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“Because I have an eight o’clock meeting.”
“Morning quickies were invented for eight o’clock meetings.” He backs me up against the counter and sneaks in a lusty, mint-flavored kiss.
“I have to go,” I moan, calling upon the deity of willpower to twist away and pour him coffee. “It’s strong and hot the way you like it.”
“I’d rather have your hot body.”
I toss him a smile over my shoulder. “You’ll have to settle for a cold shower.”
“Is that a challenge?” he says, full of male-determined I’ll-prove-I-can-have-your-skirt-up-to-your-waist-and-you-up-on-that-counter-in-ten-seconds. And he would. Another touch here, another kiss there, and I’d be gone.
“Don’t you dare.” I stave him off with my outstretched hand holding a full mug. “You’ll wrinkle my suit and ruin my hair. It took me forever to get it into this bun.”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “Ms. Chase is nothing if not practical.”
“Practicality is my only defense against you.”
At my admission, he hums cheerfully, and taking the cup, backs off to the opposite side of the counter, drinking his coffee while I fill my travel mug.
“Have dinner with me tonight. There’s this place I want to take you to…great food and candlelight. Private. Just you and me.”
My heart thumps. “I’d love that, Mick. It sounds wonderful, but I already made dinner plans with Lexie and Jordyn.”
“Can you reschedule?”
“No.” I shake my head. “It would be very uncool to break the chicks before dicks code.”
His mouth opens for a booming laugh. “Being the one with the dick, I’ll demand equal time, but I get your point. How about tomorrow?”
“Definitely.” I add milk and sweeteners to my mug then turn to face him. “Will I still see you later?” The thought of climbing into a cold, empty bed isn’t a heartening one.
He sets his cup down and draws me to him. “Nothing could keep me away.”
“Good.” My hands snake into his messy hair. “I want you here.”
“Should I take that as an open invitation?”
“You should.”
“Think you can spare another drawer?”
“Maybe.” I lay my lips against his.
“Some closet space too?”
“Now you’re pushing it.”
We share a goofy grin before he seals his mouth over mine and I sink into his soul-melting kiss.
Micah
Through the window, I watchthe black sedan discreetly pull out behind Dee’s Lexus. Adding security was a necessary precaution. Without knowing what O’Malley is up to, I’m not taking any chances.
I saw the relentlessness in him at the community center when he pushed through Dwayde and several of the boys I coach, knocking them down to get to me with questions I had no intention of ever answering. On impulse, I reacted. I come from violence. It’s inside me. But most of the time, I know how to control it, channel it. Not that day. Like my old man, fists were my first response. I busted O’Malley’s lip. A costly mistake.
He blogged about me for weeks. More than usual. He talked to people in my hometown, my former teammates; stirred up old shit about my drinking in college. He posted pictures of his injuries, alleging that my violent reaction only proved I had something to hide.
Then Saturday, after seeing a photo taken by the paparazzi of me coming out of the Lemon Lounge the night prior, he followed me to Mort’s Deli from the community center where I’d been coaching. His so-called intention was to make a deal.
