Of course at that moment, the waitress shows up, so I grab the bag she hands me then take Mia out to my truck and drive her back to the dealership. When we hit the lot, she directs me to where she’s parked, and I get out with her and make sure she’s inside her car before I hand her the bag of food.
“Don’t you want your pancakes?”
“I think your sister’s gonna need chocolate chip pancakes more than I do.”
Her expression softens, and she licks her lips before asking, “Do you have your phone?”
I pull it out of my pocket, and she takes it from me, tapping on the screen, but then she starts to hand it back to me when it asks for my password. “The code’s 1-2-3-4.”
“Of course it is.” She laughs, typing it in before she clicks on the icon for my phone book. With one hand on the doorframe above her head, the other on the back of her seat, I watch her add her name and number to my contacts then hear her phone ring a moment later.
“Now you have my number and I have yours.” She smiles, handing me back my cell.
I shove it in my back pocket then touch my fingers to her chin, watching her eyes flare. “Call me anytime,” I tell her, and she nods as her eyes drop to my mouth. Fuck, I want to lean in and kiss her, but I hold myself in check. I know there’s chemistry between us. I know she feels it too, but I need her to understand there’s more than that, especially since she’s the one who’s been so gun-shy about even going on a date with me. As much as it kills me, I tap the roof of her car then step back, keeping hold of her door with my eyes locked on hers. “Get home safe, and let me know you got there okay.”
“S-sure,” she stutters, looking a mixture of surprised and disappointed.
“Night, sweetheart.” I shut her door and step back then wait until she pulls out of the lot before I get back in my truck. Once I’m behind the wheel, I smile. Despite the way the day started, it was a really fucking good day.
CHAPTER 5
Mia
I WAKE TO the smell of bacon, with my head pounding and my face being licked as heavy paws land on my chest and arm. Groaning, I grab hold of my girls to stop them both from attacking my face with good morning kisses and open my eyes, only to squeeze them shut a minute later to block out the light. With more strength than I seem to have, I sit up and rest my face in my hands, regretting my impulsive decision to drink last night.
When I got home, I found Cece in the kitchen with a bottle of vodka and decided to join her for shots, which was probably stupid, since I rarely drink anything other than a glass of wine every now and then. The only positive is Cece finally opened up to me over vodka and Talon’s chocolate chip pancakes about how she felt during her marriage, which had apparently been crumbling long before Mike decided to cheat on her.
She explained that they had been fighting for a couple years, each argument seeming to focus on how she wasn’t doing enough around the house or how she should be doing more with the girls. Then she told me that before he came out about his affair, they hadn’t been intimate in months, and before that, they would go weeks between any kind of physical contact. I tried to reassure her that, with kids and life, sometimes that’s normal, but she told me that even when he initiated sex, she would push him away, because she just wasn’t interested.
I didn’t want to tell her that she probably didn’t want to be intimate with him because of the way he was acting—like a douche—but I kept my mouth closed, because I knew that wouldn’t help. I did tell her that even if he was unhappy, he should have come out and told her that he wanted out before sleeping with someone else. I hated listening to her cry, and as much as it sucked that she was cutting open old wounds, I think it helped her to reflect and face the hard truth about her marriage and to realize that maybe things were not great before it ended.
Uncovering my face, I look around the living room. I remember Cece heading upstairs last night while I was cleaning up the kitchen. I don’t remember choosing to sleep on the couch instead of going upstairs to my bed. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t attempt to make it up the stairs, considering the fact that I don’t even recall passing out on the couch. I slowly get up and shuffle to the kitchen, where the smell of bacon is strong enough to make me want to gag.