Soaring (Magdalene, #2)

by Kristen Ashley

Prentice Cameron.

I slid in across from them as Alyssa breathed, “Oh my God, honey, you look like—” “I need a makeover,” I announced. Alyssa clamped her mouth shut. They stared at me. Then I jumped when suddenly Josie went flying out the side of the booth. This was because Alyssa shoved her out.

I retorted, tossing my hair, which I hoped was shining in the sun. And with my hair toss, I further hoped my fabulous highlights caught the rays and gleamed.

“Because Amy is da bomb and I want some old lady to shout at me,”

and she was ambling away in a cold thunderstorm that was not happening.

“Pull up the dress, Amelia.” I looked from side to side in mock panic before looking back to Mickey, letting his finger go, and grasping frantically at his lapels. “Oh God!” I cried. “Did I enter a time machine and didn’t notice it? Are we back in 1818 where a man can drag a woman into an alcove at an eating establishment and demand she cover herself up?”

“You aren’t leaving.” “You have to let me go, honey,” I whispered. “Fuck,’

“There is nothing guaranteed in life. But the only leaps really worth taking are leaps of faith on love. So look where you leap, beautiful, and happy landing,”

I knew it when he said, “I’m not makin’ fun of you, babe. It’s just cute. Like you can be when you’re not being bull-headed and a

pain in the ass.” God. Really? I glared at him. “You can be bull-headed and a pain in the ass too, Mickey.” He glanced at me and did it grinning. “See? We already got a lot in common.”

“Thanks for ripping apart my meal.”

“You got plans?” “I do,” I confirmed. “What plans?” he pushed. “I’m washing my hair,” I snapped. “Now, the butter in the skillet has melted. I have to go. I’m sure I’ll talk to you later…someday.”

That was precisely what I intended to do (plus a microwave) but I read the seriousness in his eyes and decided not to push that partly because I didn’t have a dick, he was right. He did, it was a very good one and he knew how to use it.

“Only Nazi I know who could do that is you, though, sayin’ that, those cookies were the shit.”

“Thanks for stayin’ the night.” “You need me, I’m here,” I replied. I heard the lightness in his tone when he went on, “Thanks for takin’ my cock.” “You need me, I’m here,” I repeated.

“Do you want to test-drive it?” I asked. “I want you not to get fucked over buying it,” he answered. “Mickey, car salesmen hardly screw over women anymore,” I scoffed. “They freely screw over everybody.” “You’re wrong, Amy.” “It’s not 1968, Mickey.” “Right, you go in, get the best deal you think you can get, then walk away. I’ll go in after and get the best deal I can get, text you, you come in and we’ll see about that shit.” “You’re on,” I snapped. “Tomorrow?” “Perfect.” “You pissed?” he asked. “Yes,” I answered. “Because you know you’re goin’ down,” he declared. “Whatever,” I mumbled. He chuckled.

Conrad’s eyes jerked to Mickey. Then he jerked them right back to me. “You share any of the dirt you dug up on me with our children—” “I could bang my chest and drag you to your truck by your throat,” Mickey suggested and Conrad’s eyes flew back to him. “That way, you might get me.” “You touch me, I press charges,” he warned. Mickey looked down at me. “I feel some grunts comin’ on. You wanna go get my club?” I started giggling. “Fuck you,” Conrad spat. Mickey looked to him and lifted his brows. “Now who’s cursing?”

Conrad looked ready to explode but he had no choice but to scowl, turn and stomp away. Mickey backed up and with our proximity he took me with him. He shut the door and locked it. He then turned and again looked down at me. “Babe. Seriously. You’re a fun date.”

“Watch your shit with that guy. He’s a man with a little dick but he still likes to swing it.” I hadn’t really thought about it but having a man as endowed as Mickey, it occurred to me this was quite accurate.

firefighter-not-fighting-a-fire uniform.

“Of course they are,” I returned. “It’s a sixty inch TV. A woman is happy with six inches. For a man to get happy, it has to be sixty.” He burst out laughing. “Do I speak truth?” I asked. His brows shot up. “You’d be happy with six inches?” “I was happy with less than that for sixteen years so I guess the answer is yes.” He kept laughing but started doing it so hard the bed shook. In the face of his hilarity, I started grinning and said, “It was amusing, honey, but not that amusing.” He sobered but not entirely, and replied, “Knew that guy had a small dick.”

“I find this interesting.” “You thought guys stood around comparing dicks?” I focused back on him. “Actually, yes.” He grinned at me. “My heiress and her perverted fantasies about guys comparing dicks.” “It’s not a fantasy, Mickey.” “Good you got one that’s a winner.”

His hair was now slicked back like an Italian movie gangster.

“Does my son have a tommy gun in the Rover?”

“It okay I don’t look like a dork and get all weepy and say it back?”

“You give good date. You give fuckin’ awesome holiday.”

“It’s over and tomorrow’s another day.” “Yeah, you and Scarlett O’Hara are all over that.”

“If my girl comes up pregnant her freshman year, it’s gonna suck, seein’ as I’ll have to help raise the kid because her dad’ll be doin’ life for killin’ the kid’s baby daddy.”