Scandalous Scotsman - M.J. Fields Page 0,21
when ye’re too stubborn to do what’s best for ye, and a neighbor who will look out for ye when need be.”
I try to act like that didn’t sting, but on a scale of sweat bee to red ant, it was a red ant kind of sting.
“Would ye see us out, Elizabeth Bloom?” He nods toward the open door leading to the kitchen.
I nod, turn, and walk to the stairs, holding Scotch close to me as I go.
When I take the first step up, he grips my elbow and I feel not just tingles, but the electricity leaving him and entering me.
“Easy, Elizabeth Bloom. Wouldn’t want ye to hurt yerself.” His voice is huskier than before, his slightly rolled Rs more pronounced, and his words sharper.
As I walk to the front door, I try to think of what to say to him so that this isn’t any more awkward than it is right now, but when he steps out and holds his hands to take Scotch, it’s the total opposite of what actually happens.
“You can have your dog when I’ve said my peace.”
“It’s not necessary,” he practically growls.
Ignoring him, I continue, “I have needs.”
His jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare.
“And contrary to what you think they are, I need to point out what should be obvious to you already. I’d rather watch a movie on my couch with a glass of wine alone and a guaranteed orgasm over a false promise of a happily ever after from men who think that’s what I want to hear. I never said I want to find a mate; that’s an assumption you made based on me calling you out on the dating app —”
Through his teeth, he sneers, “I’m not on a fucking dating app.”
“As soon as this door shuts, I will be.”
His eyes widen, and his lips form a tight line.
“I haven’t been physically fucked in my entire life by a man who looks at me like you’re looking at me right now, and there’s nothing more I want than to feel that kind of carnal desire. Tell me, Doc, what’s so untouchably innocent about that?”
“I need ye to hand over da dog and shut yer mouth, Elizabeth Bloom, or I’m gonna bend ye over and—” He snaps his jaw shut then sputters in what I assume is Gaelic.
I cut him off, “Take your dog and do so knowing that’s a one-time offer, because I’d like to remember I’m still a woman and my desire is for a man who isn’t afraid to admit he wants to fuck me as badly as I want to fuck him.”
I see fire in his eyes as he takes the dog and steps back.
As soon as I shut the door, my whole body trembles and my hands shake.
What did I do?
Tonya, I blame Tonya.
I hurry to the garage— well, as fast as one can actually hurry with a boot on—and nearly fall down the two steps—no Legos to blame this time — open my door to my car and grab my cell from my purse.
Hands still shaking, I hit her name near the top of my favorites list, noting it will now be moved to the bottom.
When she answers, I say the first thing that comes to my mind, “I’m going to kill you.” In a rush, I then tell her exactly what just went down and what I said.
“You said what?” Tonya bursts out in shocked laughter.
“Do not make me repeat myself.” I walk inside the house.
“I’m so proud of you,” Tonya says, still sounding shocked.
Walking back into the house, I whisper, “Yeah, well—”
“Don’t do that. Don’t think of this as a failure when it’s anything but. You made huge strides today. I mean, this coming from a woman who walked into her house and saw her husband with a bitch she thought was her friend in bed. You didn’t go completely insane and Lorena Bobbitt him then Tonya Harding her. You snuck out. You let it go for weeks. Only after you lost—”
“Don’t, please.” I couldn’t bear to revisit blow three.
She sighs and rephrases. “Only then did you confront it, and then you told them both it was probably your fault—”
“Don’t remind me, okay?”
“Then don’t second-guess what you just did. Not ever.”
“Maybe I was wrong—”
“Shut your lips.”
“But—”
“Zip it.”
“Tonya, I—”
“I’m coming over.”
When I hear the front door open, I laugh. “You’re already here.”
“No, Lizzie, I’m not.”
“Elizabeth Bloom!” I hear him boom through my house.
“Where are you?” she whispers.
I look around, and whisper, “Bathroom?”
She giggles. “Brush