me feel.

“Now, are we done givin’ the residents their afternoon entertainment and you’re gonna let me take you out and make it up to you or are we gonna go a few more rounds?” he asked.

When he did, in horror, I turned to look over my shoulder to see all the windows had been opened and the seniors had their faces in them. Mrs. McMurphy even had a cheek pressed to one of the bars.

It was then I realized that quite some time early in our conversation, both our voices had started rising.

Mortification seeped through me.

I slowly looked back when Mickey kept on and he didn’t do it quietly.

“I’ll warn you, might make me crazy, might make me a dick, don’t give a shit, but I get off on goin’ head to head with you. So if you feel like keepin’ your gloves up, baby, bring it. ’Cause I know after doin’ it for a while and then gettin’ that kiss from you, you keep doin’ it, when I finally fuck you it’s gonna,” he leaned deep into me, “wreck you.”

I stared into his eyes and that got to me.

I wanted to be wrecked.

I wanted to be wrecked by Mickey.

Needed it.

Thankfully, I didn’t say that because my lips wouldn’t move.

“Michael Patrick Donovan, I’ll be sharing your liberal use of profanities with your mother and Father Riley!” a female I was pretty sure was Mrs. Osborn, who wandered the home with her rosary beads daily, shouted.

Mickey ignored that and I watched his eyes change in a way that made me wish I could fall into them and swim in that blue forever.

“Have dinner with me,” he whispered.

Oh God, I wanted that too.

I felt his hand curl around the side of my neck and the feel of his strength, his heat through that simple touch made me want it more.

“Amy,” he prompted.

“I need to think,” I whispered and watched his eyes flash and they did this with victory.

It was fabulous.

Then his hand on me tightened and he murmured, “I’ll give you what you need.”

I didn’t lie. I needed to think.

I also needed to call Robin and discuss.

Thoroughly.

And, possibly, Lawrie.

Mickey lifted up and kissed my forehead in a way that was unbearably sweet.

Then he let me go and I felt bereft in a way that was intensely troubling.

In a haze caused by Mickey, I felt him move beyond me and whirled quickly.

“Mickey,” I called.

He turned to me.

I looked at his beauty and swallowed.

Then I said softly, for only him and no audience to hear, “If I decide to give this a shot, before I share that with you, you need to think too. You have to have your head straight. I know you’re still dealing with Rhiannon’s issues and I hate that for you and the kids. But they’re hers, not mine. And if you do anything like you did to me last night ever again, I’m sorry, it might not be fair, but I have to tell you, there won’t be any more second chances.”

“Don’t have to think,” he returned instantly and also quietly, only for me. “If you give me that shot, I don’t know what’s gonna happen. If this goes somewhere, we both gotta know that won’t always be smooth. That happens, that’ll be ours. But what I handed you last night that you didn’t do shit to deserve, swear to Christ, Amy, I won’t need any second chances.”

Swear to Christ, Amy, I won’t need any second chances.

That’ll be ours.

Ours.

That sounded amazing.

“Yeah?” he called when I drifted away.

I focused on him. “Okay, Mickey.”

“Hope you make the right choice, baby,” he whispered right before he walked away.

I hoped I did to.

“Do you need to come in for a shot of bourbon?” Mr. Dennison called.

My body jolted and I looked to the windows.

“No, Mr. Dennison, thanks!” I called back.

“Is it only me who sees Nazis conspiring in the parking lot?” Mrs. McMurphy asked tetchily.

I loved that woman.

No matter what I was feeling, like right then I was feeling a lot, and even if she had no intention of doing it…

She always had me smiling.

* * * * *

“Oh my God, I want your life,” Robin declared.

It was early that evening, we were on the phone, and I’d told her everything.

“Not sure it’s as fun living it,” I mumbled.

“I haven’t had sex since my personal trainer moved to Vegas,” she retorted.

“Eek.”

Yes, I made that noise out loud.

“You understand me,” she mumbled.

I did.

Then again, I hadn’t had sex since the night before Conrad told me he was leaving me, and I’d obviously not had sex with anyone other than Conrad for two decades.

Something else to fret about for I had a feeling Mickey hadn’t abstained since he kicked his wife out.

Maybe sex was like riding a bike.

God, I hoped so.

I curled my legs deeper under me in my sectional and asked, “So what should I do?”

“Honestly?” she asked back.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I told her.

“Okay, then honestly, if we never again took a chance on love, then our ex-asses would win. They’d beat us. Completely.”

I drew breath sharply into my nose.

I’d recently realized I’d been beaten, and often, and not only allowed that to happen but had given away my power in order for it to happen.

And I’d also recently made the determination that had to stop.

“So,” she continued, “if this doesn’t work, it doesn’t. If you have a spell where you go to your nursing home and decorate your house and go to movies by yourself, you do. If you find another guy, you try. But it would suck if we let those assholes beat us. It would suck if we let normal shit a lot of women endure and then bounce back from take us down for the count. So we shouldn’t. You should ride this out. Be smart. But see where it will take you. And hopefully at the very least it will take you to out of the zone of self-induced orgasms and into a new zone that feels a whole lot nicer.”

