Chapter 8
MIKE
I’m a man on a mission. Carl at Meat Cute promised he could special order everything I need for tomorrow’s crew meal. If you care about your food, you go to the butcher.
Ever since we started our own version of Chopped, the crew has tried to one-up each other suggesting some of the weirdest shite to challenge me.
Not everything I’ve created with their suggestions has been palatable, and if they give me a list of gross ingredients, I’ll make a backup dish just in case.
And because I love chaos, the rookies get served the gobshite meal, and everyone else gets the good one.
Watching the rookies insist it’s delicious while clearly suffering is feckin’ hilarious.
But they clean their plates because they know better than to complain.
One night after a particularly rank casserole made with chicken feet, cottage cheese, and caramelized carrots, I nearly lost it at the table.
RJ kept pushing a talon around his plate, pretending to cough every time he turned his head so he could dry heave.
Hardy gave me a knowing look, so I filled him in on the joke.
Now he’s my partner in crime, deliberately suggesting the foulest shite imaginable whenever the rookies get unruly.
It’s been a surprisingly effective way to keep them in line.
Carl is still helping several people in front of me when a tiny set of hands grabs both of my arse cheeks and squeezes.
“Tushy!” a small voice squeals.
I chuckle to myself, deciding to ignore it since it’s probably just a toddler who’s still learning about boundaries.
“Oh my God, Levi, no! We do not touch people’s bottoms!”
Feckin’ hell, I know that voice. When he squeezes again, I decide to have some fun.
I jump and spin, turning to face him as I puff out my chest and put my hands on my hips. “Who is touching my tushy! Don’t you know it’s bad luck to pinch someone before St. Patrick’s Day!” I bellow in my best Papa Bear voice. It’s not true, but I decide to have fun with the wee one.
The kid looks taken aback for a split second before he breaks into a fit of giggles. “You sound funny!”
“Levi, that’s not nice!” Lucy scolds, grabbing his hand and pulling him back. “Say you’re sorry.”
She won’t make eye contact, and something about that doesn’t sit right with me.
“I sorry,” Levi says.
“It’s okay, pal. But you really shouldn’t touch people’s bottoms. What if they farted in your face?” I don’t know why I’m egging him on, but there’s something in his giggle that makes my heart feel at ease.
“Fart!”
“Not again. I just got him to stop saying that one,” Lucy groans, dropping her head.
“Sorry, I was just trying to break the tension,” I say.
“Fart, fart, fart!” Levi continues before breaking out his best impression of a fart by blowing his lips against his hand.
“It’s fine.”
Oh shite, I really fucked up.
Levi looks like he’s about to make a run for it when she scoops him up, placing him on her hip just as Micah pokes his head out from behind her.
“Hey there,” I say, pretending to tip my hat to him.
“Hi.” He takes a step out from behind his mom, still clutching her shirt.
“How’s the arm?”
“It doesn’t hurt anymore. Want to sign my cast?”
“Of course I do.” I pat down my pockets in a big show. “But I don’t have a pen.”
His face drops, and he lets out a big sigh. “It’s okay.”
Like hell if I’m gonna let that go. “I know I have some at the firehouse. Whataya say we head over there, and I can sign your cast? And maybe you guys would like to sit in the big fire truck?”
Micah looks up at Lucy, tugging on her shirt. “Pleeeease, Mama, can we?”
“Fire truck. Fire truck!” Levi chants.
“I guess we’re going to the firehouse,” she says with only a hint of exasperation.
“There’s two trucks and an ambulance. They can run around, push all the buttons, and it’s fully enclosed and staffed, so they can’t run off. And if they get hurt, you know you’ll get the best EMT in town,” I say, taking a step closer to her.
“Oh, is Hardy working today?” she quips, finally making eye contact with me, a hint of challenge in her emerald-green eyes. I like this fire in her.
I clutch my chest as I wince. “You wound me, Lucy.”
“Oh no, he has an ouchie,” Levi says, pointing at me. “Kiss it, Mama. Kiss his ouchie better.”
“Yeah, Mama, kiss it better,” I say.
Her eyes flick to my chest, then up to my lips, lingering briefly before she shakes her head quickly as if to snap herself out of what she’s feeling. “Mr. Mike is a big boy, I’m sure he doesn’t need kisses to feel better.”
“Yes, he does. They always make boo-boos better,” Levi insists.
I tilt my head at her, hoping she’ll listen to her little instigator. “I do. I need it to feel better,” I say, popping open a button with one hand and pulling the collar of my polo open to expose my pec.
“This is ridiculous,” she grumbles.
“You have to ask him where it hurts,” Levi adds.
I’m going to give this kid every piece of candy we have in the firehouse when this is over. I don’t think I’ve ever had a better wingman.
“Fine. Where does it hurt?” She rolls her eyes as she hoists Levi higher on her hip.
“Here.” I slowly trace the hard lines of my pec with a finger and revel in the way her eyes track the movement.
She exhales deeply as she slowly leans into my chest. When she’s millimeters away, she mutters an almost inaudible “so stupid” and literally pecks me like a chicken, her nose poking me more than anything. I don’t think she even puckered her lips.
“Not like that, Mama, like this.” Levi leans over, puckers his lips, and plants one on my shirt. There’s some sort of food residue still present on his face, and he smears it on the fabric, and I chuckle as Lucy’s eyes fixate on it.
“Oh jeez, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes are still stuck on the stain.
I shrug, unbothered. “I have a Tide pen at the firehouse.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, and I hold her stare, waiting for her to make the next move.
She glances around me instead. “Why is this taking so long?”
“Kiss his boo-boo, Mama,” Levi whines as Micah pokes his head out from behind her again, suddenly interested in our conversation.
“I need a good kiss, you know, to make sure my boo-boo fully heals.”
Her brows pinch, and she narrows her eyes at me. When she leans forward, she exhales slowly, deliberately, and the warmth of it tickles my skin.
Those emerald-green eyes stay locked on mine. Not flustered. Not shy. Challenging.
Something tightens low in my gut. The sudden, unmistakable awareness that this woman isn’t playing along for her kids anymore. It feels like she’s choosing this. Choosing me. Choosing to stand this close.
There’s no room left in my head for restraint. No polite thought will survive this. All I can think about is putting her on her knees, forcing her to look me in the eyes while choking on my cock.
The second her plush pink lips caress my bare skin, I know I’ve fucked up. And now I have a boner in public. I move my hands in front of my crotch, willing my dick to deflate.
“Better?” she asks, a hint of snark in her tone as her eyes flick down to my pants.
“Loads,” I rasp.
“Hey, Mike, I’ve got your special order,” a voice calls from behind me, and I spin on my heel as I step up to the counter, thankful for the momentary reprieve so I can collect myself.
Carl rings me up, and I have him add Lucy’s purchase to my tab. I’m almost out the door when I hear her protest. The way she objects tells me she’s not used to anyone stepping in for her. That might be a problem. Or it might be exactly what she needs.
The store is empty now when she calls out, “Mike, you didn’t have to do that. Let me pay you back.”
“I’m headed to the firehouse. We’ll have to square up over there. That is, if you don’t have too many other things on your list for today,” I say as I exit the store, not entirely confident she’ll follow, but for once hopeful that she will.