“Who?” I asked.
She pulled out her phone and showed me a picture of Casten.
My mouth dropped open.
“No!” I said loudly. “You can’t have him, he’s mine.”
Tasha narrowed her eyes.
“You have Mig; you can’t have Casten, too,” she said stubbornly.
“But he belongs to Mig! You’ll ruin him, and Mig will lose his best friend!” I said.
I wasn’t exactly sure if that was true, but it sounded good.
Tasha did have a way of burning people out, though.
She was fun and flirty, but she was also flighty and definitely the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.
It really wasn’t because she wanted to break innocent men’s hearts but because she seriously couldn’t help it.
She had no control over how awesome she was, and Tasha got bored easily.
If you couldn’t constantly keep her entertained, which was damn near impossible, she’d just go find something—or someone—else to entertain her.
Which explained why she was currently in nursing school.
She didn’t really want to be a nurse, she just needed the challenge.
And Casten was probably giving her exactly what she wanted: a challenge.
“Did he call you?” I asked curiously.
Tasha shook her head. “No. I texted him like I do every night. That’s the only way I get information about you.”
That was true.
I tried to protect my family from the drama was going on around me. They didn’t need to be worried about me, too.
“Casten’s not going to get hurt,” Mig said drolly. “He’s a big boy.”
I wanted to laugh.
Mig had no idea.
Well, at least it would be fun to watch.
“These are really good cookies, mom. Thank you for making them,” I said, taking another bite of cookie.
They were chocolate chip, made with big chocolate chunks instead of chips.
“You’re welcome, mi hija,” my mother said. “Don’t think that you’re off the hook, though.”
Uh-oh.
If my Puerto Rican mommy was using Spanish, she was upset.
When we were little, my father had wanted to teach us Spanish, since it was their primary language, but my mother had been adamantly opposed to it.
‘We’re in America. We speak English.’
My father still spoke Spanish whenever the hell he felt like it, but he didn’t push the issue with my mother.
I never quite figured out what exactly the trigger was that caused her to revert back to Spanish. Usually, it was when she was extremely stressed, but that wasn’t the only time she did it.
I just knew that if mom was speaking Spanish, she was pissed, worried, excited or a crazy combination of those feelings.
Therefore, I did what I did best.
I ran away.
“Gotta go, mom!” I said, hopping to my feet. “Mig and I have a lot of miles to put in before we get to Alabama.”
Mig, sensing there was something amiss, held his hand out to my mother.
“It was nice to meet you, and I’ll take you up on that dinner next week,” he said, shaking the hand my mother offered him.
Dinner was a family affair.
Always.
So for my mother to invite Mig, without knowing him for more than five minutes, was huge.
Plus, it also didn’t hurt that my mother knew I had a crush on my next-door neighbor.
She’d also been there the day I saw Mig ride into town on his Harley.
She never forgets a face, and her mind was like steel trap.
She never forgot anything she was told.
And clearly she had not forgotten my drunken confession about why I wanted to divorce Ross.
I want a man like Mig. A man that makes my heart pound. A man that would protect me with his life. Who won’t ever let me go. And if I say I want him to, he’ll fight for me.
And, what I said to her still held true today.
Hopefully I had that, because I don’t think I could let Mig go now even if I tried.
Chapter 21
I’d rather live life as an honest sinner than a lying, fuckwad hypocrite.
-Mig’s secret thoughts
Annie
I furiously tapped Mig’s shoulder, pointing to the side of the road where I wanted him to stop.
He dutifully pulled over, without a complaint, and turned the bike off.
“What are we doing?” Mig asked.
I pointed to the Louisiana/Alabama state line.
“There,” I indicated the big sign.
He pulled over, stopping right over the state line.
Then, with a huge smile on my face, I got off his bike and walked back to the sign that distinguished the area in front of me as the spot I was looking for.
Then I hopped over a foot to my right.
“Did you see?” I asked him loudly.
He was studying me with a bemused look on his face.
“Yeah,” he nodded.
“You saw me time travel?” I asked for confirmation.
His brows rose.
“I’m not quite sure what I saw,” he admitted.
I grinned, then hopped back over the line.
“There, did you catch it that time?” I asked teasingly. “I lost and then regained an hour in less than a second. Time travel, baby. That’s my superpower!”
He turned his head up to the sky.
“Annie,” he said, a smile playing in his voice. “You’ve made me stop no less than ten times. Two of those times were to pick wildflowers on the side of the road. For the love of God, woman,” he turned his face down to me, “can we please just get to where we’re going? My mom expects us in time for dinner, and I swear to God, if we’re late, she’ll never let you forget it.”
I scrunched my nose at him.
“Okay, but could you just take a pic…”
He got off the bike and started stalking towards me.
I giggled and started to back up.
His brows rose.
