The Will(109)

He could use some toss pillows to add a splash of color and his wall décor seemed rather slapdash but these were minor issues.

During the tour, I decided I had three favorite rooms in the house.

The kitchen, which was obviously built as an extension, with its exposed beams in a beautiful blonde wood that jutted under skylights so prevalent they appeared to be the entire ceiling, stark red cabinets, stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops.

Jake’s bedroom on the top floor, which had a masculine but extraordinary sleigh bed that was so enormous, at first glance it seemed to take up the entire room, and regardless of the fact that it was unmade, it was also extremely inviting. Not to mention its master bath which also had skylights, a very large shower with smooth stone flooring and three shower heads and an oval bath that had steps up so it was sunken and would be a giving-yourself-a-facial, pumicing-your-feet, soaking-your-cares-away woman’s dream.

And, last, his office, next to his bedroom, which was what had the view to the sea. It also had a fabulous antique desk and a seating area by the window consisting of comfortable chair with a table and lamp which I took one look at, longed to find a book and curl up there to read and, should my mind wander, gaze at the sea.

On the way back downstairs, Ethan announced, “Dad totally did all this stuff. With Tom and Bert and Coert and sometimes Mickey.”

I stared at the back of his head while we were descending.

“Pardon?”

He looked back at me grinning. “Place was a dump. Totally. Dad gutted it and fixed it up before we moved in. We got pictures. Wanna see?”

I absolutely did, so I nodded.

We got to the bottom of the stairs and Ethan ran off, presumably to get the photo albums.

This was when Jake claimed me, pulled me to the kitchen, pushed me into the counter, slapped my mobile into my hand and said, “Mick.”

I glared at him.

Then I remarked, “Ethan said Mickey helped you renovate your home.”

“Yep,” Jake replied. “Now call him,” Jake ordered.

I glared at him again before I announced, “I am quite capable of telephoning Mickey to cancel our date and doing it without you standing nary an inch away with your hand on my neck.”

“I know that, Slick,” he stated, his lips again quirking with amusement (although I found nothing humorous in our current scenario). “I also know Mick’s a good guy. He’s a bud. Known him a long time and my guess would be he’ll be cool with you because he’s that good of a guy. But another thing I know is that he was in the hall last night when I finished my fight, had showered and was probably on his way to the empty seat beside yours. So I figure he either saw you go into my locker room or he’s heard of it. So he feels like bein’ a dick, and gotta say, can’t blame him, then I’m here to tell him to go f*ck himself because even if I can’t blame him, that shit is not going to happen.”

It was too mortifying to think that Mickey knew what had happened between Jake and me last night so I decided instead to focus on breaking this down.

“So you’re standing very close with your hand on me, demanding I phone Mickey while in your presence in order to be readily available should Mickey be unpleasant.”

“Hit the nail on the head,” he confirmed.

“You are aware I’m a grown woman,” I asked.

“Yep. I’m very aware of that,” he answered on a roguish grin that, even during our mildly irritating conversation, I found highly attractive. “I’m also aware that officially as of last night against a wall in a locker room, you became my woman and no man is a dick to my woman.”

As ludicrously protective and preposterously overbearing as I knew this was, I couldn’t help but like it.

I also found it more than mildly irritating, not only him doing it but me liking it.

Thus, I continued to glare at Jake but Jake continued to stand very close to me with his hand on my neck, holding my eyes.

He lost our staring contest and I was learning I should not be surprised he lost it by demanding with a preposterously overbearing jerk of his head to my phone, “Babe. Mick.”

It was then I realized he was not going to move and I knew with no doubts I couldn’t forcibly move him so I gave him one final glare, beginning to think Jake and I had more than a few things to talk about as I officially became “his woman.”

Then I turned my eyes to my phone and called Mickey.

It rang three times before he answered strangely with, “She finally calls to give me the crash and burn.”

“I…uh, Mickey?” I stammered after receiving his greeting.

“Let me guess, Jake’s standing right in front of you.”

I felt the strong desire to laugh bubble up inside of me at the same time I still felt very badly about what I needed to do, more so if he’d heard what happened between Jake and I last night, either firsthand or through another party.

“Indeed,” I agreed, deciding to stare at Jake’s throat, but finding it altogether too attractive so moving my eyes to his now t-shirted (he’d clearly changed from his training gear while Ethan gave me my tour) shoulder.

“That’s where I’d be,” Mickey muttered.

“I’m assuming you know why I’m calling,” I said quietly.

“Babe, way you looked at Jake, way he looked at you, I knew I had nothin’ but a sliver of a chance to slide in there. I told Jake last night we had a date, a cocky move and cocky’s always stupid. He wasted no time and moved to stake his claim. I’da done the same.”