But something about Benito had spun his head enough to forget the rules, and it was all he’d thought about since that night.
Liar. You’ve thought about everything, not just blowing your load.
Guilty as charged, Mickey let his mind wander, hoping it would help him find the words to text Benito something coherent. He lit another smoke, mind swimming with fragmented memories of their charged encounter—clashing limbs, wild hands, and then... another broken rule. Mickey had kissed Benito. A moment of fucking madness that had put the final nail in the coffin of his self-control. He could barely recall what had happened next, at least, not the details. Only the blinding heat. The unreal pleasure that he was still struggling to quite believe.
Mickey:i’m not sentimenal. just hot for u
He sent the message before he realised he’d spelt sentimental wrong.
Fucking hell.
His thumb hovered over the delete option, but Benito was already typing back.
B:that works. i’m free tonight
Mickey blinked, but whatever reply he may have made was cut off by a tap on the car window. Dazed, he swung his gaze. A teenage girl scowled back at him.
What the?
Mickey opened the car door and stood, pocketing his phone and scanning the vicinity for any little shits who wanted to come at him, road boys in training, too green to realise Mickey was the last person they wanted to fuck with. It wasn’t that late, but it was dark already, and he’d parked by an underpass—a prime spot for a mugging.
The girl, however, was alone. And unarmed, unless she had a shank up her sleeve. Mickey shut the car door and leaned against it, keeping space between them. “What are you banging on my car for? Do you need something?”
“Are you the man from the housing association?”
“I’m from DOSHA. We manage some of the properties around here, but not all of them. Why? Are you a tenant?”
The girl nodded. “You’re looking for my mum.”
“Who’s that?”
“Rosetta De Luca. She owes you money.”
Mickey frowned, taking in the girl’s raven curls and fierce gaze. “She doesn’t owe me money. It’s her rent. You’re the daughter that lives with her?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve always been at school when I’ve been there.” Mickey took another glance around. If the girl was who she said she was, she was on the wrong estate. Her block was visible on the horizon, but it was a half a mile away. “Do you think you could ask your mum to call me so we can set up a meeting? It’s really important that I speak with her.”
“Why? Are you kicking us out?”
“I really need to speak with her.”
The girl bit her lip, anxiety flaring in her dark eyes. “She won’t let you in. She can’t.”
“Why not?”
“She’s scared.”
“She doesn’t need to be. If I can just talk to her, we can set up—”
“You don’t understand!” the girl shouted. “It’s not the money, she justcan’t.”
“Hey, hey.” Mickey held up his hands. “I want to help, okay? But I can’t do that if your mum won’t talk to me. Do you think she’d answer an email if I sent it to her?”
The girl shook her head. “No. She doesn’t do technology. It gives her migraines.”
“What about a phone call? I don’t have to come in the flat if she’s more comfortable talking over the phone?”
