Soaring (Magdalene #2)(58)

Not make up more as we went along.

“Just to point out but I have a two-seater car,” I told them and looked to Mickey. “I can’t get them there.”

“I’ll drop ’em off,” he told me.

“I can’t get them back,” I replied desperately.

“I’ll pick ’em up,” he stated smoothly.

I glared.

He looked to my mouth and his got tight.

“Groovy!” Cillian cried and I forced myself to drop the glare and look at Mickey’s boy. “When can we go? Tomorrow?”

The next words I had to say I knew might kill me.

“I need to tell Dela you’re coming. She runs the place. So how about I talk to her and if she says it’s okay, then I’ll phone your dad and we’ll set a day before you go back to school.”

“Awesome!” Cillian exclaimed.

“Yeah, Amy, that’d be cool,” Aisling said softly, a small smile on her lips.

I took in her smile and just getting it, I’d put up with her father.

“Look forward to that call,” Mickey muttered, his meaning lost on everyone but me.

I shifted my legs in order to kick him in the shin.

His body jolted and his gaze cut to me.

I gave him a look I hoped was nasty.

He took it, something shifted behind his eyes, and he grinned at me.

Jerk.

I looked away.

“Can I have another piece of cake, Dad?” Cillian asked.

Mickey answered his boy, “Yeah, son.”

I looked to Aisling, who was looking between her father and me. Caught, she then cast her eyes to her plate.

“Dinner was amazing, blossom,” I told her softly.

She lifted her gaze to me briefly and mumbled, “Thanks, Amy.”

I watched her do this and thought that, yes, something about Aisling Donovan was troubling me.

Cillian got his extra piece of cake, everyone cleared and Mickey set his kids to washing up while I explained it was time to leave.

I got good-byes from the kids and unfortunately, Mickey decided to walk me to his front door.

“I can get there myself,” I said under my breath on the way.

“You can also get there with me,” he said under his.

I shut up.

We reached the door and I stopped, seeing my mistake immediately as I should have stopped to the side, not in front, or I should have just quickly opened the damned door myself.

This was so, knowing Mickey would characteristically take charge (I refused to think it was gentlemanly), I wouldn’t feel Mickey’s hard chest and lovely heat against my back as he reached beyond me to open the door.

Furthering my mistake, when the door swung open in front of me, I had to press back into him, something he rudely didn’t move out of my way to allow me room to do.

So when it was open, I made my escape.

I did this with Mickey noting softly, “Nice dress, Amy.”

I whirled on him and hissed quietly, “Don’t be a jerk.”

His eyes went dark. “Jesus, baby, it’s a nice f*ckin’ dress. What’s your problem?”

“I’m sorry, you were being nice to me?” I asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, but now I see my mistake so, apologies, won’t happen again,” he answered shortly.

My heart was for some reason hammering in my chest, perhaps because maybe he was being nice and I hadn’t been and I felt stupid and petty.

But like I couldn’t stop it, to save face, I continued being so as I shook my hair, ordering, “See that it doesn’t.”

“Maybe you should date Stone,” he muttered. “Match made in heaven.”

I couldn’t believe he just said that.

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” I snapped.

“Call ’em like I see ’em,” he declared.

That made me even more angry.

Angry enough to lean into him. “It’s you being mean that brings this out in me.”

He bent his neck deep, getting in my face.

“I told you ‘nice dress,’” he clipped. “Because it’s a nice dress. Looks good on you. If that’s mean, you definitely got a screw loose and have no clue how a man should treat you. Fuck, you like nasty, after I saw what your ex did to you, now I’m wondering what it took Infinity to get his tongue in your mouth. What? He tell you you looked like a whore?”

“I’m not discussing Bradley with you,” I retorted coolly.

He leaned back, his eyebrows going up, and asked incredulously, “Bradley?”

“Yes. Bradley,” I bit off.

“Like, he makes you say the whole thing?” he pushed.

“The whole thing what?” I asked.

“Bradley. Not Brad,” he explained impatiently.

“Yes, the whole thing. He prefers Bradley,” I confirmed.

He looked over my head and let out a puff of disgusted air.

“It is a name, Mickey,” I informed him and his eyes came back to me.

“It’s a name for a douche, Amy.”

All right, enough.

“Are we done?” I asked.

“Probably until your phone call, yeah,” he answered.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening with your marvelous children who I have absolutely no clue how they could have come from your loins,” I bid him.