I glared at him.

Then I remarked, “Ethan said Mickey helped you renovate your home.”

“Yep,” Jake replied. “Now call him,” Jake ordered.

I glared at him again before I announced, “I am quite capable of telephoning Mickey to cancel our date and doing it without you standing nary an inch away with your hand on my neck.”

“I know that, Slick,” he stated, his lips again quirking with amusement (although I found nothing humorous in our current scenario). “I also know Mick’s a good guy. He’s a bud. Known him a long time and my guess would be he’ll be cool with you because he’s that good of a guy. But another thing I know is that he was in the hall last night when I finished my fight, had showered and was probably on his way to the empty seat beside yours. So I figure he either saw you go into my locker room or he’s heard of it. So he feels like bein’ a dick, and gotta say, can’t blame him, then I’m here to tell him to go fuck himself because even if I can’t blame him, that shit is not going to happen.”

It was too mortifying to think that Mickey knew what had happened between Jake and me last night so I decided instead to focus on breaking this down.

“So you’re standing very close with your hand on me, demanding I phone Mickey while in your presence in order to be readily available should Mickey be unpleasant.”

“Hit the nail on the head,” he confirmed.

“You are aware I’m a grown woman,” I asked.

“Yep. I’m very aware of that,” he answered on a roguish grin that, even during our mildly irritating conversation, I found highly attractive. “I’m also aware that officially as of last night against a wall in a locker room, you became my woman and no man is a dick to my woman.”

As ludicrously protective and preposterously overbearing as I knew this was, I couldn’t help but like it.

I also found it more than mildly irritating, not only him doing it but me liking it.

Thus, I continued to glare at Jake but Jake continued to stand very close to me with his hand on my neck, holding my eyes.

He lost our staring contest and I was learning I should not be surprised he lost it by demanding with a preposterously overbearing jerk of his head to my phone, “Babe. Mick.”

It was then I realized he was not going to move and I knew with no doubts I couldn’t forcibly move him so I gave him one final glare, beginning to think Jake and I had more than a few things to talk about as I officially became “his woman.”

Then I turned my eyes to my phone and called Mickey.

It rang three times before he answered strangely with, “She finally calls to give me the crash and burn.”

“I…uh, Mickey?” I stammered after receiving his greeting.

“Let me guess, Jake’s standing right in front of you.”

I felt the strong desire to laugh bubble up inside of me at the same time I still felt very badly about what I needed to do, more so if he’d heard what happened between Jake and I last night, either firsthand or through another party.

“Indeed,” I agreed, deciding to stare at Jake’s throat, but finding it altogether too attractive so moving my eyes to his now t-shirted (he’d clearly changed from his training gear while Ethan gave me my tour) shoulder.

“That’s where I’d be,” Mickey muttered.

“I’m assuming you know why I’m calling,” I said quietly.

“Babe, way you looked at Jake, way he looked at you, I knew I had nothin’ but a sliver of a chance to slide in there. I told Jake last night we had a date, a cocky move and cocky’s always stupid. He wasted no time and moved to stake his claim. I’da done the same.”

I wasn’t fond of the terminology “stake his claim” nor was I certain that’s what actually happened (though it must be said, Jake rushed me in the locker room, pushing me into the wall; I just didn’t stop him). But as Mickey was being very kind about an uncomfortable situation, I decided not to debate that with him.

“You’re being very nice about this,” I told Mickey as well as Jake’s shoulder and I felt his hand squeeze my neck so I looked to his eyes.

He looked relieved and it occurred to me right then that they were friends and this could have been more than uncomfortable in a very bad way.

“Jake and I are tight. Way he looked at you and you him, it was actually me bein’ the dick. He staked his claim, I’ll stand down. Anyway, a man’s smart, he doesn’t ever burn bridges with a pretty woman. Shit can go down with you and Jake and I’ll still be in position to slide in.”

I was uncertain if he was being amusing or serious, although I figured it was a bit of both. Thus, I decided not to make any comment to that. Jake might read it and that relief in his face might disappear.

So I just mumbled, “Mm.”

“So I’ll see you at league dinners, Jake’s barbeques and the gym.”

Jake barbequed?

