After Hours (InterMix)(83)

So Kelly had grilled me a steak, laid me soundly, rescued me from my automotive woes. That left exactly one box to check off his manly to-do list before he had the set.

“Fuck me,” I whispered. Let the dogfight begin.

Kelly glanced up at the noise.

“Don’t talk to that guy,” I told him, and rushed up the lawn and into the house, screen door slapping at my back.

“Amber!”

She was untwisting one of Jack’s socks on the couch. “What?”

“Marco’s here. And you better get him to turn around and leave. Kelly knows he’s the reason I showed up at work with a black eye and I doubt he’s going to be subtle about it.”

She sighed, clearly more annoyed by my barking than the situation. “Shit.”

“Don’t swear.”

“I asked him to come, but not this early.”

I blinked at her, but could I really act so shocked? The beer had told me everything I’d needed to know. “Dear God, why?”

“I dunno. He’s been sweet lately. He said he wants to reconcile.”

“Honey.” I stared at her squarely. “Don’t.”

“Don’t,” Jack echoed, eyes on the TV.

“I don’t know what I want. But he’s so much nicer when he’s trying to win me back.”

“That’s charming. And so sustainable, when it means you have to have been fighting, first.”

Amber made a puppet of her hand, miming blah blah blah blah.

Through the window, I watched as Marco exited his truck across the street and slammed the door.

“The fact that he thinks you’re a possession that can be won—”

She swept past me with Jack in her arms. “Give it a rest, Erin. Jesus.”

“Jeezes!”

I brought up the rear in the confrontation parade, marching down the patchy lawn. Marco spotted us as he was striding toward the front door, and gave a stiff wave. He could play nice all he wanted, but no way was I forgetting that the last time I saw him, we’d both driven away bleeding.

He cast Kelly and the vehicular activities a glance over his shoulder, looking shifty as he faced forward. Kelly’s cold eyes went to Marco’s back, then my face. There was no question in that stare. He already knew the answer. Yup, that’s the guy.

Amber was wise enough to greet Marco with her skinny arms still full of Jack, not welcoming a hug.

“Hey,” he said to her, then tossed another wave in my direction.

“Hey.” Amber leaned forward stiffly so he could peck her cheek. Clearly, she liked this cold-shoulder-versus-penitent-boyfriend shtick. Fucking foreplay.

“How’s my boy?” Marco touched Jack’s hair, the hair I’d so lovingly shampooed, and I fought off an urge to slap his hand away.

“He’s been pretty good today. Right?” Amber cooed at Jack. “You’ve been real good for your auntie Erin?”

Jack excitedly began recounting the incident with the monster ant, but Marco wasn’t listening.

“Cool. So . . .” He glanced behind him, to the action blocking the driveway.

“My car won’t start,” I said.

“Why’d you let her call a mechanic?” Marco asked Amber. “I coulda took a look at it.”

“It’s fine.” Never in a zillion years would I put myself in a position to have to say thank-you to Marco. I’d sooner paper cut my eye. Maybe the same eye I bruised, getting pushed into the car he was now so graciously offering to fix.

“That’s not a mechanic,” Amber said, in a voice I didn’t trust one bit. Even in reconciliation mode, she couldn’t resist taking a shot. She was winding up, and the pitch wouldn’t be far behind.

“If he ain’t a mechanic, who is he?”

“That’s Kelly,” she said, way too sweetly, with her head cocked just so.

I watched Marco frown, Amber’s curve ball whizzing past his thick, predictable skull.

“He’s my coworker,” I interjected. And no, Amber’s not f*cking him.

But I am.

“Oh. Okay. You gonna invite me in or what? Work was f*cking exhausting.”

“You’ve got to quit using that word in front—”

Marco plowed right over my nagging. “I need a f*cking beer.”

“Yeah, fine.” Amber sighed, and turned to lead Marco into the house. I sighed, too, silently, with relief.