Her words were wise.

I just wondered if she heard them as she said them.

“Robin—” I started.

“Lawr isn’t the only one waking up while watching you go through the tough stuff,” she said quietly.

My heart settled.

Wouldn’t it be great if my brother and best friend were happy?

Wouldn’t it be even better if they found happy together?

It was too good to believe.

But I hoped for it all the same.

“Anyway, my ex-ass’s wife is a lesbian and he’s soon going to be paying double alimony, so if that’s not a shot in the pants, nothing is,” she added.

I burst out laughing.

She laughed with me.

My doorbell rang at the same time there came a pounding.

I twisted to it, heart starting to hammer, thinking I’d see Mickey in the frame and that was definitely early indication he was angry about something.

But I didn’t see Mickey.

I saw two bodies, both appeared female.

I had a feeling the afternoon nursing home entertainment had made the rounds.

“I think my friends Josie and Alyssa are here,” I said as the pounding kept coming and I folded out of my couch.

“Old folks talking,” she muttered.

“My guess…yes,” I confirmed.

“I’ll let you go, but sweetie?”

“Yeah?” I asked, ascending the living room steps.

“Go for it. Don’t let him shit on you. But take a chance on being happy.”

I smiled at my phone as I lifted my hand to the lock. “Thanks, sweets.”

“Later, darling.”

“’Bye, honey.”

We disconnected and I opened the door.

The instant I did, Alyssa sniped, “Seriously? Mickey? And you didn’t say anything?”

She pushed in and did it carrying what appeared to be a chilled bottle of vodka.

I turned to Josie to see her waving toward the driveway. I looked beyond her to see Jake pulling out of my drive in his truck.

“Apparently, we’re getting drunk,” Josie said under her breath when she turned to me. “Jake’s designated driver but he’s not staying for the inebriation part.”

As I moved out of her way, I thought that was a good choice, considering his company all had vaginas, he did not and the topic of conversation was undoubtedly going to be his friend who also didn’t.

She came in and I closed the door, observing, “Small town, fast talk.”

“You got that right, sister!” Alyssa yelled from the kitchen. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell us!”

“I didn’t want to be talking to you two about Mickey behind his back. You guys are friends with him,” I told them.

“So?” Alyssa returned. “I’m friends with a lot of people and that doesn’t stop me from talking, and listening, behind their backs. I’m a hairdresser, for God’s sake, if these lips are loose,” she pointed to her mouth, “clients find another maven with the mojo to beautify.”

“I also wouldn’t talk,” Josie said, slipping onto one of my stools. “But I do appreciate you not sharing. For Mickey’s sake. I wouldn’t say anything to anyone else but, of course, I’d need to share with my husband and that would be awkward.”

“I share with my husband too, but he’s long since learned to tune that shit out when I’m yapping at him. This happened when I told him Carver Hoover had a penis ring. I start yammering,” she waved a hand over her face, “Junior’s gone.”

I looked to the vodka her other hand was curled around then to her.

“I don’t have mixers,” I shared, if only to get us off the subject of penis rings.

“Who needs mixers when we’re doin’ shots?” she asked.

I looked to Josie.

Josie’s eyes twinkled and she shrugged.

Alyssa started slamming through my cupboards, “Please tell me in all the buying sprees you went on, you bought shot glasses.”

“I didn’t,” I admitted.

“Whatevs,” she mumbled, pulled down some juice glasses and started pouring.

“So, apparently, there’s a decision to be made.”

This was surprisingly a prompt from Josie.

I looked to her. “It’s a long story, but we’ll just say, things with Mickey and me have been rocky.”

She nodded.

“We’ll get to the long story later. Decision now,” Alyssa demanded, scooting glasses across the counter to us. “Have you made one?”

I took my glass and stared at it.

Then I lifted it and shot it.

I let the chill glide through me and looked to my friends.

“I’m terrified, and I’m terrified because I think I’m pretty much half in love with him already, so if I didn’t at least take a chance, I’d never forgive myself,” I announced.

“Right on!” Alyssa screeched to the ceiling then immediately did her shot.

Josie’s eyes twinkled again as she lifted her glass and sipped.

When she was done, she said quietly, “He’s a very good man.”

I licked my lips and pressed them together.

“The best,” Alyssa concurred.

I started rolling my lips.

“If things work, I believe he’ll make you very happy, Amelia,” Josie added.

I stopped rolling my lips and clenched my teeth.

“You’re scared,” Alyssa noted.

I looked to her. “Like I said, terrified.”

“No,” she replied gently. “Scared of it working.”

“I—”

“And then collapsing,” she finished.

I swallowed and nodded.

She poured more vodka in our glasses then lifted hers.

I took that cue and lifted mine.

Josie did the same.

“There is nothing guaranteed in life. But the only leaps really worth taking are leaps of faith on love. So look where you leap, beautiful, and happy landing,” Alyssa toasted.