“You really want to play this game?” He asked. “I lift, and I run five miles a day. The only time I’ve ever seen you run was to Chipotle, and the only lifting you do is bringing a burrito to your mouth.”
My mouth dropped open in affront.
“You…you… horrid man! How dare you!” I yelled, wagging my finger at him.
He grinned, and for the first time, I really saw how happy he was.
But his happiness came from basically calling me fat, and well, there was just no way any woman would ever let that comment go without some sort of reply.
So I did what I had to do—I played dirty.
I turned, then rubbed my eyes so I could get some good tears flowing.
I had been blessed with the ability to cry at will.
It’s a good thing, too, because I’d needed that particular skill when it came to dealing with my treacherous sister.
She was the baby in our family, and she got away with almost everything, well, until I started the crying bit.
And my daddy always fell for it—hook, line and sinker.
Mig’s arms went around me from behind, and I gave a good fake sob, causing him to freeze.
Then he turned me around so he could see the tears streaming down my face.
“I…I…why are you crying? I didn’t mean it, honey,” Mig said quickly.
I looked up at him, smiling weakly while I simultaneously reared back to deliver a quick jab to his abs.
He grunted at the hit as he looked down at me in shock.
“What was that for?” He asked, rubbing his belly.
I narrowed my eyes.
“I’ll have you know that I have weights in my office that I lift, buddy! And I do yoga. So a Chipotle Burrito isn’t the only thing I lift!” I countered smartly.
His
lips twitched, and I started shaking my finger at him.
“Don’t you dare laugh!” I snapped.
Before I could back up any further, Mig grabbed me just as a truck passed right beside us, making me jump.
I’d been so lost in Mig that I hadn’t realized we’d moved closer to the highway.
Jesus.
Mig never missed anything, though, and he saw the truck and got pissed, raising his hand and flipping off the driver who laid on his horn as he passed us.
I wanted to laugh, but I managed not to, instead holding Mig’s glare.
Or at least what I assumed was his glare, as he was wearing sunglasses that made it impossible for me to see his eyes.
“So, what happens if I laugh?” He rumbled, dropping his mouth down to nibble on my neck.
I bit my lip as I imagined what I would like to happen.
This little fantasy had him doing all the work.
‘I’d make you lick me until your tongue cramps,’ was what I wanted to reply. What I said, though, wasn’t even remotely similar to what I was thinking.
“You’d be making me breakfast in bed for the next week,” I said.
He snorted. “And how would you get me to do that?”
I thought about it and couldn’t come up with a logical answer.
Everything that came to mind would have totally defeated the purpose if I had to force him to do it.
His hands started to slide up the back of my shirt, and another horn honked, this one from a big truck.
I jumped, slamming my head into Mig’s chin.
Mig growled, then let his hands slip free.
“Alright, it’s time to go,” he said, taking my hand.
I followed behind him, my hand in his.
He remounted first, grabbing both helmets and waiting for me to take my seat before he handed mine back to me.
“We have another hour or so, then we’ll be there,” he said.
I secretly thought that was good, because I already had to pee.
Not that I would be telling him that, though.
He’d told me not to drink so much Dr. Pepper, and I really didn’t want to hear him say ‘I told you so’ again.
We exited the highway about ten minutes after we’d gotten back on it, taking a lot of winding roads that felt like they were leading us in circles.
Something I realized later on was the point.
We pulled up to a very formidable looking gate, and Mig punched in some numbers before waiting for it to open.
Once there was enough room, he passed through and started to race up the longest driveway I’d ever seen.
It had to be at least as long as a football field, if not longer.
“This driveway had to have cost a fortune to put in,” I said.
Mig nodded his head.
“It did. About fifty grand, if I remember right,” he confirmed.
Then we pulled up to an enormous house overlooking the ocean that was probably the same size as my old high school.
It was incredible.
And I was way under-dressed to meet the woman standing on the front porch.
The man was wearing jeans, but they were neatly pressed with a crisp crease down the front of them.
I was not big on ironing, not at all, and I certainly wasn’t looking anything other than rumpled after our long trip.
Mig turned the motorcycle off, and I needed a minute for my hearing to clear out the residual echo of his bike.
It took me a moment to notice that Mig was not happy.
His body was practically vibrating with tension.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Mig asked the man standing in front of him.
“Vitaly, son,” he said, his Russian accent thick. “I just had to meet the person responsible for your first call to me in four years.”
I blinked.
Mig hadn’t spoken to his father in four years? Why?
Mig never spoke badly about his father; in fact, he actually spoke highly of him during the few times he said anything about them at all.
And if I wasn’t mistaken, I could’ve sworn I saw Mig’s mother look at Mig’s father with not only reproof but also with love.
They’ve been divorced for years now.
Quite a few years, if I remembered what Mig told me correctly.
But I could definitely see it.
They seemed to naturally gravitate toward each other.
