How did he know what I was thinking?
Likely because he was thinking of having sex with me.
Just not tonight.
That was one relief.
Though, it didn’t help, his comment about “taking his time,” which made me want to start having sex with him immediately.
Unfortunately, that new urge was added to the other things I continued to worry about.
“You hear me?” he asked on a hand squeeze when I didn’t answer.
“I heard you.”
“You gonna relax?” he pushed.
“We’re not fighting,” I blurted, looking to him to see his eyes aimed at where we were going.
“No,” he agreed.
I stared at his handsome profile.
No five o’clock shadow, he’d shaved for me.
I liked the whiskers.
I liked it more he made an effort for me.
The rest was him. Faded jeans, a lightweight cotton shirt with sleeves rolled up.
But the jeans were less faded and the shirt was an attractive plaid in beige and light blue against white that was a tad bit nicer than what he usually wore around me.
Yes, he’d made an effort for me.
This meant something.
So I decided to put it out there.
Tightening my fingers around his, I turned my body his way. “What if, no kids, no fighting, you find I’m not interesting?”
His hand convulsed in mine, nearly causing pain his strength was so formidable, and he did this bursting out laughing.
My comment was hardly funny.
“Mickey,” I snapped.
I could tell he was forcing his laughter to chuckles when he said incredulously, “You, the Calway heiress who’s busier than me, and I essentially got two jobs and am the only parent to my two kids, in that fuckin’ dress, sittin’ across from me with a million stories about old folks and what they get up to, not to mention what you get up to with Alyssa and Josie…not interesting?”
He made it sound like that was impossible.
“You’ve heard a lot of my old folks stories, Mickey,” I reminded him.
“They all kick the bucket since you last told ’em?” he asked me.
My heart clenched at the thought as I forced out, “Of course not.”
“Then don’t worry,” he muttered, slowing the truck and letting me go to keep a hand on the wheel and flip on his turn signal.
“I can’t regale you all night with stories of the residents of Dove House.”
“You can crack my shit up by using words like regale,” he returned.
I found that surprising.
“Regale is funny?” I asked.
“Amy,” he said as answer and said no more, but my name on his lips was uttered with a smile.
So I queried, “That’s it? Amy?”
He looked both ways and made his turn, saying, “I’ll confirm. Regale is funny.”
“How?”
“How is anything funny? It just is,” he replied.
“I find that strange,” I murmured, not knowing if that stung or if it didn’t.
He heard that too.
I knew it when he said, “I’m not makin’ fun of you, babe. It’s just cute. Like you can be when you’re not being bull-headed and a pain in the ass.”
God.
Really?
I glared at him. “You can be bull-headed and a pain in the ass too, Mickey.”
He glanced at me and did it grinning. “See? We already got a lot in common.”
It was in that moment I realized he was teasing and further realized it was funny and sweet. It also put us into a spot where we were familiar. This wasn’t a first date to be nervous about. This was Mickey and Amy going to dinner.
That was when I felt complete relief and I was grateful to Mickey for giving me that.
I didn’t share that verbally. I just rolled my eyes and faced forward but did it smiling.
And when I did it, I saw we were on Cross Street. Mickey took us down to the end, by the wharf, and found a parking spot only two doors down from the Lobster Market. It was clearly a score since the street was busy, not only with cars at the curbs angled in their spots, but with people strolling.
I figured this was an end of summer, use it before you lose it kind of thing. Living in La Jolla we didn’t have seasons, so I’d forgotten how you learned to pack it all in before you lost daylight and warmth.
Once parked, Mickey got out and was at my door by the time I had it opened and had a foot to the runner. He helped me down, away from the door, which he slammed, and he beeped the locks as he led me to the sidewalk.
He held my hand as we walked and again, I thought that was sweet.
When we made it to the Market, he went in and the hostess smiled, saying, “Hey, Mickey. Got your table all ready.”
She gave me a smile too before she grabbed some menus.
But I was surprised that the Lobster Market took reservations (and I was surprised in a nice way at more sweet from Mickey that he took the time to make one).