MICK
CHAPTER FOUR
I spend a restless night staring at the goddamn ceiling. Fucking hell. I can still see her. The way she looked at that table, tilting her head back and laughing for the motherfucker.
I really wanted to walk straight to her booth and drag that asshole out the door to rearrange all those vowels in his last name.
Except I knew if I made a scene, I’d drive Mia further from me.
So I sat there at the bar silently seething until they finally fucking got up and left.
By the time I left that fucking restaurant, I knew I had to make a move.
At dawn, I drag myself out of bed, head pounding, every muscle in my body protesting the sleepless night.
After taking a hot shower, I dress and drag my ass to the kitchen for some much-needed coffee.
I stand in my kitchen, drinking the first cup, already mapping out everything I need to do for tonight.
This dinner needs to be perfect. Fuck. It’s going to be a long goddamn day.
Seven long hours later, I drive through Seattle on my way to Mia’s place.
Motherfucking hell, my pulse is banging like it’s game seven overtime.
I pull up in front of her building, slam my car into park, and head for her door.
My fists clench at my sides, adrenaline burning hotter with every step. Fuck. I can’t wait to see her.
I knock on the apartment door and hold my breath waiting for her to answer.
The door opens and I almost swallow my goddamn tongue.
She's wearing a deep plum dress that clings to every luscious curve.
Her dark, curly hair is pinned up, but a few loose strands escape to frame a face that looks entirely too kissable for a public setting.
She has that unhurried swagger that always makes my pulse spike, a mix of confidence and something softer that she only lets me see.
"You're early, McLinden," she says, her blue eyes dancing as she looks up at me.
"I couldn’t wait another second to see you," I say, taking her hand. Her skin is warm, and the contact sends a familiar jolt straight to my gut. “You look beautiful, baby.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She smirks up at me and my cock turns to stone in my pants as I fight the urge to kiss her smiling lips.
Fuck it. I give up the fight and pull her close for a quick kiss. Before I lose control completely, I pull back and place my forehead against hers. "Ready?"
"As ready as I’ll ever be," she smiles up at me. I thread my fingers through hers. Fuck, her hand is so goddamn small in mine. Perfect fit. There's no way I'm letting go. Not tonight. Not fucking ever.
"Let’s go, baby," I murmur, and I can’t resist kissing her one more time. Just a quick press of my mouth to hers, but it sparks all the way through me, like she flipped the breaker on my self-control. I want her. I want her so much I can barely see straight.
She laughs, head tilted back, a couple of those curls shaking loose, and damn, I want to bury my hands in that hair and mess it all up. But I don’t. Not yet. There’s time for that later. Tonight, I play the gentleman. Or at least try to.
Outside, my car is parked at the curb and I open the passenger door for her, steadying her as she climbs in, my hand catching her waist. She’s soft, warm, and for a second, I almost yank her back out and take her right here against the side of my goddamn vehicle.
Christ. Focus.
I shut the door, round the front, and drop into the driver’s seat beside her. Fuck me. That dress is a hazard. No way in hell I’m making it through the night without tearing it off her.
Her perfume fills the car in seconds. Lavender and something uniquely Mia that’s got my pulse hammering. My hands flex on the wheel as I try to focus on not immediately mauling her before we even make it to dinner.
She glances at the dash, then at me. “You haven’t told me where we’re going for dinner.”
I take her soft hand in mine and bring it to my lips. “I know I haven’t.”
“Let’s try this again.” Her soft fingers tighten in mine. “Where are you taking me for dinner?”
Damn, she’s cute when she’s bossy. I shoot her a look. “I heard Tesoro Nascosto is pretty good, so I thought we’d try it out.”
“Sounds good to me.” She leans back in the leather seat and glances out the window. “Now, that wasn’t so hard was it.”
"You’re going to keep me on my fucking toes." I pull up and hand my keys to the valet.
I help Mia out of the car and lead her into the darkened restaurant. The place is exactly what I wanted for our first date. Low lighting, starched tablecloths, the smell of garlic and old money.
The hostess leads Mia and me to a booth at the back. I slide in across from her while the host babbles about house specialties. I don’t hear a damn word. I’m too busy staring concentrating on the way my girl is looking back at me.
The waitress appears out of nowhere and asks what we want to drink.
Mia gives her a lazy smile. “House Cabernet. The biggest glass you’ve got.” Then she glances over at me and winks.
Christ, that goes straight to my dick. So fucking sassy. “Whiskey, neat,” I say. “Two pours.”
“Yes, sir.” The waitress sweeps away and it’s just us again.
Mia’s lips twist like she’s fighting a smile.
“You going hard on the whiskey tonight?” she asks, tilting her head. Those blue eyes rake over me like she’s not even pretending to behave.
“Liquid courage,” I tell her. I don’t blink. Don’t even try to dial it down. “Figured I’d need something to help calm my nerves.”
She snorts, shaking her head, and the curls framing her face bounce. All I want to do is fuck up that pretty hair by fisting my hands in it while I have her screaming my name.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of little ole’ me, McLinden.”
“Terrified.” Fuck if that isn’t the truth. This girl holds the key to my future happiness in the palm of her hand.
The waitress returns with our drinks. She sets the glass down in front of Mia, and holy hell. The glass is enormous. There’s no way she’ll finish that.
Mia picks it up and takes a slow, confident sip, eyes locked on me across the flickering candle. I'm dying to lick that Cabernet off her lips.
The waitress rattles off the specials in a blur, but I don’t catch a damn word because Mia’s tongue swirls behind that glass and my cock is throwing a house party under the table.
