Page 48 of Totally Off Limits

And, despite her lack of cooking skills, Sierra had managed to make a decent meal.

Her mother hadn’t even tried to be happy or encouraging. Why had Sierra even bothered?

That night, after everyone had left, Sierra had wadded all the linens up in a ball, intending to throw them all out. After all, moving out of her parents’ house hadn’t just been defiance; it had more been a way to assert her independence and begin living her own life. And it hadn’t been long before she’d decided a condo wasn’t far enough away. Not by a long shot.

Every day she woke up put more time between that painful memory and today, but she’d kept the baggage from that night in a drawer in her kitchen. Tonight, she was going to erase that history and create something better to reflect upon—no matter what the future held.

No sooner had she finished setting the table, complete with ornate china, white linen napkins, and her best silverware when the doorbell rang. As an unfamiliar giddiness raced through her veins, she paused. “What the fuck am I thinking? We’re eating chicken, not chicken cordon bleu.”

Mia had also stood and was walking down the hall toward the living room—but she hadn’t missed Sierra’s words. “What the fuck?” the little girl said, capturing Sierra’s exasperation perfectly.

Shit.As she caught up to her daughter, she considered telling Mia that she shouldn’t use words like that—but she decided maybe it was best to just ignore it. Making a big deal out of it would make it stick better in her child’s memory.

The last thing Sierra needed was for her daughter to curse in front of her babysitter—Grandma Rebecca. Jesus. Sierra would never hear the end of it.

At the front door, she paused, taking a deep breath, pushing as much garbage out of her mind as she could, and letting a smile warm her face as she twisted the knob and pulled it open.

Holy crap. Although Mickey was a good-looking guy by default, it was as if he’d figured out how to amplify and perfect everything about himself that made him that way. How could she keep her hands to herself when he looked like sexiness in a pair of snug Levi’s? Not only that, but he wore a white Jimi Hendrix t-shirt that emphasized not only the gorgeous bulges in his biceps but also the colorful tattoos. Gulping, Sierra struggled to maintain eye contact as she invited him in, and she noticed right away how the light t-shirt made his eyes appear even darker. His long hair was behind his shoulders so that the silver hoops in his ears were visible, and his facial hair looked recently trimmed.

Sierra wanted to kiss him right now—but instead behaved herself, watching him walk inside.

Just inside the door, he paused. “See that little silver Honda out there?”

“Yeah. Did you drive that?”

“Yep.”

“What happened to your Corvette?”

“Figured I should be driving something family friendly—in case we decided to go for ice cream or something later.”

“Oh. So you’re just renting it?”

“No. I traded the Corvette.”

What the fuck? “Hmm.” As she stole a quick glance at his ass, she commented on what he was carrying in—a guitar case. “Do we get a concert tonight?”

Mickey grinned as he walked toward the corner with the case in hand. “Maybe. Do you mind if I set this here?”

“Go ahead.”

Propping the case against the wall, Mickey then squatted to address Mia directly. “How would this little cutie like to learn to play bass?”

“Yes!”

Sierra knew her child had no idea what Mickey was offering, but she loved watching how her child was bonding with her father, even though neither of them knew they were related to one another. Was it something in their genes? Did their subconsciouses just know somehow?

That was a path she didn’t need to walk down.

“We better eat before the food gets cold.”

“It smells incredible,” Mickey said, still looking at Mia with a grin. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Let’s go see what your mom cooked up,” Mickey said, standing.

“Don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t actually slave over a hot stove for this meal.”

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