lurking behind his eyes. The big jerk. We had a deal. Just because I’m broke doesn’t mean I need his pity.
“You. Mowed. My. Lawn.”
“Oh, that.” He serves Mom a piece of chicken, then passes the tray to Sarah. “I thought it would free up the rest of the day for you—”
“So I can go on a date with Mikey?” Acid that has the distinct hint of hurt burns the back of my tongue.
“That wasn’t my first choice, no.” He shrugs. “But, like I said, you should go if you want to.”
Oh wow. Isn’t that just fucking big of him to allow me to live my life. “Thanks for the permission.”
He sighs. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t actually care what you meant.” Heat stirred up by frustration and annoyance and bruised feelings makes my whole body tingly in a very bad way. “We had a deal. I give you a dollar and mow the lawn, and your firm will represent me in my divorce.”
He shrugs again. “Yeah, well, I decided to renegotiate after you almost gave yourself a heart attack today.”
“That was not your decision to make,” I snap. Doesn’t he get that I don’t want anyone taking care of me anymore? Men. I swear.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were emotionally invested in the lawn.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I was only trying to help.”
“Oh, no.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t get to do that.”
He looks mystified while Mom and Sarah are both watching the happenings as if it is the best reality show ever.
“Do what?” he asks.
I’m not buying it. I’ve had men do this shit to me over and over in my life—the whole time acting as if I’m the one with the problem or that my concerns or feelings aren’t valid. Karl was an expert, and now that I think about it, so is my dad.
“You did what you thought was best for me,” I say, forcing myself to keep my voice steady even as my knee is jiggling under the table to let out some of the angry adrenaline rush. “But you never even bothered to ask if I agreed. You did what you wanted to do and didn’t care at all if I wanted help.”
“Are you kidding me?” He looks incredulously from Mom to Sarah as if they’ll back him up against the overreaching, hysterical, probably PMSing woman.
They’re now looking at every single spot in the kitchen except the two of us, and I can’t blame them. Part of me feels guilty for putting them in the middle of this, but I’m not backing down.
“No, I’m not,” I say. “I didn’t ask for your help—”
“You literally mowed SOS into your lawn.” Nick leans forward on the table, his entire body strung tight. “It’s the universal call for help. Pilots flying into Newark from all over the world probably think you’re asking for help, so how the hell was I supposed to know you weren’t?”
“Because,” I say, my temper on the precipice of going Mount Vesuvius. “If I wanted help, I’d ask for it.”
My phone buzzes again with another text from Mikey. I don’t think about it. I don’t even read his new text; I just started thumb-typing that I’d love to go out and get a drink. Right. Now.
Chapter Forty-One
Maybe I should have thought it was strange when Mikey suggested we meet somewhere instead of picking me up, like he did for our other two dates. But truth be told, I’m just excited to have my own transportation—that way I can leave after one drink without feeling bad.
But the minute I see him sitting at a barstool nervously thumbing through his phone, I know there’s going to be trouble. I mean, he didn’t even bother to get a table. No man does that if he’s hoping to have an intimate, private date with a woman.
Sure enough, his smile when he spots me is a little dimmer than usual. He does get up, though, and even drops a kiss on my cheek before pulling away and waiting for me to sit.
“How are you?” he asks as we both get settled.
“A little frazzled, actually.” I give him a wary smile. “But nothing a cold drink won’t cure.”
“Right?” He laughs somewhat awkwardly even as he flags down the bartender. “What are you drinking?”
After last night, the last thing I want to do is pump more alcohol into my system. In fact, I’m good with not drinking again for a long while.
“Can I