“We’d moved into our apartment but she wanted another one, bigger, more exclusive in a development with a pool. I couldn’t afford it but I loved her, so the minute the lease ran out, I moved her into her new apartment. Two months later, she found a house she wanted to buy and it kept goin’ from there. She never hid it from me, I just wanted to think eventually she’d have what she needed or she’d be happy with what she had or, at least, she’d be happy just to have me. She never was.”
I placed my hand on his chest thinking Audrey Haines was all kinds of fool, his arm gave me a squeeze and he went on talking.
“I should have ended it before we got down to kids but, if I did,” he shrugged, “I wouldn’t have my kids.”
“Worth it then,” I murmured.
“Definitely,” he smiled.
Layla, done with giving her hint that camping out on the bed meant we should join her there, came out and started to head butt our legs.
“I should start cooking,” Mike said, letting me go to pet his dog who, remembering he existed, appeared in throes of ecstasy to have his big, strong hand scratching behind her ears.
“Can I help?” I asked and he stayed bent to Layla but twisted his torso to look up at me.
“You always cook for your girls?”
“Mostly, yeah.”
“Then no.”
There it went, the belly flutter again.
“You always cook when your kids are here?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll help.”
He gave Layla a playful push and came to me, his hand curling at my neck, pulling my upper body close to his as his neck bent so his face could get close to mine.
When he was close, he whispered, “I like you, Violet.”
“I like you too, Mike,” I whispered back.
He grinned, touched his forehead to mine a second then touched his lips to mine a second then he said, “Let’s go cook.”
* * * * *
Being a good Dad, Mike knew how to cook. The au gratin potatoes were already cooking in the oven and he made London broil and green beans and he had fresh bakery rolls to go with.
We ate at his kitchen table with Layla lying mostly on Mike’s feet then we did the dishes together. After the dishes, Mike made ice cream sundaes with lashings of caramel and chocolate syrup on gourmet vanilla bean ice cream, whipped cream on top, sprinkled with pralines. I took note of this since they were simple but absolutely delicious. My girls would love them.
We ate these on the couch with Layla sitting by my side, her head on the seat by me, staring at me while blinking, telling me she needed ice cream or she’d die.
Mike noticed and called her off. She gave in with an irritable groan and lay down by my feet.
Conversation through dinner and dessert wasn’t heavy, we didn’t share life stories and I didn’t tear up again. We talked (mostly about our kids), we laughed (mostly about our kids) and he proved again he was easygoing and easy to be around.
Then he took my bowl, ordering me to fill up our wine glasses and he left the room. I did as he ordered and was taking a sip when he got back. He sat down beside me, took my glass out of my hand, set it on the coffee table, put his hands to my pits, dragged my ass across his lap and over then I was on my back and he was on top of me.
Then we were making out on his couch.
I wasn’t certain how I managed to get myself into these situations, f**king Joe on his couch that morning, making out with Mike on his that evening. But I was certain I wasn’t doing a lot to avoid them. I figured, partially, it was because both, in their own way, were pretty freaking magnificent. The other part was that I liked being with both men. I liked it in entirely different ways, but I still liked it.
His mouth moved from mine and his face disappeared into my neck. I felt his tongue trail from the back of my ear down the line of my neck where he stopped and while I shivered, he asked, “Where’re your girls tonight?”
“At home, hopefully not throwing a wild party with boys and kegs.”
His head came up and he was grinning when he looked at me. “That something they would do?”
“Kate, no, Keira, yes, once she figures out kegs exist. Kate would be running through the house trying to get people out or cleaning up and fretting the whole time that someone would break a glass or knock over the TV. Keira would be in the kitchen, not a care in the world, shot gunning beers.”
He was still grinning when he asked, “Yeah?”
I grinned back and shook my head. “No, they’re both good kids. They’re probably watching a movie while Kate texts Dane, who’s out with his friends tonight, and Keira texts everyone in three counties. But I know Keira, there’ll come a day when my house will look like the day after in a 80’s Brat Pack movie.”
“Weird Science,” he said on a smile.
“Sixteen Candles,” I one-upped him.
“You need to get home?” he asked and I looked at the clock on his shelves.
It was eight thirty. I didn’t need to get home and, even though it made me a terrible person, being on the couch with Mike who I liked too much in a way that was so confusing I couldn’t unravel it in a million years, I wanted to be home late, just in case Joe was watching for me.
“No,” I replied when I looked back at him.
“Good,” he muttered and his head came back down.
We made out more and it got heavy, mainly because we both liked it, but the progression was slow, natural, strangely like we’d fooled around on his couch hundreds of times before and when we did it, we always knew we had all the time in the world. This was a change from Joe, a nice one but one that reminded me of Tim, who also took his time, and I’d liked that too.
Eventually Mike’s hand curled around my breast and his thumb slid over the fabric of my blouse at my nipple.
I sucked in breath against his lips and arched my back to press into his hand.
“Sweetheart,” Mike called and I realized my eyes were closed so I opened them.
“Yeah?” I whispered, his eyes got soft, his lids lowered and his mouth touched mine as his thumb slid back across my nipple and I inhaled again.
“I wanna f**k you, honey,” he said quietly and I held my breath, wanting him to and not wanting him to, both at the same maximum strength.
