(Dream Man 03) Law Man(117)

When he ended the kiss, my head came up and I looked down at my man who had his arms around me, laughter still in his eyes and again my soul sighed.

Then he started talking.

“Right, baby, this mornin’ the play is, I get the bathroom first then I get Bud up and in the shower while you shower and I make coffee and breakfast. You get outta the shower, get Billie up, we have breakfast, you get Billie in the shower and do your thing and help her do her thing while I shower then we go. You with me?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said on a grin, used to this, liking this, we did it every morning.

“Break,” he whispered, lifted his head, kissed me quickly then rolled me off him and rolled the other way while flicking up the covers.

I watched as he walked into my bathroom.

My soul sighed again and it was a good one.

Mitch closed the door and I rolled to my back, pulling the covers up to my chest.

It was June and summer had hit the Rockies with surprising vigor. Usually, you could expect anything through May and into June, even blizzards but it had been warm and sunny, afternoon thundershowers nearly every day for weeks taking the heat off and leaving the nights cool and crisp.

The six weeks since Mitch hauled me into the real world were the six best weeks of my life, bar none, not a single day I’d lived in Mara World even came close.

* * * * *

First I sorted out birth control. Mitch said it was a priority and I agreed.

I wanted nothing between Mitch and me so, without delay, I made that so and went on the pill.

* * * * *

Second Mom and Aunt Lulamae totally disappeared. A call to Lynette and a recon mission by her told me they were back home. This was likely because they’d run out of funds to use to make my life hell and didn’t have their usual cadre of drunks and assholes whose wallets they could steal money from after they’d passed out.

Incidentally, I had shared everything with Lynette in a marathon phone call while my ass was planted in a lounge chair by the pool. It was hard to concentrate on all the important stuff I was telling her because Mitch showed halfway through our conversation, sweaty from a workout at the gym and he looked hot sweaty. It became harder to concentrate when my sunglassed eyes got a look at his face when he was walking toward me and I knew he seriously liked my bikini. It was even harder to concentrate (for obvious reasons) when, right in the middle of me listening to Lynette, he kissed me, hard but closed-mouthed. And it continued to be hard to concentrate when Billy and Billie noticed him and he spent the next ten minutes standing at the pool’s edge picking them up and throwing them in the water. They’d get out and he’d do it again and again. And lastly, it was hard to concentrate seeing as his hotness increased beyond measure because he was, sweaty, smiling and laughing a lot while making Billy smile and laugh a lot and Billie smile and squeal a lot. I wasn’t the only one to notice and would have to tear my sunglassed gaze away from my man and my kids when my possessive woman radar pinged and I’d need to glare down bikini-clad women who were drooling and giving him come hither looks.

But I managed it.

Lynette was beside herself with glee, informing me (repeatedly) she told me so as to the fact I was so a Ten Point Five.

“You might even be an Eleven!” she’d shrieked.

I couldn’t say I believed her (definitely not about the Eleven part). But that didn’t mean Mitch tearing my cocoon wide open and helping me fly didn’t mean I wasn’t (mostly) convinced I was at least a firm Eight.

But it wasn’t Lynette who convinced me of that, it was Mitch.

She was planning a trip out to meet Mitch, Billy and Billie in August and her parents were considering coming with her. I hadn’t seen her in three years, since her last trip out, and I hadn’t seen her folks in thirteen.

I couldn’t wait.

* * * * *

Third Bill was broke, incarcerated and had obviously played his trump card first. He was awaiting trial, a public defender preparing his defense something Mitch told me would not go well. Firstly because he was guilty, secondly because he already had two strikes and thirdly because he was stupidly refusing to plea bargain.

I never heard from him, the kids never heard from him but I had visited him once and only once and I did this with Mitch standing at my back (Mitch’s decree) so this visit didn’t go well. Still, it probably wouldn’t have gone well even if Mitch wasn’t there.

It lasted long enough for me to pick up my phone, Bill to pick up his phone while his angry eyes stayed glued through the glass to Mitch then they dropped to me, he said in his phone, “Fuck you, Mara. Fuck you.” Then he hung up the phone, got up and walked to the guard.