“Yeah?” Mickey prompted when I said nothing, my mind filled with Jake standing on the back deck I’d seen from the big windows in the family room, grilling steaks, and wondering if they tasted good.

“Yes,” I replied and looked to Jake’s chest. “I’ll see you at league dinners and, well, the gym.”

I felt Jake lean in and kiss the top of my head before he let me go and moved away.

I felt this as I heard Mickey say, “Right, Josephine. Later, babe.”

“Later, Mickey.” I lowered my voice. “And I’m sorry.”

His voice was lower too, sweet, and there was a smile in it when he replied, “Don’t be. I didn’t get a catch but you got one. Don’t read shit into his history. Jake’s a good guy. The best. He’s just had shit taste in women. Until now.”

Very sweet.

And obviously a good friend.

“Thank you, Mickey.”

“You bet, honey. Later.”

“Later.”

I disconnected to see Jake had his head in his very large, high quality fridge (Sub-Zero! Lavender House needed one of those) and he was now on his phone.

“Amber, babe, haven’t heard a word from you in a while. Check in with your old man so he doesn’t have to start calling hospitals. And just in case this is incentive, I’m makin’ tacos, nuking some Ro-Tel dip and Josie’s over here for the day. You haul your ass back here, bring the Taylors.”

He disconnected, shoved the phone in his back pocket, came out of the refrigerator with a box and a package of ground beef and before the fridge closed on him, he tipped his head back and shouted at the ceiling, “Con! Kitchen! Don’t give a shit who you’re talkin’ to, come say hi to Josie!”

“I could go to his room, knock and say hello to him,” I noted. “Ethan showed me his closed door.”

“We got company, my kids come and say hello,” Jake replied and I couldn’t argue that because not greeting visitors was rude. I didn’t say anything, however, because I saw the rectangular yellow box he got out of the fridge had the large words “Velveeta” written across it.

I pressed my lips together.

Ethan came flying into the room, shouting, “Ro-Tel dip!”

“You’re on dip duty, bud,” Jake told him and without hesitation, Ethan dashed to the pantry, throwing open the door and disappearing inside.

“Can I do something?” I asked.

“Relax, tuck in when it’s done and be amazed,” Jake answered and I smiled at him, amused at his quip.

He smiled back.

When he did, I decided that that smile, his humor, being in his attractive kitchen that he’d renovated himself and being in it with an exuberant Ethan who came out of the pantry with a tin of something was worth tolerating ludicrously protective and preposterously overbearing.

Most definitely.

On this thought, Conner walked in.

“Hey, Josie,” he greeted with a distracted smile at me and in much the same way (with obvious differences) as his father, with casual affection he came right up to me, touched my arm and dipped down to kiss my cheek.

He then turned to his dad.

“Yo, Dad.”

Jake was dumping ground beef into a skillet at the stove (it was a Wolf, not an Aga—still, most assuredly not something to sneeze at) but he turned to Conner and replied, “Con.”

Then his eyes narrowed on his son.

Conner moved to the pantry asking, “Do we need refried beans?”

“Yeah, and you can get ‘em lettin’ me in on why you got that look on your face,” Jake replied.

Apparently undisturbed that I was in attendance, Conner readily shared, “Called Ellie twice today. Left two messages. She hasn’t called back.”

“Uh-oh,” Ethan muttered, cutting what appeared to be a rather gooey brick of cheese that was much the color of the alarming tub filled with the substance in which he’d dipped his pretzel bites into at the mall.

Jake now had a wooden spoon in hand, but both hands on his hips and he was perhaps the only male in the universe who could look commanding and charismatic standing at a stove holding a wooden spoon.

He also had his eyes to his son.

“You end things with Kaylee last night?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Conner answered, his voice telling the tale that this was not an enjoyable event.

It was undoubted that Jake heard his son’s tone and this was likely why he let it go and instead queried, “Ellie know she’s the one?”

“Told her a week ago, Dad,” Conner stated, using a can opener on a can of refried beans.

At this, Ethan muttered, “Righteous.”

Jake ignored his youngest son and inquired of his eldest, “You think Mia’s still givin’ her shit?”

Conner gave his dad a look, a look that said Mia was indeed still giving poor Ellie shit.

Not good news.

“She goes to church Sunday mornings, Con,” Jake reminded his boy.