“Hey, man,” Micheal cuts in, “we don’t have to do that.”
“I think we do,” Quinnon mutters.
Even drunk, Samuel rolls his eyes and lifts another beer bottle to his mouth.
“So that’s settled then.” Jeffry’s lip curls, disgust rampant. “What are your intentions with Mira?”
“Couldn’t I ask you the same thing? I’m not the one giving her vodka.”
The small man snarls, “And I’m not the one going home with her tonight.”
Nate’s wide gaze flies to me.
Since Nate’s been the most decent thus far, I find myself obliging to explain. “We live in different buildings on the same property, and she lives in her separate building with Fawn.”
“A lot of things can happen in the car,” Jeffry counters, teeth practically bared.
I snort. “Not in that car.”
Unwisely, Jeffry stands, stomps across the room, and grips the collar of my shirt. “Listen here, if you’re after Mira, you need to get in line.”
My brows creep up my forehead, and I glance down at Jeffry’s hand in my shirt before I rise to my feet and tower over him. “I’m not sure that when a man fancies a woman he particularly queues up for it, Jeffry. If that’s been your method thus far, it’s no wonder she’s still single.” Grasping his hand, I pluck it from my clothes, then I catch his fist when he sloppily throws it toward my face. Twisting his wrist, I mutter, “You sure you want to do this?”
He cusses. “Mira deserves better than some old creep who’s her boss.”
Mira deserves better than some whiny louse with nothing but a crappy apartment and the maturity of an egg sack. I get it. I do. Of course half her guy friends want her. She’sperfect. The perfect woman. The perfect wife. She’s soft, and beautiful, and innocent. Quiet, demure, careful, polite, agreeable. Everything about her exudes feminine allure so potent it’s physically painful to deny the urge to pull her close and protect her.
Simply put, she’s shoved herself into the most socially-acceptable mold she could find.
But I’d gamble that not a single guy here knows who she really is.
Including me.
If I could confidently say that I did, I’d have already proposed. I’d have said something idiotic about how I know shedoesn’t like me, but since I’m completely gone for her, I’d do anything to be worthy. I’d treat her to flowers and chocolates and poetry every single day. I’dbeg.
I’d certainly not mill about with a group of my buddies and see who she shows interest in first. I’d take the initiative, seal the deal, then devote the rest of my life to adoring her.
“What’s going on?” Mira’s soft voice trickles from the back hall, but I don’t let Jeffry go when he makes to jerk away from me.
Tugging futilely, he stammers, “N-nothing, Mira.”
“Are you two fighting?”
“Yes,” I say.
“No!” he blurts.
My eyes roll.
Snarling, Jeffry says, “We were just having achat.”
“Oh. My mistake, then.” I finally release him, and he stumbles back into the coffee table, catching himself before he can flip back over the cheap wood.
Pity.
Scanning, Mirabelle worries her apron, then steadies herself. “I think it’s time to go home.” She marches across the space, toward the kitchen. She retrieves her empty brownie dish, then she marches up to me, hooks her finger in the hem of my shirt, and sends a shock of ecstasy through my chest. “Thank you for having us, Jeffry.”
“Mira—”
