Mending Michael Read Online Free PDF Page B

looks behind the bar and sees the mess. "Charity?"
    "Yeah," Mick mumbles.
    "I'm sorry, Mick. I should have made her wait for me, but I didn't see the harm. I'm sorry."
    "Don't bring her back. Please. You wanna help? Get her to rehab." Mick ends his plea and returns to cleaning up the broken glass.
    Luke walks a sobbing Charity out and I watch Mick pour himself a scotch-sized glass of vodka and toss it back. Then I watch him pour another.
    "Whoa there, Cowboy. Don't you need to be driving home or something?"
    I'm treated to that all-too-familiar glare. When he opens his mouth to speak, I blurt, "I know. Mind my own fucking business."
    He chokes back a grumble, but the corner of his mouth quirks.
    "Just sayin'." I scoff and reset the stools so they are aligned evenly in front of the bar.
    "I live upstairs," Mick says so quietly I almost miss it.
    "Oh. Then by all means, drink away."
    He chugs another, then says, "But I have to pick up my niece."
    I immediately stop straightening up the chairs in the bar and reprimand him. "You are not going to put a kid in your car."
    "I'm not. I'm putting her in my sister's car."
    "The girl who was just here?"
    "Yeah."
    "You're a fucking lunatic. You can't drive drunk with a kid in your car. You've got, like, what, almost a gallon of vodka in you?"
    Mick stills, finally letting it sink in. He runs a hand through that thick dark hair of his and starts kicking inanimate objects behind the bar.
    Meanwhile, I start making a pot of coffee. When he realizes what I'm doing, he says, "What the hell? What are you doing?"
    First I look at the coffee machine, then I look at Mick. "Making a pot of coffee?" I say rather sarcastically.
    "We're supposed to be cleaning up, not making more of a mess."
    "Well, duh." Duh? Really? "I thought it'd sober you up."
    Mick shakes his head.
    I turn the coffee pot on.
    "Coffee doesn't sober you up," he snaps, his voice sharp and angry.
    "Well then you'll be good and wide-awake when you're giving me directions to your niece's house."
    "I'll do no such thing. You think I'm gonna let you pick up my three year-old niece? You don't even know what she looks like." He finishes washing the last glass and begins putting them away. "You'll probably end up kidnapping the wrong kid and get yourself arrested."
    "I wasn't going to go without you, you jerk. I was going to drive you there."
    "Oh." His face turns a little red, but he turns away from me.
    "Did I embarrass you?" I mock.
    "Shut up."
    While pouring two mugs of coffee, I think about Mick Ross and wonder what he is really all about. There has to be something more that lies beneath his gruff and cool exterior. Then, without invitation, my thoughts go to physically lying beneath Mick and wondering what he must be like in the bedroom—cool, indifferent, angry? Or could he be the total opposite of what he's like in the bar. Warm, sensitive, sensual?
    It's when I'm imagining Mick's assaulting lips on my neck that I feel a cool wet sensation crawling over my hand.
    "Holly," Mick calls out.
    Shit, the milk. "Oh geez." I quickly wipe up the milk I was pouring into my mug and give him the cup with no milk.
    "I don't take mine black."
    "A thank you would have been nice." As I'm pouring the milk, I continue, "I assumed you took your coffee black. You know, because of your sweet demeanor and all."
    When I hear him sigh and see him close his eyes, I think , He's kind of cute when he's exasperated. Of course, I don't tell him so.
    About an hour later, I'm done mopping the floor, and Mick's done cleaning up behind the bar.
    "I can't believe you made me mop the floor," I tell him while he sets the alarm before we leave.
    "It's your job." He opens the door, lets me out, and locks the door behind us.
    "So, where am I taking you?"
    "I'm fine. You don't need to take me anywhere."
    I stop in place. When he realizes he's walking through the parking lot alone, he stops and turns around.
    "You are not driving with that little girl in the car." At