I smiled and raised my glass a smidge. They did too.

Then we all shot them back (even Josie).

Alyssa crashed hers to the bar and demanded loudly, “Now! The long story!”

I slid onto a stool and, on command, shared a long, hopeful story with my new friends.

* * * * *

I sat in my nightie on my bed, knees to my chest, one arm around my calves, phone in my other hand.

It was late. I was tipsy. Josie and Alyssa were gone.

And I thought it was time to call Mickey.

My mother would disagree since it was well past nine. In fact it was well past eleven.

But if I were him, I wouldn’t want to have to go to sleep not knowing.

Maybe he didn’t care that much.

But it seemed he did.

So he should know.

I activated my phone and slid my thumb over the screen. When I found his contact, I hit go.

I put the phone to my ear.

It rang once and then I got sweet and low, “Hey, Amy.”

“Hey,” I replied.

“Your posse hit the road?” he asked.

“Were your ears burning?” I asked back.

“Can take it,” he muttered.

I drew in breath.

“Mickey,” I called.

“I’m here,” he replied.

“I like you,” I whispered.

“Fuck.” It sounded pained.

“Mickey?” I called again, more urgently.

“Here, Amy, and I’m glad, baby, ’cause I hope you get I like you too.”

“So maybe we should go to dinner?” I suggested.

There was no pain in his voice but a smile when he replied, “Yeah, maybe we should.”

“Okay,” I said quietly.

“Okay,” he returned. “You goin’ to bed?”

“I’m in bed.”

There was a pause before he said, “Let you go then, Amy.”

“Okay, Mickey.”

“Later, babe.”

Something about this ending wasn’t right. It was abrupt, not soft and sweet and gentle like it had started.

I felt funny about it but I replied, “Later.”

He hung up.

I took the phone from my ear and stared at it.

God, I hoped he wasn’t one of those thrill of the chase men who caught their prey and lost interest in it.

But I couldn’t jump to conclusions. He had kids. They were still with him. School didn’t start until next week so they could still be up and something could have happened to take Mickey’s attention.

I put my phone to my nightstand, got under the covers, turned out the light and pulled the covers up to my shoulder, snuggling in.

I was wide awake.

And I was thinking I’d agreed to have dinner with Mickey but then he’d ended the call before we’d even made plans.

“Oh God,” I breathed.

My doorbell rang.

My head shot off the pillow as a shiver stole over my skin.

The doorbell rang again.

My hand threw back the covers as my feet threw themselves over the side of the bed.

I hit the floor and started running. Running in my little navy satin nightie with its plum lace (an Alyssa choice, no skank, all class, very sexy) right to the front door.

The motion sensor light was activated.

Mickey was shadowed through the glass.

I unlocked it, threw it open and looked up just in time to find myself in the strong arms of Mickey Donovan, his mouth on mine, and he was kissing me.

I let him, pressed close to his heat, held on tight and kissed him back.

We made out, wet and sweet and hard and wild, on my landing in the open front door and we did it for a really long time.

I loved every fucking second.

Arm tight around the small of my back, me up on tiptoes, Mickey mostly supporting my weight, his other hand in my hair, my arms wound around his shoulders, Mickey ended it.

Slowly, my lips bruised and tingling—lots of things tingling—my eyes drifted open.

“Lobster Market tomorrow night at seven?” he asked, his voice thick, his eyes through the shadows I could actually feel were heated.

I felt a giggle of pure joy bubble inside of me, forced it down to a smile and breathed, “Works for me.”

“No kids,” he said. “Just you and me.”

I nodded, holding on just as he kept holding me. “Just you and me.”

He dipped so close that his nose brushed mine. “You made the right choice, Amy.”

Current evidence was strongly suggesting I did.

“Not certain there was another choice, Mickey,” I admitted and he grinned.

I had it back.

I loved that too.

He bent to put my feet on the floor and started to let me go. I figured it would be a little clingy at this juncture to hold on tight, so I let him.

With one arm still around me, he lifted his other hand and brushed my bangs out of my eyes.

“See you tomorrow, baby.”

He would.

And I’d see him.

I was standing in his arm and still…

I couldn’t wait.

“You will,” I confirmed.

He grinned again, bent and kissed my nose this time and then let me go.

“Don’t be polite, wanna hear the locks click behind me,” he ordered.

God.

Mickey.

“All right.”

I went to the door and held the edge as he walked out.

I started to close it when he turned and called, “Amy?”

“Yeah?”

That was when I got a grin and a look in his eyes I’d never seen.

A grin and a look that foretold what he had said earlier.

When he had me, and he was going to have me, he was going to wreck me.

Then he said, “Nice nightie.”

I held on to the edge of the door tight so my legs wouldn’t fail me.

Mickey turned and walked away.

I forced myself to close the door and lock it without chasing him, or alternate scenario, melting in a puddle.

On shaking legs, I walked back to my bed.

I got in it knowing I’d never fall asleep.

I slept like a baby.