Mitch filled one glass with water and turned off the faucet with a quick wrench of his wrist. “He just walks out on me, right? No one else, I hope.”
“Just you.”
“Good.” Mitch took a long drink.
Jaye paused, watching his throat work with every swallow. Gold whiskers sprouted on his skin, making him look a bit prickly. Beneath that layer of gruff, though, he seemed willing to take the brunt of his father’s surliness if everyone else was treated right. Amazement at his selflessness grew.
The more she got to know Mitchell Blake, the more she liked him. His aversion to consultants seemed to be his only flaw. What rotten luck.
After shoving a clean spatula under her slice of lasagna, she placed her serving on a plate and popped a gooey wad of mozzarella into her mouth. The cheese sizzled against her tongue like a glob of hot lava. She spit out the fiery mouthful. The steamy white blob flew past Mitch’s plate and landed in the sink with a sloppy thwack. “Oh, gosh.” She pressed her fingertips against her mouth with a relieved shudder.
Mitch did a double take at the gob of cheese stuck to the sink’s wall. “Do you city girls spit when you’re putting extra cheese on someone’s lasagna?”
“No, it’s just—the cheese is h-hot.” A spasm of embarrassment forced a laugh out of her throat. “I’m really sorry.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You don’t sound sorry.”
“No, I am. I-I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to spit so close to your dinner.” She covered her mouth to stop a giggle, but trying not to laugh made the whole situation funnier. A weird noise came out of her nose.
“Whoa. Did I just hear a snort?”
She nodded and walked away, trying to pull herself together. Geez, she hadn’t laughed like this in ages. Close to hysterics, she struggled to take a deep breath.
Mitch moved his plate to the table and arched one brow. “You can’t spit this far, can you?”
“Stop.” Jaye put her hands on her knees and laughed harder. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Hang on, I’ll get you something to drink.” A moment later, he nudged her shoulder. “Maybe something cold will help.”
A chunk of mozzarella sat in the glass, fueling her hilarity. She pushed away his thick forearm and wheezed, “No, thanks.”
“Would you prefer Cheddar?” he inquired, polite as a maître d’. “Or maybe a slice of Provolone?”
“Water,” she pleaded, wiping her eyes.
He filled her glass. “It’s damned difficult to be angry at you when you’re giggling.”
She straightened and let out a soft hiccup. “I really did get the balloon for Lydia.”
“I already figured that out.” He extended the glass in her direction. “Try not to spit water at me.”
“Okay.” She took a small sip.
“I’m not much for sitting at the kitchen table.” He jabbed his thumb toward the living room. “Mind if we watch TV during dinner?”
“Sounds good.” She snickered.
He shook his head and picked up both plates. “If we wait until you stop laughing, we’ll never eat. Let’s plow forward. I’ve got to get to the gym tonight. Grab my water.”
“Okay. Where do you want to sit?” She followed him into the living room and realized there was only one place to sit—the couch. Laughter bubbled up again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything strikes me funny tonight.”
He sat on one side of the couch and slid her plate onto the scarred coffee table near his. “Come here, giggles. I’ll find something that’ll put an end to your mirth.”
Jaye sat beside him. “Put on something depressing, like the stock index. Or maybe the news.”
He flipped to the NFL channel. “How ‘bout a rerun of the Buffalo Bills game? If this doesn’t demoralize you, I don’t know what will.”
She snorted. “Are you a Bills’ fan? You poor man.”
The frown reappeared on his forehead. “Do you like football?”
“My father named me Jayson, remember? I’m the son he never had. He took me to a ton of Patriots’ games when I was a kid. That’s his idea of fun.” Jaye cut off a tiny piece of lasagna and chewed with tiny bites, babying the burnt spot on her tongue. “Geez, what a rotten pass. Your quarterback didn’t pay any attention to the coverage.”
Mitch stopped chewing and swallowed. “I might as well ask. What’s his name?”
“Huh? Who?”
“The guy you’re dating.” He pointed his fork at her. “A woman who likes football is difficult to find. So, who found you?”
Jaye kept her gaze on the television screen. “I’m single. Not many guys think the way I react to hot cheese is attractive.”
Mitch jammed his fork into the lasagna. “That’s their loss.”
Chapter Eight
A sharp chirp jolted Jaye out of a deep sleep. She fumbled for her cell phone and squinted at the brightly lit screen. Six-thirty on Saturday morning. With another blink, the text came into focus.
“I’m slipping back into my addiction, Jaye. I need your help. You’re the only one who makes me want to be a better man. Don’t turn your back on me. I love you…David.”
At the word addiction, Jaye wondered how many women he boinked this week. Setting her cell phone back on the nightstand, she rolled onto her stomach and fisted both hands under the pillow. How far would she have to run to get out of his reach? How much time would pass before she felt whole again?
Her pulse banged a loud thud, thud, thud in her ears. She flipped the pillow and shifted, but couldn’t escape the rhythmic drum of her broken heart. Wide awake, she threw back the faded navy blue comforter and sat on the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor felt like a sheet of ice beneath her bare feet. With an absent-minded tug on her white camisole, she tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack. The hallway was dark, save for the violet light of dawn filling the distant living room. The house sounded empty.
Mitch’s bedroom was in
