Games of the Heart (The 'Burg #4)(108)

I reared back and snapped, “Stop laughing when I’m crying!”

He could be bossy and not easy to boss. I knew this when he burst out laughing as his hand in my hair shoved my face in his throat.

I held on and cried while he laughed.

Suddenly, Layla sprang up and barked.

I blinked tears away as Mike’s laughter abruptly stopped and he twisted his torso toward the kitchen door.

Layla was out of the kitchen, in the hall and, by the sound of it, she was barking at the front door.

“Fuck,” Mike muttered then moved away but did it with his head turned to me, arm raised, his finger pointing at the sandwiches. “Eat. Chips in the cupboard. Pop and beer in the fridge. I’ll be back.”

I nodded but he’d already turned away and rounded the cupboards that butted the door.

Then I dashed my hands on my wet cheeks as I popped down to go to the fridge and get a drink.

Then I heard a muttered, clearly irate, “Fuck me,” and I froze.

The door must have opened because Layla quit barking but I could hear her dog tags jingling which meant she was shaking with excitement at having a visitor.

“Oh God, is this a bad time?” a woman asked and for some bizarre reason I scuttled to the side like I was trying to hide when she already couldn’t see me.

“I think we can take it as read any visit from you would be at a bad time, Audrey. What the f**k are you doin’ here?” Mike asked in return and I felt my eyes get wide.

Audrey.

I forgot. When counting down all the shit going down while love bloomed between me and my childhood crush, Audrey was part of that list.

“I thought we could talk,” she replied.

“You think maybe to phone me to schedule this talk rather than showin’ up on a Sunday afternoon out-of-the-blue?” Mike returned and I felt the cold air begin seeping in from the front door so I knew he hadn’t invited her inside.

“Well,” she hesitated, “I did, actually, but I thought you’d blow me off.”

“You thought right,” Mike replied instantly, his deep voice not ugly but it was hard.

“Mike, really, it’s important,” she said soft, cajoling and she had a pretty voice.

Damn.

“It’s important, we’ll meet. Now’s not good. I haven’t had lunch, it’s ready and Dusty’s in the kitchen waitin’ for me to eat it with her. Tomorrow’s not good either. You pick any other day next week, I’ll meet you after work somewhere for coffee. You’ve got half an hour then I gotta get home because I got kids and my woman to feed.”

“Dusty?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Mike answered immediately then equally immediately he prompted, “Which night?”

“She’s here now?”

“Audrey, which night?”

“Is she living here?”

“No and that’s only your business as my children’s mother. Now, tell me, which night?”

“This won’t take long and I won’t –”

“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?”