Games of the Heart
Page 89

“Right, I’m standin’ here in nothin’ but jeans. Not bein’ a dick but, seriously, clue in and tell me which f**kin’ night?”
Oh God. I was thinking Mike’s declarations of not being a dick was a lot like when I said I wasn’t being a bitch because his meaning was clear.
There was silence and this lasted a while.
Finally Mike prompted with clear impatience, “Audrey –”
“Can she hear us?”
“Which night?”
“Why isn’t she coming out?”
Oh God.
“Which night?”
“Is she in your bed?”
Oh God!
“Jesus, f**k, seriously? We doin’ this?”
“You’re on that side, Mike, moving on. You have somebody. I’m on this one. Alone. Give me a break.”
It was then I knew just how done Mike was with Audrey.
And I knew it when he replied, “Yeah, she can hear us. This is because she’s in the kitchen. And she’s not comin’ out probably because she’s wearin’ my tee and pretty much nothin’ else and she’s nice enough to want to save you from seein’ that. So, you asked, you got the visual anyway and that’s on you. Now, which f**kin’ night?”
“Tuesday,” she whispered.
“Terrific,” Mike agreed at once. “Can you make it to Mimi’s by six?”
“Yes, Mike.”
“Right. I’ll see you at Mimi’s at six.”
“Okay.”
There were no farewells exchanged only a confused whimper from Layla who undoubtedly during this intense exchange didn’t get any attention and she wasn’t quite certain what to do with that. I heard the door close then I saw Mike round the cupboard, his dog at his heels.
So, call me a freak and I don’t care, he was pissed, not hiding it, wearing nothing but jeans and it was hot.
I didn’t get a chance to inform him of this fact to, perchance, help him deal with that anger.
And I didn’t get that chance because he lifted a hand, pointed a finger at me and commanded in a severe, rumbling voice, “Don’t take on that shit.”
I was staring at his finger thinking that if any other man pointed a finger in my face, I would likely grab it and twist it while I kicked him in the shin or, alternately, tell him to go f**k himself and stomp away when I replied, “Uh…what?”
He stopped a foot away from me, dropped his hand and mostly repeated himself, “You don’t take on that shit.”
“Mike, honey,” I said in a gentle, soothing voice, “I’m sensing you’re pissed but I’m not following.”
“You got enough on your plate. Whatever Audrey’s up to, that is not your shit. It’s my shit and you don’t take that on. You worry about that farm, the family in it and your pottery. I’ll worry about Audrey.”
“Uh…didn’t we just pretty much share we care deeply for each other not five minutes ago?” I asked cautiously.
“No, we didn’t pretty much do anything and we sure as f**k didn’t pretty much share we care deeply for each other. We told each other we’re in love,” he corrected me and my belly compressed as my heart skipped a beat.
“No,” I contradicted stupidly but correctly, my heart, now racing, messing with my ability to think, “I think it was you telling me we’re in love.”
His brows shot together and that was hot too.
“Do you disagree?” he fired back.
“Uh…no,” I replied.
His brows then shot up and damn, that was hot too.
“Your point?”
Again stupidly but still correctly I shared, “That is, technically, caring deeply for each other.”
He crossed his arms on his chest (yes, also hot) and asked, “You get I’m pissed?”
I nodded.
“So you wanna move this along before this asinine conversation about something not asinine in the slightest makes me more pissed?”
I thought that was a good idea so I decided to do that.
“What I’m trying to say is, I don’t have my shit, you take on my shit then also deal with your shit without me having your back too.”
“Dusty –”
I took the step to him, lifted my hand and curled my fingers on his forearm, saying, “Babe, I’m not weak. I’m not addicted to spending money. I’m not anything but Dusty. We have a lot happening and it’s a pain in the ass but I’m not crumbling under the weight. You’ve had a long time of looking after a lot of people, busting your ass to do it. You’ll get used to it but flat out, with me, that’s not your life anymore.”
“Right, I get that, Dusty but what you need to get is that I don’t mind bustin’ my ass for the ones I love. It’s my job and not the kind you do because you have to do it but because you love doin’ it. I mind doin’ it when I get shit on in return but if I don’t get that, it’s entirely different. So I know you’re not weak and you’ll get used to it bein’ with me but you no longer always have to be strong.”
I stared at him, stunned.
He wasn’t done. I knew this when he kept talking, or more like rumbling out each word.
“And you’ll get used to bein’ my woman and I’ll explain what that means. I’ll take shit but my woman won’t,” he leaned in and finished, “ever. Not people feedin’ it to her directly and not indirectly through me.”
I didn’t say a word.
But my mind was whirling.
Never.
Never in my life, outside my father and my brother, had a man stood up to protect me. Not like that.
Never.
Finally I found my voice and I found it to ask, “Are we kinda fighting about how we’re in love and you’re gonna take care of me?”
“Warning, Dusty, I’m pissed Audrey has, in Audrey’s way, thrown down in a preliminary to whatever game she’s settin’ me up to force me to play when we do not need her shit. I’m not in the mood for you to be funny.”
I pressed my lips together.
Then, stupidly but correctly, I blurted, “Just to clear something up from earlier. I’m thinking it’s probably not gonna happen, me getting a wild hair and going riverboat gambling with Rhonda. I can barely get her out of her bedroom. I doubt I could get her down to the Ohio River.”
Mike glared at me.
“Though, she’s practically catatonic,” I went on unwisely in the face of his fierce scowl, “I could prop her on one of those wheelie things and get her in front of a video poker machine but I don’t know why I’d expend that effort. If I wanna go gambling, I’ll hit the internet, buy cheap tickets and you and I’ll have a weekend in Vegas.”