“Why didn’t you tell me?” She actually felt hurt.
Her mother shrugged. “I wanted to enjoy it for a little bit.”
Michaela got it. “You didn’t want me to judge you and spoil your fun.”
“I know you wouldn’t judge me, but you’d worry about me. Only, you have to understand I’m not a spring chicken.” Then she flashed Michaela the biggest smile. “And sometimes girls just want to have fun.”
Flo Killian had worked hard all her life. Fun had never been in her lexicon, not until the last couple of years when she no longer had to work.
Michaela couldn’t lay her own fears and drama on her mother. It wasn’t fair. Reaching across the table, she squeezed her hand. “You deserve all the fun you can get.” She hoped everything she felt shone in her eyes. “And I love you.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. I love you too.”
Her mother had always told her everything would be okay. She had to believe that would be true for Flo too.
But that meant Michaela would be alone on Saturday night.
How was she supposed to resist temptation in the form of Troy Harrington?
At eleven o’clock that night, after she and her mother had watched Pretty Woman and Flo had gone to bed—though Michaela heard her talking on the phone—she lost the will to resist.
Troy had proven himself to be nothing other than upstanding, kind, and a really great guy. He’d been wonderful with those foster kids. He loved his family. They’d been the support team who’d helped him achieve his goals. He wasn’t afraid to admit he’d accepted help and that he was grateful for it. Feeling gratitude was another important attribute.
She heard her mother’s voice again. Everything will be okay.
That went for Flo’s date with Walter Braedon. Maybe it went for Michaela too.
She whispered aloud, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She was about to break her rule. And she typed out a text.
You said you missed the game nights you used to have with your family. Would you like to get together tomorrow for a game night?
Troy’s heart skipped a beat. Then two. Then three.
He wanted to text back and ask if this would be a date.
But he didn’t want to push his luck. Instead, he replied, I’d love a game night. And left it at that. But he was dying to know what she had planned. Flo would probably be there too.
Sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of his bedroom, he stared into the dark forest that lay beyond the pool. A string of solar lights he’d installed spotlighted the nearby trees. He’d been musing over his next date with Michaela since Wednesday night. And dammit, nothing had come to him. What the hell was the perfect date?
When she pinged him, he knew: a date she initiated.
Half an hour ago, he’d gone for his customary night swim, then a cold plunge, then fifteen minutes in the sauna. His body felt exquisitely primed for her text. For her.
When his phone pinged again, he read the words he so badly wanted.
Why don’t you come over here? I’ll make us dinner.
Before he could reply, another text popped up.
Mom’s going up to the city to see a show.
Holy hell. They’d be alone. In her house. Playing games.
Except with Michaela, nothing was a game. He was playing for keeps.
Chapter Seventeen
On Saturday night, Flo wore a flirty black cocktail number that emphasized her trim waist, something she’d supposedly whipped out in a day, though Michaela was sure she’d been working on it long before that. Which meant her mother had known about this date days before she’d told Michaela.
