Page 4 of Wasted On You

What in the actual hell?

“When?”

Millie Sue looked away, and he took a step toward her, grimacing at the slice of pain that went through his head. He was never drinking again.

“New Year’s Eve.”

He let those words percolate and then made a face. “A lot can happen in a year.”

Millie Sue slowly shook her head.“ThisNew Year’s Eve. She told us after you left Thanksgiving dinner at Cal’s.”

Mike Paul sat down. It was either that or fall on his ass, and no way was he doing that in front of Millie Sue. He stared at the floor, the anger and regret inside him so damn thick he couldn’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “Let me know if you need anything. There’s a pot of coffee ready to go and more pain meds on the counter. The Clappison kid was over earlier and fed the animals in the barn. I made sure Wiener and Bun have food and water. I don’t know where the cat is.” She patted him on the back. “I’d stay, but I need to nurse Josh.”

“Go,” he replied, his throat so dry he barely got the word out. “I’ll be fine.”

She opened her mouth, but he held up his hand. “I don’t need a sermon or a pep talk.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

She gave him a small hug and left.

Mike Paul didn’t know how long he sat, staring out the window into the dark. But it was long enough for his head to make it abundantly clear he needed more water. He downed an additional extra-strength tablet and then started to think.

Then he thought some more.

And by the time he was done with all that thinking, he had a plan. It wasn’t a good one. Not even close. But it would have to do.

Mike Paul was going to pull the stunt of the century. He was going to make Ivy Wilkens fall in love with him. While engaged to Kip Lafferty.In under six weeks.

“Fuck me,” he muttered hoarsely, knowing it was the only way.

He’d get it done.

Or die trying.

Chapter2

Ivy Wilkens was in a mood.

Had been ever since the fiasco on Saturday night at the Sundowner. She shouldn’t have gone to the bar.She knew that.And yet, like an idiot with a Montana-size chip on her shoulder, she’d walked into the place knowing the probability of a shitstorm was highand wanting it to happen.

And boy, had it ever.

There’d been punches thrown, a hole put through a wall, nasty words, and worse. It wasn’t her finest moment; she’d admit that to anyone, but it wasn’t entirely her fault, so why in hell were her mother’s panties in a knot? Geez.

Ivy wasn’t Mike Paul’s handler. Wasn’t in charge of his behavior. She hadn’t told him to throw a punch or put his fist through drywall. The fact that she’d had some pleasure in the whole mess shouldn’t matter. Not really.

The pleasure part had lasted about an hour after she’d left the bar, and now... well, now she was in this mood and couldn’t shake it. A mood that was ruining a perfectly good Tuesday morning.

“Jesus,” she muttered to herself as she stared down at the display of apples in front of her.

“I like them sweet.”

“What?” she said sharply, turning as Lafferty came into view.

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