6. Mick
CHAPTER SIX
MICK
I hear the elevator’s mechanical sigh reaching my floor. I take a deep breath and walk over to the door. Fuck. It’s been the longest goddamn week of my life. There’s a pause, then the knock and I open the door. Fuck. She’s stunning.
She’s wearing a blue sweatshirt and faded blue jeans that hug every line of her curvy legs. Her hair is up in a riot of curls, and her face is naked except for a swipe of something on her lips that’s the exact color of ripe peaches. I want to lick it off her.
“Hi, trouble.” I reach for her soft hand. “About time you got here.”
“Hey,” she says, all faux-casual, but I can see the way her pulse jumps at her throat. “I’m five minutes early.”
“It’s been eight thousand, two hundred and few minutes since I last saw you.” I step back, give her room. “Way too fucking long.”
“I can’t believe you calculated that.” She says as she brushes past me. The smell of her—lavender and something I can never quite name—hits me dead center. My brain short-circuits. I have to fist both hands to my sides to keep from just pulling her in and mauling her right there.
“I had to do something to occupy my time.” I tell her as she looks around my apartment.
“Nice place.” She says it with a smirk, like she’s expecting sterile hockey-boy chic.
“Make yourself at home.” I watch her scan the room, taking in the exposed concrete, the minimal everything.
“Thanks.” She moves like she belongs here, dropping her keys on the kitchen counter, toeing off her sneakers by the door.
“You hungry?” I ask.
She grins, a flash of those white teeth. “Starving.”
I motion her toward the dining table. “Have a seat and talk to me while I plate our dinner.”
“Do you need any help?” She glances over at me.
“Nope. I can handle this.” I wink at her as she sits, crossing her legs at the ankle.
I fill her wine glass full of the fancy Cabernet that Jaxson, the smug fucker, recommended. “I hope you like this.”
“Thanks.” She takes a big sip of the wine and watches as I plate the food.
“This looks great.” She tells me as I place the plates on the table.
“Fingers crossed.” I mutter and drop into my chair. “My grams would roll over in her grave if I fucked it up.”
We dig in and eat for a while without saying a word. After a while, she glances over and catches me watching her. “You’re staring, McLinden.”
No use denying it so just I shrug. “I can’t help it. You look fucking gorgeous.”
“Suck up.” She laughs and digs into her meal. I fucking love watching her eat. I almost choke on my next bite when cock turns to stone in my jeans.
While we eat, she talks about her last shift.
There were five car accidents, two cardiac arrests, and a twelve-year-old who set off the fire alarm in the ER with a vape pen all before midnight.
I tell her about the last Knights’ game leaving out the part where I played like shit because my mind was fucking occupied with her.
We finish dinner and she stands up, stretching. I watch as the sweatshirt rides up an inch, exposing a line of soft skin at her waist and I nearly come in my goddamn pants.
She glances at the windows, the skyline. “You have a great views.”
I don’t take my eyes off of her. “That I do.”
She turns to face me, and for a second it’s like the world shrinks to just us. My hands itch with the need to touch her but I want her to come to me.
She finally breaks the tension. “Are we going to watch a horror movie or what?”
I nod to the couch. “Pick your spot while I clean off the table.”
“Need help?”
“I’m going to put the plates soaking.” I tell her as she saunters to the couch, a bold bounce in her step, and drops onto the far side. “Then I’ll clean it up later.”
“I can’t see you washing your own dishes.” She calls from the living room as she starts flipping through my channels.
“You’d be surprised how self-sufficient I am.”
After I put our plates in the sink, I sit on the sofa next to Mia. She pulls her legs up under her, curls into the corner. I stretch out, arms along the backrest, claiming space without crowding her.
She grabs the remote, flips on the TV, and pulls up the streaming menu. Her face is lit by the blue glow, jaw set, eyes narrowed in concentration.
I watch her instead of the screen. She decides on a classic—Halloween, the original. No hesitation.
“Is this okay with you?” She glances over and asks.
Fuck. I’d watch whatever the fuck she wants right now. “Yep.” I tell her and settle in with her by my side.
Fifteen minutes in, she’s completely absorbed. I study her out of the corner of my eye. She doesn’t scare easy. Every jump scare, every shriek, she doesn’t even blink. Just sips her wine, leg bouncing gently under the blanket she pulled over her lap.
The urge to touch her is getting harder to ignore. I inch closer, slow, and let my arm settle along the back of the couch, not quite touching her. “Stop being shy.” She grumbles and scoots over to snuggle into my side.
Fucking perfect. I slide my hand from her shoulder to the nape of her neck. She shivers, just a tiny bit as I pull her closer until her side is flush against me, the weight of her head fitting perfectly under my chin.
The movie plays on, but it might as well be white noise. The sound of her breathing, the way her body fits against mine, the charge filling the air around us is all I can think about.
She laughs, the sound low and unsteady. “Now would be the perfect time for you to kiss me.”
She isn’t wrong. I pull her close and lean over to cover her soft lips with mine.
She opens for me and lets me deepen it. Things get hot fast. Her hands slide through my hair, tugging me closer.
I let my palm slide under the hem of her sweatshirt, up her side, feeling the goosebumps that explode along her ribs.
I want to haul her onto my lap and devour her. But I force myself to slow down and let her set the pace.
She scoots around and settles into my lap, her knees straddling my thighs. I groan as her hands dig in and pull me even tighter.
At some point, she pulls away, panting, eyes wild and alive.
“This is the point where you carry me to your bedroom,” she whispers, but she’s smiling.
“Are you always this bossy?” I ask.
She laughs again, head falling onto my shoulder, and I wrap both arms around her, holding her in place. “Are you always this slow to make a move?”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I stand up with her pressed against the front of my body and she wraps her curvy legs around my waist. “Hold on, trouble. I’m about to move fast.”
“About time.” She whispers against my neck.
Fuck. I’m not going to last.