“Maybe. Kiss me again, and I’ll think about it on my way home.”
Mick didn’t argue, tipping my chin up with his finger and placing his mouth over mine, his lips brushing over mine. Then he pressed harder, digging in, trying to convince me to agree.
In my mind, though, I already had.
Priscilla is definitely going to that sleepover.
Mick
Priscilla answered the door when I went to pick up Margo on Saturday night, which was a surprise.
I tried to hide my shock. I was embarrassed to admit it, but a small tinge of jealousy hit my gut. “Looking good, Priss,” I said, noting her cast-free arm.
“All I got left is this sling for my collarbone.”
“Snazzy.”
I walked inside the door she held open, and before I could say anything else, Priscilla whispered, “My mom’s on the phone. I’m still going on my sleepover, but she’s been on for a while, and I need her to drive me.”
I nodded. “No problem, but it’s cool you’re here. We can hang.”
I was in uncharted territory, unsure what to say or do. The helpful side of me wanted to offer to drive her to the sleepover, but I knew better. Grown men who weren’t related in some fashion didn’t drive teenage girls anywhere ... alone.
“Yeah, she said, but maybe let’s go outside. It’s been heated.”
We both stepped back out the front door, and I thought it a bit odd that we didn’t go to the sprawling backyard. I didn’t have time to overthink it, though, because Priscilla looked at the ground, and I wanted to pull her in for a hug.
Another no-no, so I asked, “Heated over what? Work?”
I’d been in Chicago for a few days, helping put out a few fires, and I knew Margo was busy finalizing a presentation for her new boss.
“No. My dad. He’s angry with her.”
The urge to rush in and grab the phone from Margo hit me hard.
“He heard I’m going on a sleepover. Well, it’s my fault. He actually called to say hello, which he’s only done one other time. I didn’t know it would be a mistake to tell him,” Priscilla said.
“Of course you didn’t know. Why wasn’t he happy for you, though?”
With her free hand, she pushed her hair behind her hair, and it reminded me of her mom so much.
“He screamed at me to get her, saying just because she was single, it didn’t mean she had to send me off so she could get ... well, I don’t want to say the last word.”
Frowning, I said, “I can fill in the blanks.”
Just then, Margo pulled open the front door. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m obviously running late.” Her hair was tied in a knot on top of her head, and she wore leggings and an oversize sweatshirt.
“No biggie. It’s the weekend.”
“You told him,” Margo said to her daughter through clenched teeth.
Priscilla nodded.
“Shit happens,” I said. “Pardon my French.”
This made Priscilla laugh, and Margo’s shoulders relaxed.
“Can we leave now?” Priscilla asked.
