Page 11 of When There Was You
I pull back a few inches. “Or what?”
“Or are we going to give the neighbors a real show?”
Chuckling, I release my hold and step back to allow him entry.
“Are your roommates home?” he asks, trailing me into the living room.
“They went away this weekend. Some annual camping thing.”
Mick’s eyebrows raise and he scoops me around the waist. “We’ve got the place to ourselves?” He kisses the hollow of my throat.
“Uh huh,” I breathe.
His tongue licks a slow trail up my neck. “What should we do with all this privacy?”
I squirm as his warm breath sears me in the best way. Words evaporate, replaced by jagged panting.
He shifts my hair over my shoulder for better access, licking the shell of my ear and then probing deeper, eliciting a needy whimper from deep within me. “Is that your final answer?”
“Mick…” It’s a plea. The man reduces me to rubble—and subsequent begging.
He chuckles and...stops.
My eyes flare open. “You can be such a bastard.”
He grins. “Let’s get dinner like we planned. Mexican sounds really damn good.”
“Fine. I’ll be dessert.”
He pulls me in for another kiss. “Yes, you will. We’ll save the best for last.”
After I slip on some sandals, he tucks me into the Mustang, and we head toward downtown San Jose. We roll down the windows and absorb the day’s lingering sunlight.
Mick glances over at me. “I talked to Rick.”
The admission sends a jolt through me. He has news about Remy…finally.My shock is followed by an inner recoil as any mention of Mr. Remington reminds me that he’s a lecherous creep and his wife’s a high-handed battle-ax.
I want to shout,Why the hell didn’t you lead with this?but don’t. “What did he say?”
“Remy’s still in rehab, but they think he’ll be coming home in a few weeks. He’s supposedly better.”
“Meaning?”
“Hell if I know. He’s confined with no accessto drugs or alcohol, so he can’t exactly fuck up. Maybe he’s saying and doing all the right things. If I know Remy…”
“He’s playing the game.”
Mick nods and lights us both cigarettes.
I take a long pull off mine, appreciating the zing of the tobacco searing my lungs. “Did he say anything else?”
“They got rid of his apartment, cancelled his lease, and they expect Remy to move in with them for the foreseeable future.”
My head whips toward Mick. “Wow.”
“It’s pretty fucked up. And I doubt Remy knows.”
“Unfuckingbelievable. Virginia must be in heaven, getting to control her boy’s every step.” And that doesn’t bode well for me. I’m not “welcome” at her house; the memory of her telling me so replays like it happened yesterday instead of months ago. Simmering anger burns through my chest.
