He reaches into his car and pulls on his cap and shades. “Often enough that I know better than to be out here on a main street without trying to disguise my appearance. But when I saw you, I wasn’t thinking about anything except getting to you.”
His words bypass my brain. Mick’s nearness prevents rational thought. But I focus and somehow manage to scrounge up a fraction of logic. I know what this is about. He witnessed me at my most vulnerable on Sunday and assumed that I left Springvale because he walked away that night so many years ago. Now the fixer in him wants to make it all better. Makemeall better. But he can’t. And the sooner I ease his conscience, the sooner I can get a safe distance from him.
“Mick, what you saw on Sunday was me grieving over Papa T and feeling guilty about the way I left my foster family. I made the choice to leave, and I have to come to terms with that. You’re not responsible for my decision or for me. I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
When I pause at the end of my ramble, Mick remains silent, but I can feel him watching me behind his opaque lenses. Then he brings a hand to my cheek and tucks the curl that has escaped the confines of my low ponytail behind my ear and lets his fingers linger there.
“Just because we’re not together anymore doesn’t mean I don’t still feel a responsibility toward you or that I’ve stopped caring. We were good friends once, Dee. Why can’t we be that to each other again?”
Because friends don’t make your heart race as if you’ve just run a marathon when you’re in fact standing still. Because friends don’t give you an orgasm, the physical effects of which resurface every time you walk into your kitchen. “We tried that and it didn’t work.”
“I was being an ass then.” Mick cocks his head and sends me a boyish grin. “Have dinner with me. I’ll be on my best behavior. Scout’s honor.” He removes his hand from my cheek and lifts three fingers up in the Boy Scout sign.
Charmed, I almost laugh. Almost. He looks so harmless, like the rejected date who’s willing to settle for friendship. But I know Mick well enough to know there’s nothing remotely harmless about him. “You were never a Boy Scout.”
“Sure I was.”
I slant him a look. “For how long?”
“One day. Victor ribbed me so badly about the uniform I never went back. But I still took the oath.”
My lips twitch a little this time as I envision a young Mick in olive-green shorts and knee socks.
“Laugh. I know you want to.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll spare you the humiliation.”
“Then how about taking some pity on me and agreeing to dinner?”
“I doubt you need pity to wrangle up female company,” I hear myself say and want to slap a hand over my mouth.
“Should I take that as a yes?”
“No. Take that as a definite no.”
The tip of his tongue that is capable of wickedly wonderful things appears between his teeth, as if he’s considering his next move. “That’s a problem.”
“How so?”
“Taking no for an answer is not my strong point. But I know how stubborn you can be, so I guess we’ll have to duel it out.”
Mick is nearly impossible to defend against when he’s not even trying, but when he’s pulling out all the stops, he’s insanely hard to resist. Nevertheless, I make a last-ditch effort. “I’m not being stubborn. I’m being practical.”
“Then in the spirit of practicality, how about a business dinner? I’m on Dwayde’s witness list. You need to interview me. Prepare me for what’s to come at trial and make sure I’m presenting the evidence in the best light. Right?”
Oh, he’s good.“I do,” I admit, “but I conduct interviews with witnesses in my office, not over dinner.”
“Consider the convenience. You’re here, I’m here—why wait?”
It’s crazy for me to consider it at all.
“Come on,” he cajoles, his voice husky, teasing…challenging. “What’s the harm in having dinner with me?”
Only the harm of losing my head…and my heart. No would be the smart answer. The only answer.
But Mick unfairly tempts me to turn my back on self-preservation and common sense.
“All right. A business dinner.”
