“I’m not stupid,” Dwayde says with an eye roll. “I’ve heard Victor ask Mama T to put her picture away. But Mama T won’t. She says that Dee’s still her daughter and she’s not gonna act like she doesn’t exist just ’cause it makes you and Victor mad.”
Because he’s a clever kid and I know how important it is for Dee to earn his trust, I try for diplomacy. “I don’t dislike Dee and neither does Victor. We dislike what she did.”
“Maybe she had a good reason for running away.”
“Maybe.” But I can’t accept that.
“Gabi said you were gonna marry her.”
Gabi has a big mouth. “The past isn’t important,” I say, trying to sell him a crock of shit. “As long as Dee can help you, that’s all that matters to me.”
“So you’re cool with her?”
I’m so far from being cool with Dee. But my hot lust isn’t something I’m going to discuss with my twelve-year-old nephew. “Yeah, I’m cool.” Changing to his favorite subject, video games, I say, “Ready for a rematch later?”
He grins, dimpling his cheeks. “I stay ready.”
“Your reign is about to end.” I raise my hands and twiddle my thumbs. “These babies are going to whoop your butt.”
“You’re tripping, Uncle Mick. You couldn’t whoop my butt if you had ten thumbs and a wooden paddle.”
“Smartass,” I say, and lowering my sneaker to the floor, make a grab for Dwayde, catching him in a clinch hold. Squirming and laughing, he tries to escape my grip, but I tighten my arms, being careful not to hurt him. “Now let’s see who’s going to be declared the king.”
I’M IN CONTROL.
I have high hopes of making my morning pep talk a reality. Right up to the moment that I walk through the open gym door and hear Mick’s husky laugh bouncing off the walls.
I jerk to a halt. My gaze rivets to the man with his large biceps wrapped around Dwayde in some kind of body lock, making my client giggle hysterically on a day when I wouldn’t think that was possible. This playful side of Mick—a side I remember well—jumbles my thoughts and weakens my resolve.
I’m still trying to regain my composure when he suddenly looks over. His espresso-brown eyes meet mine and his laughter dies.
“Ha! You lose, Uncle Mick,” Dwayde hoots, wiggling free.
“That shouldn’t count,” he says, his gaze raking me from the top of my head to the tips of my shoes. “I was distracted.”
Insecurities launch to the surface, but I resist tugging at my clothes. “Hi, Dwayde.”
“Oh, hey, Ms. C,” Dwayde replies, his smile faltering too.
It’s disconcerting to be considered such a killjoy. “Seems I interrupted something.”
Dwayde scuffs his sneaker on the floor. “Me and Uncle Mick were just fooling around.”
“How are you, Dee?” The vibration of Mick’s deep voice ripples through me.
“Fine, thank you,” I reply politely, aware of Dwayde watching us. He knows about our past. It shows in the way he’s gauging our interaction.
“It’s good to see you again,” Mick continues keeping up the friendly pretense. “You’re looking well.”
“Thanks. You too,” I reply acknowledging even as I speak what an understatement that is. Mick looks sinfully gorgeous. Worn jeans sit low on his narrow hips and a white T-shirt stands out in brilliant contrast against his rich caramel skin. The soft cotton hugs his torso, highlighting the curves of his pecs and the hard plane of his abdomen. The waves of his hair swirl at the ends like haphazardly placed commas, and the stubble on his strong jaw gives him that sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed look.
His lips tilt up at the corners for his famous smile. But there’s a taunting edge to it that’s reserved for my benefit alone. “We’ll have to get togethersoonand catch up on old times.”
I keep my expression trained on neutral as his threat from Thursday night flushes my body.
“Dwayde, we should get going before we’re late.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Mick announces, delaying my escape. He picks up a red Nike Signature cap off the bench and positions it on his head, bringing the bill down low.
