(Dream Man 03) Law Man(13)

“You shut up, change and go get him, tigress,” he returned and then he disconnected.

I hit the off button on my phone. Then I sucked in breath. Then my feet took me to my bedroom and for some fool reason, I changed into the camisole, the faded, tight jeans and slipped on my silver sandals. I put on lip gloss (I’d already put on makeup, not heavy, just enough to lift me from a Two to my Two Point Five) and spritzed with perfume.

Why I did any of this, I didn’t know. I just did. Maybe it was because hope springs eternal. Maybe it was just because I was stupid.

But I did it and I really shouldn’t have.

Before I lost my nerve, I hoofed it over to Mitch’s and before my mind could talk me out of it, I knocked on the door.

I stood outside thinking I was an idiot, wishing I’d kept on my nicer jeans and semi-nice tee and flip-flops. I wished this so long I realized that he hadn’t answered the door.

My head turned to the side and I looked to the parking lot. His SUV was definitely there.

Maybe I didn’t knock loud enough.

I knocked again, louder but not insistent and not long. Just three sharp raps. If he didn’t open the door in ten seconds I was going back to my place. I could eat the whole pizza by myself. It would take days but I could do it. I’d done it before. He was probably taking a nap. He worked all hours. He probably needed naptime so he’d be alert when he was bringing criminals to justice.

The door opened, not all the way, and Mitch stood in it.

I stopped breathing.

“Mara,” he said softly, his eyes moving the length of me. The lack of oxygen and the intensity of which I liked it when he said my name made me feel faint.

With effort I pulled myself together, shot him a smile that I hoped looked genuine and not scared out of my brain and I said, “Saturday. Pizza time.”

“Who’s that?” a woman’s voice came from inside his apartment and she sounded ticked.

I stopped breathing again. The warmth fled Mitch’s face and his jaw clenched.

Then he said, “Mara, Christ, I’m sorry but now’s not a good time.”

Damn. Shit. Damn. Shit, shit, shit.

“Right,” I whispered then tried and failed to rally. “Okay then, um…”

God! I was a dork! Why was I such a dork? Being a dork knocked me down to a One Point Five.

“Mara –”

I talked over him. “I’ll just,” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, “let you go.”

Then I turned. I didn’t want to but I couldn’t stop myself from running across the breezeway, my heels clicking triple time on the cement.

I didn’t make it to the door. I was brought up short and this happened because Mitch’s hand caught mine and tugged. I had no choice but to whirl to face him.

“Mara, just give me –”

I pulled at my hand but didn’t succeed in freeing it. His hand was big. It engulfed mine. It was strong and so warm. Unbelievably warm.

“Some other time,” I told him.

“I asked,” a woman’s voice came at us. I looked around his body and saw a stunning Nine Point Seven Five standing in his doorway, arms crossed on her chest, face pissy. Even so, nothing could change how incredibly beautiful she was. She was wearing an outfit that cost about five times what mine did and my shoes were pretty expensive. “Who’s that?”

“Give me a minute,” Mitch growled and my eyes went to him to see he was looking over his shoulder and he didn’t seem very happy.

“Baby, you don’t have a minute,” she shot back, all attitude.

“Give me a minute,” Mitch clipped and I knew from the way he spoke he really wasn’t very happy.

“Mitch,” I called and his eyes came back to me. “Some other time,” I repeated but it was a lie.

I’d learned my lesson. I’d chitchat with him at LaTanya and Derek’s and B and B’s should they have get-togethers but no more pizza. No more. No thrill or belly whoosh was worth this. This was humiliating.

“I’ll be over in fifteen,” he told me and I blinked.

“You’ll what?” the Nine Point Seven Five snapped.

“No, really, that’s okay,” I said quickly. “Some other time.”

“You made pizza,” Mitch stated, squeezing my hand. His eyes moved down the length of me telling me he knew what the camisole meant, what the sandals meant, that I’d aimed high. He was a good guy and he wasn’t going to shoot me down. Not now. Not in front of her.

I felt like crying.

“Promise, it’s okay,” I told him.

“I’ll be over in fifteen,” he repeated.

I couldn’t take anymore. With a rough twist, I pulled my hand from his and took a huge step back, my shoulders slamming into my door.