I would bet my last twenty bucks that there was still something between them.
Mig’s ‘Nonnie’ pushed through his parents, who were still standing at the top of the steps, and started towards me.
“Boys,” Nonnie said. “How about you do this after we invite our guest inside?”
She was about the size of my mother but much more frail looking.
Her hair, which I’d seen had previously been sheer black in all of Mig’s photos scattered around his place, was now a straight sheet of silvery white.
While the two men stayed locked in a silent stare down, Nonnie sighed and grabbed my hand, and led me into the kitchen that was off the side of the living room.
“All that testosterone! Let’s give them a few minutes to talk it out,” Nonnie’s fragile voice said as she shuffled forward.
I followed, very aware it was highly unlikely that either man would back down.
“They aren’t gonna start fighting each other, are they?” I asked worriedly.
“No,” Mig’s mother said from behind me, scaring the crap out of me.
I slapped my hand down on my chest, breathing slightly heavy.
“You scared me,” I told her.
She smiled and walked around me to the kitchen counter.
“Would you like something to drink?” She asked, gathering up a basket of what looked like homemade bread and bringing it to the table.
My mouth watered.
I was definitely packing on a few extra pounds while I was here.
“Do you have any sweet tea?” I asked.
She nodded, then went to the fridge while I took a seat where Nonnie shoved me down, her strength surprising for such an old woman.
“Tell me about yourself. Mig’s never brought a woman home before,” Nonnie ordered.
I smiled, happy at the fact that I was the first woman for the two of them to meet.
So I told them about myself. My job. How Mig and I met. Then I mentioned Jennifer, but quickly caught myself but before I said too much.
“You’re kidding,” Vada, Mig’s mother, said. “And his ex-wife is pregnant? Who is the father?”
She was leaning forward, listening to my every word.
A little too late I realized that maybe I shouldn’t have told her Mig’s personal business.
But how was I supposed to know that Mig had never told his family about being married?
“Yes, she’s pregnant. And I already told you Jennifer was coming over here tomorrow,” Mig said tiredly as he entered the room, his father, Vitaly Senior, at his back.
“No,” Vada said. “What you told me was that you were bringing a woman here that needed protection. Two women that needed protection. One was your woman, and one wasn’t.”
I wanted to laugh.
That was Mig. King Of Need To Know: he tells you what you need to know and not a single word more.
“So maybe now’s not a good time to tell you that you’ll be having a grandchild soon?” Mig asked, crossing his arms across his chest.
I could tell just by the way he said it that he didn’t mean for it to come out like it sounded.
But the two women in the room started screeching, and suddenly I was surrounded by two very excited women.
“When is the baby due?” Vada asked.
“Oh, you don’t look pregnant. I’m so happy for you, Vitaly,” Nonnie cooed, gesturing to him.
I was frozen, not knowing what in the world to say to that.
Mig’s brows crunched low, as he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Shit,” Mig sighed.
Poor guy.
“Mig,” I said. “Can you maybe give us a few minutes?”
He looked at me like I’d just saved his life, then gladly took his leave, grabbing his father around the collar as he went.
Vitaly Sr. went willingly enough, but I could tell he was excited to have a grandchild, too.
“Ladies,” I said. “I’m not pregnant.”
Both stopped cooing and looked at me in confusion.
“But…” Vada started.
I held up a hand.
“Sit down, I need to tell you a story,” I said softly.
I could tell by the way the two women sat that they were a little bit disappointed when I’d told them I wasn’t pregnant.
And although the thought was a nice one, it wasn’t Mig’s and my time.
One day, yes. But not now.
Not yet.
“So…there was this girl…”
***
I looked up in sympathy as a physically and emotionally exhausted Mig finally dragged himself through the door of his bedroom.
He’d been talking with his parents and grandmother for a very long time.
I could hear Vitaly Sr. yelling at the top of his lungs—mostly in Russian. I had only been able to make out the basics because all I understood was the word ‘Jennifer’ from his mouth.
I’d quietly left, closing the door behind me.
Then I’d snuck off to the bedroom I guessed was ours since it was where our bags were.
I’d passed the master, knowing instantly that Mig’s father was staying there from the men’s socks on the floor.
But there was also women’s underwear on the floor.
I didn’t go too much further into that room before backpedaling.
I’d also passed Nonnie’s room and knew it was hers by all the pictures on the walls from different generations.
The last one I came to must’ve been solely the guest room since we had our own little entrance and exit to the backyard, although I couldn’t see the pool that I knew was there.
I’d been sitting on the bed, looking out over the sprawling lawn, listening to the sounds of the waves crashing into the beach and trying to drown out the yelling.
Now, here I sat with a million questions on my mind.
So I started in on him, even though I knew he needed a break.
Jack & Coke (The Uncertain Saints Book 2) Page 16
