“Now wait, he didn’t really steal—”
“That’s the one.” Chase nods.
She nods in return. “Yes. Call me.”
“But you can’t. Igave—”
She presses a manicured finger to my lips. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see a man about some Elvis impersonators.” She toward the side of the bar where the pissed-off bar owner sits. “This is going to be fun.”
Chase smirks. “You can bill me for the hour.”
“Oh, honey.” Leslie laughs. “I’m going to bill you for a lot more than that.” Then she sashays over and starts lawyering the shit out of the mayhem we caused.
“That’s some woman.” Human Mike, who’s been surprisingly quiet and steady through this whole ordeal, takes a swig of his beer and watches Leslie talk down the owner.
With the crowd now dispersed, Leslie handling the damages Mike Hunt caused, and the pain in my hand receding, the adrenaline fades, and my eyelids get heavy.
“I need to go home,” I tell cat Mike, who simply continues to motorboat me.
“I’ll take you,” Chase offers, hope lighting his features.
“I came with Leslie.”
“I got Leslie,” Human Mike says, his own smile telling me how he hopes the night will play out. And as Leslie hasn’t told him to take a hike, I’m pretty sure she’s okay with that.
I nod to him, then turn to Chase. “Fine, you can take me home.” I squeeze the hairless ball of cuddles closer. “But I’m not giving up Mike Hunt.”
Hands up, Chase nods. “Done.”
“Take the next exit.”I point at the upcoming sign. It’s been forty minutes since we left Wild West, and the only time I’ve opened my mouth was to give directions. Anytime Chase tried to initiate conversation, I started baby-talking to Mike. Chase took note and stopped talking thirty-five minutes ago.
“Not that I’m not happy that you agreed to let me drive you home, but you aren’t, by any chance, leading me out to the middle of nowhere to kill me and bury my body, are you?” He pulls the car off of I-45, heading west.
“As much as that might give me pleasure at this exact moment, no. I’m not.” I cuddle Mike closer. “I’m taking you home.”
“I thought you had an apartment downtown.”
“I do. I’m taking you to my parents’ place.”
That quiets him for the next twenty minutes as we pass less retail shops and subdivisions and more split-rail fences and open spaces.
“This is it,” I say when we pull up to the red brick ranch-style house.
Chase’s headlights illuminate the metal wind chimes hanging from the porch.
“Home sweet home,” I sing, a sense of peace coming over me just looking at my family’s old house. I’ve kept it all these years. It’s become a place of refuge for me. Where I grew up. Where I mourned. Where I started my company.
Oddly quiet, Chase gets out of the car, circling around to open my door and help me out. Gripping Mike extra tight, not wanting him to get loose and then lost in the woods, I lead Chase up the porch steps to my front door.
“Well. You came all this way. I might as well let you in for a bit.”
A little of that trademark Moore smirk pulls through. “I’d like that.”
Sighing like I’m put out, instead of oddly nervous at Chase seeing my childhood home, I kick the rock by the porch post and unearth the house key.
“Are you for real? People actually hide keys under rocks?” He looks up and down the street. “Aren’t you afraid people will find it and rob you?”
“Come on, city boy.” I unlock the front door, setting Mike down in the small foyer. “Let’s sit you down a spell before you have a conniption right here on my momma’s front porch.”