He went on. “Right here or I take you to my bed. But before I do that, we gotta talk.”
“Okay,” I whispered, unsure about this talk because I was pretty sure what this talk was going to be about.
I placed my hand on his chest thinking Audrey Haines was all kinds of fool, his arm gave me a squeeze and he went on talking.
“I should have ended it before we got down to kids but, if I did,” he shrugged, “I wouldn’t have my kids.”
“Worth it then,” I murmured.
“Definitely,” he smiled.
Layla, done with giving her hint that camping out on the bed meant we should join her there, came out and started to head butt our legs.
“I should start cooking,” Mike said, letting me go to pet his dog who, remembering he existed, appeared in throes of ecstasy to have his big, strong hand scratching behind her ears.
“Can I help?” I asked and he stayed bent to Layla but twisted his torso to look up at me.
“You always cook for your girls?”
“Mostly, yeah.”
“Then no.”
There it went, the belly flutter again.
“You always cook when your kids are here?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll help.”
He gave Layla a playful push and came to me, his hand curling at my neck, pulling my upper body close to his as his neck bent so his face could get close to mine.
When he was close, he whispered, “I like you, Violet.”
“I like you too, Mike,” I whispered back.
He grinned, touched his forehead to mine a second then touched his lips to mine a second then he said, “Let’s go cook.”
* * * * *
Being a good Dad, Mike knew how to cook. The au gratin potatoes were already cooking in the oven and he made London broil and green beans and he had fresh bakery rolls to go with.
We ate at his kitchen table with Layla lying mostly on Mike’s feet then we did the dishes together. After the dishes, Mike made ice cream sundaes with lashings of caramel and chocolate syrup on gourmet vanilla bean ice cream, whipped cream on top, sprinkled with pralines. I took note of this since they were simple but absolutely delicious. My girls would love them.
We ate these on the couch with Layla sitting by my side, her head on the seat by me, staring at me while blinking, telling me she needed ice cream or she’d die.
Mike noticed and called her off. She gave in with an irritable groan and lay down by my feet.
Conversation through dinner and dessert wasn’t heavy, we didn’t share life stories and I didn’t tear up again. We talked (mostly about our kids), we laughed (mostly about our kids) and he proved again he was easygoing and easy to be around.
Then he took my bowl, ordering me to fill up our wine glasses and he left the room. I did as he ordered and was taking a sip when he got back. He sat down beside me, took my glass out of my hand, set it on the coffee table, put his hands to my pits, dragged my ass across his lap and over then I was on my back and he was on top of me.
Then we were making out on his couch.
I wasn’t certain how I managed to get myself into these situations, f**king Joe on his couch that morning, making out with Mike on his that evening. But I was certain I wasn’t doing a lot to avoid them. I figured, partially, it was because both, in their own way, were pretty freaking magnificent. The other part was that I liked being with both men. I liked it in entirely different ways, but I still liked it.
His mouth moved from mine and his face disappeared into my neck. I felt his tongue trail from the back of my ear down the line of my neck where he stopped and while I shivered, he asked, “Where’re your girls tonight?”
“At home, hopefully not throwing a wild party with boys and kegs.”
His head came up and he was grinning when he looked at me. “That something they would do?”
“Kate, no, Keira, yes, once she figures out kegs exist. Kate would be running through the house trying to get people out or cleaning up and fretting the whole time that someone would break a glass or knock over the TV. Keira would be in the kitchen, not a care in the world, shot gunning beers.”
He was still grinning when he asked, “Yeah?”
I grinned back and shook my head. “No, they’re both good kids. They’re probably watching a movie while Kate texts Dane, who’s out with his friends tonight, and Keira texts everyone in three counties. But I know Keira, there’ll come a day when my house will look like the day after in a 80’s Brat Pack movie.”
“Weird Science,” he said on a smile.
“Sixteen Candles,” I one-upped him.
“You need to get home?” he asked and I looked at the clock on his shelves.
It was eight thirty. I didn’t need to get home and, even though it made me a terrible person, being on the couch with Mike who I liked too much in a way that was so confusing I couldn’t unravel it in a million years, I wanted to be home late, just in case Joe was watching for me.
“No,” I replied when I looked back at him.
“Good,” he muttered and his head came back down.
We made out more and it got heavy, mainly because we both liked it, but the progression was slow, natural, strangely like we’d fooled around on his couch hundreds of times before and when we did it, we always knew we had all the time in the world. This was a change from Joe, a nice one but one that reminded me of Tim, who also took his time, and I’d liked that too.
Eventually Mike’s hand curled around my breast and his thumb slid over the fabric of my blouse at my nipple.
I sucked in breath against his lips and arched my back to press into his hand.
“Sweetheart,” Mike called and I realized my eyes were closed so I opened them.
“Yeah?” I whispered, his eyes got soft, his lids lowered and his mouth touched mine as his thumb slid back across my nipple and I inhaled again.
“I wanna f**k you, honey,” he said quietly and I held my breath, wanting him to and not wanting him to, both at the same maximum strength.
He went on. “Right here or I take you to my bed. But before I do that, we gotta talk.”
“Okay,” I whispered, unsure about this talk because I was pretty sure what this talk was going to be about.
