His head lifted. His eyes scanned the cavernous space that was empty except for him and me, a bunch of furniture and mattresses. Then they came back to me. “Now you’re lying to me.”
Damn. Why was I such a dork?
“Mitch –”
“And not very well either.”
“Um…”
“What are you afraid of, Mara?”
I bit my lip and then answered, “Uh…”
“What scares you so f**kin’ much?” he asked.
Totally a police detective and therefore totally figuring me out. I hated that.
I looked at his shoulder.
“And what did you mean, people like you?” he pushed.
Oh boy.
I looked back into his eyes. “Um…”
“What kind of people are you?”
I took a quick step to the side and then another step back and blurted, “Would you like to see the Spring Deluxe?”
He turned to face me again. “No, I’d like to know why you think I don’t want to be around you.”
I ignored him and stated, “It’s an exceptional mattress.”
He closed the distance between us. When I started to move back, his arm shot out and curled around my waist, halting my progress even before it began. His other arm came around me, caging me in.
In Mitch’s arms again. This time at work. Great.
“Have I ever given you the impression I don’t want to be around you?” he kept at me.
Yes. He had. There was the time he told me I had my head up my ass and all the other times he said it. And the times he told me I was clueless. And not ten minutes ago when he was in the break room with me which was also a time when he shared he thought I was clueless and had my head up my ass.
I didn’t remind him of this. Instead I said, “It’s our highest end model but it’s worth the price. Trust me. You try it, you’ll want to buy it and there’s a possibility that Mr. Pierson will let me give you my employee discount.”
“You’re not gonna answer any of my questions, are you?”
“Lumbar support is very important and the Spring Deluxe provides excellent support while affording ultimate comfort,” I stated instead of answering. And I knew this to be true because I’d experienced it but also because I was quoting verbatim from their brochure.
He stared down at me and I pushed carefully against his arms hoping he’d get the hint, drop his arms and let me step back.
He didn’t.
Instead he said quietly, “Billy’s lookin’ at me like I told him there’s no Santa Claus.”
I closed my eyes.
“You did that,” Mitch told me and I opened my eyes.
“Billy knows there’s no Santa Claus. Bill already told him so he wouldn’t have to buy him presents at Christmas,” I shared more information that cemented the fact that my cousin Bill was indeed an assclown. Not that Bill needed it. His assclownedness was carved in marble.