“What part ofthis isn’t a dictatorshipdo you not understand?” she challenges.
“Eat,” I order.
I watch as she relents, picking up her fork. “I’m only eating because this does look delicious, not because you told me to.”
“Of course,” I retort sarcastically, taking a bite. This food is always perfect. Dottie makes everything from scratch, and the way Mia leans back in her seat and moans is confirmation.
“You need to take a bite with a little bit of everything, then you’ll see,” I order as I do just that.
“No.” She swallows, wrinkling her nose, before taking another scoop of mashed potatoes. “One thing at a time. Meat doesn’t touch potatoes or veggies.”
I grin at her as I chew, then gather another bite with every single thing on my plate and shovel it in.
“And I don’t like surprises,” she says, before licking the last bit of gravy from her fork. “That’s why I like to know the next step.”
I eye her up for a moment, as if those bright blue eyes could give me the answers about who she is. Why she’s been on a bike before, why she’s strangely fucking strong and knows how to fight. And lastly, what the fuck she’s doing working at my club.
“Why don’t you like surprises?” I’m beyond asking for recon purposes. I just want to know.
She takes another piece of her meatloaf and swirls it around in her gravy, thinking. “I don’t talk about it.” She shrugs.
“Yeah, that isn’t gonna work for me,” I tell her, analyzing her. “I need to know everything about you, Mia. You don’t realize the kind of man you’re dealing with in Dagger. He fixates. Dwells. Watches. He’ll watch you and me,together. Claiming you may protect you, but we also just gave him a real good challenge.”
“That’s what I don’t get. Frankly,” she says, taking a sip ofher drink, “you don’t seem like the kind of man who would put up with that sort of shit around your club. I would’ve thought that a man like you wouldtake careof that problem.”
“Are you asking me to take care of him?” I query.
“If the shoe fits,” she retorts.Christ.I can’t figure her out. There are times she talks to me like a fucking cop would.
“This isn’t the fucking Sopranos.” I hold my glass up for Ruth to fill it as she approaches, ready to pour. “There are rules.”
She doesn’t speak, but her eyes search for more as Ruth wanders back to the counter.
“I asked you a question. Why don’t you like surprises?” I don’t fucking trust her, and the evasion sends up even more red flags.
“We’re having two conversations at once.” Mia sets her fork down.
“No, we’re having one. Answer the question,” I urge.
“I lost someone. I didn’t expect it, and then…” She swallows, and grief lines her pretty face. “Then I lost another person. I don’t like…the unknown.”
I lean back to analyze her. It’s obvious whoever it was meant a lot to her. Her eyes tell me it was a profound loss.
“See, that wasn’t so hard,” I tell her. “Who?”
“Who?”
“Who did you lose?” I clarify.
“My dad,” she answers hesitantly. “Then my…my friend. My best friend.” She swallows again, like she’s pushing down tears, and I realize the second wound is fresh.
“Loss is inevitable. Planning ahead or trying to control everything won’t change it.” I set my fork down on my now empty plate. “Every decision made by every other personaround you can change your trajectory in one split second. So, in order to plan ahead, you’d have to plan the course of every single person who crosses your path. It’s an impossible feat, and it will drive you fucking crazy.”
I look down at her perfectly sectioned plate. “It’ll make you do obsessive things, like not letting your meat touch your fucking vegetables.”
She smiles softly, and it’s the first time I’ve ever really seen it aimed at me, and I look away because…I like it. Iwantit, and instead of pushing her away, I’m forcing her closer, struggling to keep my head straight.
“Keeping your food separate isn’t crazy.”