I grip the edge of the table, focusing on my breathing like I’m killing a penalty and the game’s on my shoulders. Jesus Christ. She just sits there, sipping wine, fucking with my focus.
We order and I have no clue what I tell the waitress.
All that matters is Mia. Once our food comes, she digs in and I watch the way she tilts her head when something’s good, the small noises she tries to hide.
I take it in, every fucking detail, burning it into my memory.
Goddamn. She’s already got me wrapped around her little finger.
Whenever she smiles, I feel it in places I didn’t know could ache. I slow it down. Don’t crowd her.
She quirks her lips and lets the silence stretch, her finger tracing the rim of her wineglass like she’s buying time. I wait. My chest is tight with wanting, but I don’t rush her. If she wants to talk, I’ll listen all goddamn night.
I take a drink of my whiskey, “Tell me about your family.”
She hesitates, and it’s like she’s weighing a thousand possible answers all at once. “No siblings,” she says, with a shrug. “Only child. My parents were older when they had me. They’re both retired now, living the dream out in Walla Walla.”
I lean in, elbows on the table. “You close with them?”
“They’re fine,” she says. “Kind of formal, to be honest. The house was always neat, quiet. My dad’s a former engineer, my mom was a nurse. I was the weird, loud kid who always wanted more noise.”
Shit. I know that feeling. The hunger for chaos, for warmth.
“You ever wish you’d had siblings?” I ask, my voice low. She tilts her head, eyes catching on mine, and there’s a flicker. The one that says she’s about to say something that matters, even if she’d rather eat glass.
“All the time,” she says, finally. Her fingers do a lazy loop around the stem of her wineglass.
“I’d watch my friends bicker with their sisters or get in fistfights with their brothers, and I’d get weirdly jealous.
Like, wow, imagine having someone who’s contractually obligated to annoy you for life. ”
She shrugs, but her shoulders roll higher than necessary. “My parents loved me, don’t get me wrong. But they’re very structured. I was sort of the chaos agent. I think they’re still recovering from the time I microwaved a tin can just to see what would happen.”
I just grin. “So you’re saying you were born to cause trouble.”
“Obviously.” She tips her glass in a fake toast. “But, you know, solo chaos gets old. Eventually you want someone on your side. Someone to, I don’t know, pull you out of the inevitable fires you start.”
Fuck. I already knew she owned but I had no idea how fucking perfect she really is.
I huff out a laugh and lift my whiskey, tipping it toward her. “I’m a member of the only child club, too. Guess we’re both the chaos agents in our families.”
“Let me guess,” she says, tilting her head, blue eyes all knowing and shiny. “You were the human version of a border collie. Breaking furniture and destroying everything in your path.”
“Entirely feral,” I admit. “I had way too much energy. My mom used to threaten me with boarding school. Instead, she bought me skates and signed me up for hockey.”
She snorts into her wine. “At least it worked out for you.”
“This is true.” I set the glass down, tracing the rim.
Her eyes are glued to my face, hungry to know more, and it gets me right in the chest. “They didn’t do siblings, either.
Work, routines, a lot of formality. Hockey was how we communicated.
They showed up for every game, but we never really talked in between. ”
She goes quiet. There’s a micro-expression, right there, raw and unguarded. Like she gets it. The loneliness that clings to your ribs even when you’ve filled every single seat in the bleachers.
“I never fit at home, either.” My fingers flex on the table. “But on the ice, it felt like home.”
“To only-child loneliness and finding where you fit in.” She holds up her glass to mine.
I clink my whiskey to hers, and for a second, it’s like the whole world shrinks down to just this booth, this table, this woman.
I watch her take a sip, lips deep red from the wine, and I have to look away before I do something unfit for public viewing.
She asks about hockey, and I give her a few scandalous locker-room stories. She tells me about the hospital, and I can practically see her in those scrubs, rolling her eyes at the chaos, secretly loving it. Her laugh does things to my chest I don’t have words for.
We order dessert even though we’re both stuffed. She pretends to be scandalized when I steal a bite of her tiramisu. I promise to make it up to her and she tells me she’s going to hold me to that.
Hours vanish. The booth, the emptying restaurant, the way our fingers are intertwined on the table. I can’t stop touching her. I don’t even try.
Eventually, we have to go. I pay the bill and lead her out into the chilly Seattle night. I open the car door for her, and for a second, just stare.
“I wish tonight wasn’t over,” I say. My voice is rough. The truth, plain as I can make it.
She slides into the passenger seat, looking up at me through her lashes. “Me either.” I can barely fucking breathe. I’m dying to take her back to my place tonight but I want to do this right. Earn it. Win her goddamn heart and soul.
I tuck her into the passenger seat and shut the door gently, even though what I really want to do is slam it and then take her up against the side of the car like some kind of caveman. I slide behind the wheel, fighting for control. My voice is rough as sandpaper.
“I want to see you every goddamn day.” I grip the gearshift so hard my knuckles go white. “But I’ve got games. Four in a row, starting tomorrow. I’ll be living and breathing the rink till Thursday.”
She glances sideways, eyes glittering with amusement and something softer. “That’s a shame. Guess I’ll have to pine for you while you’re off being a hockey god.”
Fucking hell. She’s perfect.
“Are you free on Friday?” I hold my goddamn breath waiting for her answer. “I’ll make you dinner. No distractions. Just us and my grandmother’s famous pot roast.”
She grins, slow and wicked. “There’s no way I can say no to homemade pot roast.”
“It’s a date.” I take her soft hand in mine and bring it to my lips for a kiss. Driving her straight home and dropping her off at her front door with a quick kiss is the hardest thing I’ve ever done but I force myself to do it. I have to get this right. Fucking this up isn’t an option.