But like I couldn’t stop it, to save face, I continued being so as I shook my hair, ordering, “See that it doesn’t.”

“Maybe you should date Stone,” he muttered. “Match made in heaven.”

I couldn’t believe he just said that.

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” I snapped.

“Call ’em like I see ’em,” he declared.

That made me even more angry.

Angry enough to lean into him. “It’s you being mean that brings this out in me.”

He bent his neck deep, getting in my face.

“I told you ‘nice dress,’” he clipped. “Because it’s a nice dress. Looks good on you. If that’s mean, you definitely got a screw loose and have no clue how a man should treat you. Fuck, you like nasty, after I saw what your ex did to you, now I’m wondering what it took Infinity to get his tongue in your mouth. What? He tell you you looked like a whore?”

“I’m not discussing Bradley with you,” I retorted coolly.

He leaned back, his eyebrows going up, and asked incredulously, “Bradley?”

“Yes. Bradley,” I bit off.

“Like, he makes you say the whole thing?” he pushed.

“The whole thing what?” I asked.

“Bradley. Not Brad,” he explained impatiently.

“Yes, the whole thing. He prefers Bradley,” I confirmed.

He looked over my head and let out a puff of disgusted air.

“It is a name, Mickey,” I informed him and his eyes came back to me.

“It’s a name for a douche, Amy.”

All right, enough.

“Are we done?” I asked.

“Probably until your phone call, yeah,” he answered.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening with your marvelous children who I have absolutely no clue how they could have come from your loins,” I bid him.

“And you enjoy the rest of yours in your big house all by yourself,” he returned.

“I will,” I gritted.

“I bet,” he retorted, stepped back and shut the door in my face.

“Jerk,” I whispered to his door.

Then I turned on my beautiful high heel and stomped down his walk (I couldn’t go through his yard, my heels would sink in), down his drive and right to my house.

He couldn’t hear me and he wasn’t looking.

I still slammed my front door.

* * * * *

“Yeah?” Mickey answered.

Charming.

“It’s Amelia.”

“Know who it is.”

“Dela said the kids can come.”

“I’ll alert the media.”

Jerk!

“Can you drop them off at Dove House at ten?”

“Yep.”

“And pick them up at one?”

“Can do.”

“Excellent.”

“Later.”

“’Bye.”

He hung up.

I glared at my phone.

Then I shoved it in my purse and flounced out of Dove House, the flouncing all for me since no one was in reception so no one could admire my magnificent drama caused by a man named Mickey.

* * * * *

“This is gonna be so fun,” Cillian whispered excitedly.