Law Man(13)
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“It’s late,” I answered.
His whole face warmed. God, he was beautiful.
“Sweetheart let me in,” he said gently.
He was also nice. So nice. Why did that suck? Why couldn’t he be one of those arrogant Ten Plusses? Sure, if he was, it might knock him down to an Eight but he’d still be an Eight and out of my league.
“Mitch, it’s really late.”
He studied me. Then he nodded.
I thought I was off the hook but then he said, “Does your pizza keep?”
I blinked at him. “Pardon?”
He asked a different question. “Did you eat it?”
“Um…no,” I answered.
“Does it keep?”
“I think so,” I told him though I didn’t know. I made it. I baked it. I ate it. I’d never tested to see if it would keep in raw form prior to baking.
“Tomorrow night. Seven thirty. I’ll be back.”
My breath left me.
When I sucked some back in, I told him quietly, “You don’t have to do this.”
His brows drew together and he replied, “I know that. What I don’t know is why you’d think I’d think I do.”
There was no way I was going to explain it to him especially since I knew he knew, he was just being nice, so instead I said, “I’m just saying.”
“What?” he asked when I said no more. I didn’t respond so he continued, “What are you just saying?”
“I’m saying you don’t have to do this.”
He started to look impatient before he said, “Mara, let me in.”
“I’m tired and I need to work tomorrow.”
“I’m thinkin’ we need to talk right now.”
I shook my head. “There’s nothing to say. I should have maybe slipped you a note or something to tell you when I’d be over. I’m sorry that I put you in that –”
He cut me off, definitely impatient, “Mara, just let me in.”
“Mitch, really. Sundays are crazy at work. I need to sleep.”
“That wasn’t what you thought it was,” he told me.
I shook my head again. “There’s no need to explain.”
“Jesus, Mara, just let me in.”
“I’ll knock on your door next time, leave you a note, give you a warning, make sure you’re free.”
“Mara –”
I stepped away from the door and started closing it, “’Night, Mitch.”
“Damn it, Mara.”
I closed the door, locked it and ran to my room, closing that door too.
Then I got in my nightgown, slid into my bed and finally let myself cry.
A long time later, when I was done, I wiped my face, got out of bed, went to my open plan living room-slash-kitchen-slash-dining area and turned out the lights.
Then I went back to bed. Alone.
Like many Ones to Threes did every night.
Chapter Three
Messes
It was a week after the Mitch Incident.
My candles were lit and I was lying on my couch listening to my Chill Out at Home Premier Edition, the first of the Chill Out playlists I’d created. Al Green was singing “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart” and I was doing nothing but listening to him sing and drinking a glass of red wine.
I didn’t know if Mitch had come over Sunday night because I wrapped up my pizza and took it to work. I put it in the fridge in the break room and took it to Roberta’s after work. I cooked it in her oven and both Roberta and I managed to eat a piece before her children decimated it. I hung out with Roberta watching action movies until it was way late and I needed to get home before I was too tired to operate a motor vehicle.
Incidentally, this proved my pizza kept prior to baking.
Roberta asked about pizza with Mitch mainly because she was curious but also because it didn’t bode well she was eating Mitch’s pizza. I told her that Mitch hadn’t been able to make it. She looked about as disappointed as I felt.
Okay, maybe not that disappointed. Since I felt the need to scan newspaper ads to find an apartment somewhere on the other side of Denver from the one in which I lived across the breezeway from Mitch. But not before I became an alcoholic in order to numb the pain.
But she did look really disappointed.
Luckily, I’d worked the next two days and found reasons to get home later than normal. Both nights this effort proved unnecessary as his SUV wasn’t there when I got home.
Wednesday, however, I was off and that night at five thirty there came a knock on my door. I went to the door and looked through the peephole to see Mitch standing outside. He didn’t look happy. He looked impatient and maybe a little angry. When I kept looking and he kept looking angrier, I stopped looking and put my forehead to the door again. He knocked again. I didn’t move or make a noise.