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.
Chapter Fourteen
Everything about Me
The next night I sat beside Mickey in his truck, nearly paralytic with agonizing.
First, because this was happening. I was in Mickey’s truck and he was taking me to a restaurant for a date.
In all that had already happened, this was our beginning.
But there were no kids, no house sale and we weren’t fighting.
What if we had nothing to say?
God, what if he didn’t find me interesting?
It was funny (not in a ha ha way, in a terrifying way) as well as very telling that I hadn’t cared one bit about whether Boston or Bradley had found me interesting.
But I needed Mickey to find me interesting.
And I was terrified he wouldn’t.
Second, in a frenzy that was the beginning of my agonizing, nearly upon waking I’d gone through all my new clothes and found I didn’t have a single thing to wear for our date.
So I’d gone out shopping.
In store seven at the mall, I decided on a caftan dress that I thought was stunning. It looked made of scarves with a nearly Pucci print in robin’s egg blue and lavender. It had a straight hem that cut at my knees, had a tight waistline under my breasts and full three-quarter sleeves. Most importantly, through a deep V that went to the waistline, it had cleavage. I’d paired this with t-strap, light taupe suede sandals that had a high, thin, stacked wedge—four inches, no platform.
Very sexy.
I bought this because it was clear Mickey liked the dress I wore on my date with Bradley.
But the Lobster Market was not The Eaves. I’d been there for lunch with Ruth and Dela. A little black dress was not appropriate. I needed something more casual but I also needed it to say I felt this date was a special occasion because I didn’t want Mickey to think he wasn’t getting the best of me.
The good news was when he’d showed at my door his eyes had dropped to my cleavage and I saw them flare.
But then he’d just grabbed my hand and tugged me out of my house, waiting only briefly for me to lock the door before he quickly guided me to his truck that he’d driven across the street and parked in my drive so I didn’t have to walk all the way to his place.
Which was sweet.
But he didn’t say anything about the dress.
And last, I was agonizing because we were on our first date, but with all that had happened—fights, barbeques, Frisbee playing, family dinners—it felt more like a fourth or fifth date.