Fifteen
“How come you’re not married with a few of your own kids running around?” Chase asked.
“Excuse me? Did you just make a barefoot-and-pregnant reference about me?” Her eyebrows rose in offense.
“No.” The word was outlined with patience. “I asked a question. We already covered the easy stuff. Time to answer a few hardballs.”
She’d stayed naked like he’d requested while they ate waffles, but they’d since slipped back into their clothes, lounging on the couch after he threw another log on the fire. They’d chatted about college and the jobs they’d held after graduation. They talked about their siblings and their parents—he and Mimi were both close to their families. He hurt for her when she mentioned missing her late father. Chase knew too well how it felt to watch a parent have a close brush with the Other Side. He wished he could make a deal with the universe to keep Rider and Eleanor Ferguson immortal. His siblings, too. Hell, everyone.
The worry over his father’s heart attack had eaten Chase alive, and if his dad had met his maker that day rather than coming out of surgery like the trooper he was, Chase didn’t know what he’d have done. He’d steered them from that topic back to work. Mimi had spoken about the community as it applied to her working for Montana Conservation Society and he had discussed what it was like being mayor of a huge city. Like he said, easy stuff. Now the gloves were off.
“Tell me about the guy you last dated.” He was sitting next to her on the couch and moved to stretch out. “And come here.”
She made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat but came as asked.
“Guess I don’t need that blanket,” she said as she settled in next to him. “You’re hot enough for both of us. And yes, I know how that sounds.”
He smiled at her petulant tone. She wedged herself between the couch and him, and he wrapped his arm around her. Her palm resting over his heart, her cheek on her hand, she pulled in a contented breath. Contented, despite her trying her damnedest to resist him—or at the very least to keep him at arm’s length.
He liked her here in his arms, her breasts pressing his chest, her breath tickling the hand that stroked her arm. He was aware that the trade-off for her being here was that she wasn’t with her family. He didn’t care. That might make him a selfish bastard, but in his defense, he hadn’t seen or talked to Mimi in years and they’d seen her mere days ago.
“Who was he?” he repeated, curious to hear about the imaginary guy he’d concocted. In his mind Mimi’s most recent ex had a protruding gut and did nothing but drool in front of his PlayStation while drinking cheap beer.
“Why do you want to know so badly?”
Because he wanted to know who he was up against, but he wasn’t admitting as much. So instead he said, “Humor me.”
“Gerard Randall. He’s an environmental specialist for Yore Corp, a corn-processing plant south of Bigfork. I met him at a conference. We dated for eight months before we both admitted it wasn’t working. We cut our losses and moved on.” One of her slight shoulders lifted in a shrug.
Chase felt his mouth turn down. He liked his own story better. This Gerard Randall guy sounded moderately successful—not that Mimi would ever stoop to date the guy in Chase’s imagination—and their split sounded amicable. Though that news was good. He didn’t want her brokenhearted, tossed aside.
Like you tossed her aside.
“What about you? How come you don’t have a wife and children?”
“My career keeps me busy,” he answered automatically. It was the truth, but an exaggerated one. He wasn’t too busy for a relationship. He hadn’t found anyone he wanted to pursue.
“That answer was canned.” She lifted her face to look at him and for a moment his breath snagged in his lungs. Not at her astute observation, but at her sheer beauty.
“You’re so beautiful.” He stroked her cheek with the pads of his fingertips. “I always thought so, but you’ve become more beautiful.”
“Nice try. Who was she?”
“Who?” His brow crinkled.
“I told you who I last dated. It’s your turn!” She poked him in the stomach.
“The beautiful comment won’t save me that fate?”
“Nope.” She overenunciated and popped the p.
“Darla McMantis.”
Mimi squinted one eye. “Did you make that up? That sounds made-up.”
“We were working on a don’t-text-and-drive initiative for high schoolers at the beginning of this year. She’s on the school board and wanted a face for the campaign. Mine.”
“I’ll bet,” Mimi interjected, sounding jealous enough to make him smile.