Page 135 of Reluctantly You

Luckily, Mitchell hasn’t noticed who’s behind him. He’s just watching the waitress uncork the bottle of wine and pour it into our glasses. My eyes meet Jack’s once more, and I lean forward, clinking my glass with Mitchell’s.

My gaze is no longer on his dad’s, it’s on the man before me.

That piece of trash isn’t worth my time.

“To many more late night dinner dates.”

He lowers his gaze and those lips wrap around the rim of the glass. The red wine stains his lips and fuck, I want to lean forward and lap at them, want his shit-stain of a father to know who he is to me.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I want to kiss you,” I say as I sip at my own wine.

His cheeks are now the color of the Cabernet swirling around my glass.

“Not here,” he says, but his gaze falls to my lips.

“And not now,” I add. “There’s someone watching.”

He huffs, shifting in his chair just as a shadow falls over us.

“Am I interrupting something?” a low voice says, and Mitchell’s head whips around, his eyes wide.

I see his mouth open and close, his hands trembling slightly.

“Dad,” he says and that man just scoffs.

“No son of fucking mine,” he replies, and my fingers tighten on my wineglass, almost to the point of breaking. I’d very much like to lean up and stab him with it. I’d very much like that, indeed.

“I called you,” Mitchell says, his voice hoarse. “Why didn’t you call me back?”

His dad only scoffs.

“No need for that look, Mr. Morris,” I bite out. “We all know exactly what you are.” His eyes slam into mine, and I add, “A worthless piece of shit.”

I grin evilly and link my ankle with Mitchell’s, showing solidarity in the midst of this. I have his back. I will always protect him.

“And yet, here you are. With him,” his dad says.

Mitchell’s face pales, knowing what his dad is inferring.

“Preying on someone like this. It’s pathetic.”

“The only one pathetic is you,” I counter, but Mitchell stops us.

“Why are you here, Dad? Seriously, why haven’t you called me back?”

“I have nothing to say to you, or your whore of a mother.”

I feel my nails dig into my palm. I want to press him into the wall and knock his teeth out. It would be very satisfying, watching him spit them out. One by one.

“But if you must know. I’m meeting up with associates. Going to start a new company, a nice one without the weight of the Masters’ baggage attached to it.”

Mitchell’s eyes move toward mine and he cocks his head.

Well, fuck.

“I’m assuming he hasn’t told you,” Jack begins, but I cut him off.

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