“You drive a Mercedes. You live in Cliff Blue. You go grocery shopping and come over for a family dinner in high heels. You so are, Amy,” he replied.

“I’ll have you know I do all my own laundry, cooking and cleaning,” I announced.

He picked up his own lobster, eyes still on me and they were dancing. “All of it? Wow, baby, impressive.”

I glared at him even as something warm stole through me.

He was teasing and he was doing it in a way he’d get a rise out of me because he liked to get a rise out of me and I knew why.

Even in getting along, he wanted me to have, as he put it, my “gloves up,” because he liked sparring with me, mostly because between us that was a spark that we had that when he fanned the flame with a kiss (or, eventually more), it blazed into an inferno.

That knowledge tingled someplace private, a sensation I enjoyed. A sensation I would have liked to experience a lot longer.

But I didn’t.

Because suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Shockingly, the instant they did, I watched Mickey tense. I also watched his head turn.

I followed his gaze and that was when I tensed.

Because being guided to a table across the restaurant were Martine and Conrad. They were moving but both had their heads turned, looking at Mickey and me.

Conrad appeared annoyed. Then again, for the last three years, that was always the way he looked at me.

Martine looked annoyed too.

Her eyes darting between Mickey and me, she looked something else as well.

Catty.

And if I could credit it, there was a hint of envy.

And there was a lot to be envious about.

She had Conrad, who was a cheat in a way he was probably still cheating, but this time, on her.

And I was sitting with Mickey, who was much more handsome, nicer, funnier and a whole lot better of a kisser.

Not to mention, my dress was far more stylish than her skirt and blouse and my shoes kicked her shoes’ ass.

The hairs on my neck eased.

“Fuck,” Mickey grunted.

“Honey,” I called and Mickey looked to me. “Thanks for ripping apart my meal.”

It was my way of saying this was him and me, our first date, our time, and Conrad and Martine were not going to ruin it.

He studied me before his eyes warmed and his face grew soft and when they did, I knew he heard me.

“Anytime, Amy.”

I grinned.

Then I looked down and picked up my cracker to dig into my lobster claws.

* * * * *

I was stuffed by the time we were done, and thankful, in an effort to get me eating, Mickey didn’t push dessert because I couldn’t have done it.

But I would have wanted to do it.

For him.