Burt's other friends started filing in, most of whom Mitch had met at least once before. They took up another booth reserved for the party and all were waited on by the lovely, attentive Shanice and another of her cute co-workers. Where all the Eddies' girls were flirtatious in that friendly way that led to bigger tips, Shanice was giving Mitch the eye all night, even when she was serving other tables.

Not bad for a washed up geezer, Mitch thought, giving it back a couple of times. When he won around at the dartboard, he cupped his ear in her direction for congratulations and she pretended to sigh and swoon dramatically.

Overall the night was a good time, enough to make Mitch forget the last few shitty weeks for most of it, but it was distraction without satisfaction. He had a craving for something better than good, and maybe had for a while. Shanice made it pretty clear that she wanted Mitch to take her home when she slipped him her number and the time her shift ended. He thought about it. She was a little young but, again, not fresh-out-of-high-school-young. He couldn't take her home; soundproofing in the building was already questionable without a big hole in the wall. He didn't feel up to the awkwardness of going to her place. The city was expensive. Waitresses always had roommates. The more he considered it, the more it felt like too much of an effort. Hating Howard and going viral had sucked the life out of him, and though he wasn't drunk, he was low on energy. How would that be fair to the fair Shanice, or his reputation? No, the point of a one-night-stand, which this would surely be, was to be effortless fun and more distraction. If he wasn't going to make the effort, he had far better company to not do it with at home.

When he felt it was time to make his exit, Mitch left a huge tip for Shanice at the table and sought her out to tell her how beautiful she was but that it was bad timing. She seemed disappointed, which was a nice boost for his ego. He headed out into the street and walked up to the nearest intersection to hail a cab. Someone about to pass him stopped and said loudly, "Yo, are you Mitch Garner?"

"Yeah, it's me," Mitch said, always grateful for fans.

"Wow. Then why don't you stick to what you know and stay the fuck out of politics."

"Excuse me?"

"Excuse you. You heard. No one wants to hear your dumb-ass opinions." His heckler, in oversized trousers and a baggy hoodie, started pacing and bouncing like he was about to start break-dancing.

Mitch had no idea which interpretation of whatever he'd said was pissing him off, so he just said, "Alright, goodnight."

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck me? Fuck you!"

The next thing Mitch new, the stranger shoved him. It wasn't very strong and he leapt back quickly, bouncing around still, challenging rather than attacking. In that instant Mitch knew he could take him if he had to. Make that, he could take him if he wanted to. Maybe a fight would take the edge off, get his juices flowing.

Mitch said, "If I'm late to your mother's again, I'm blaming you."

The stranger lunged forward, taking a swing that only grazed Mitch's jaw and landed on his shoulder.

This punk doesn't know what he's doing, Mitch thought. The notion of fighting for the sport of it left him. Still, lessons needed to be taught. He jabbed the guy quickly in his unguarded gut. Not Houdini hard, but enough to make him look like he was going to vomit. He stepped to Mitch to take another swing, leaving his face completely unprotected. Mitch only raised his fists to block his shot, but took the guy's punch right in the elbow. It hurt like a mother. The stranger shook his hand and howled that his fingers were broken.

"We done here?" Mitch asked.

"Eat a bag of dicks, bitch!" the punk yelled with tears streaming down his face as he turned and ran away.

Mitch tried to hail a cab with the wrong arm. The pain in his elbow was so sharp it felt like someone was trying to shuck it. He finally flagged one and made it back to the building and his hallway, only to be overcome by the feeling that he wanted to try his luck with a different door.

*****

Emma was usually in bed by eleven-thirty. She was anxious about filing the custody papers and decided to take it out on a sink full of dishes. Somehow, when she heard the knock on the door, she knew it'd be Mitch. He was probably checking to see if she'd mind him bringing someone home with that someone already standing behind him in the hallway. What could she say? That she did? Too bad for her.

Suspicions confirmed through the peep-hole, she opened the door. He was alone.

"Sorry to bug you," he said.

He was hanging onto his elbow and had a little blood on his jaw.

"What happened to you?"

"Some kid took at swing at me for something I said."

"What'd you say?"

"I don't know. Something on the podcast."

"Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"Actually I do. I didn't refill my trays and I'm out of ice. Do you have any, or a bag of frozen peas or something I can put on this thing?"

He certainly didn't raise his injured elbow then to show off a flexed arm, but it was a nice arm, Emma thought. A nice, meaty, man's arm.

"Of course, Come in. You need a little Polysporin for your face too."

"Do I? I didn't even feel that."

He took a seat at her table as she went to her kitchen and came back with a frozen gel pack and some antibiotic ointment. She made him turn in his chair to face her so she could wipe the blood from his face with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. Small white fluffs got caught on his stubble which she plucked away carefully. Next, she squeezed a little ointment onto her finger and dotted it above his jaw.

Looking up at her, Mitch asked jokingly, "Do you wish you'd punched me? Be honest."

Emma laughed. "No!"

"That's right, I forgot you don't hate me anymore."

"I never hated you. Even when I did."

"So that must mean you like me."

"I guess I do. God knows why." As she screwed the cap back on the tube of ointment, Mitch reached up and put his bad arm around her waist, exaggerating a wince as he did, followed by a teasing, testing smirk.

"What's this?" Emma asked, hoping she was reading it right.

"I'm supposed to keep it elevated."

He put his other arm around her and pulled her just a bit closer. "I don't want my shoulders to get lopsided."

It was so surprisingly sexy that all she could do was giggle. "Stop it," she said, swatting him.

He released her right away.

"Well, you didn't have to stop so fast," Emma complained.

A broad smile broke out on Mitch's face. The hands went around her behind and up to her waist again. "You know, somehow you're more intimidating when I'm looking down on you versus looking up. It must be like the elephant and mouse thing."

"You better be the elephant in this situation."

"What else? Tell me, how would you feel about kissing a guy who'll never be able to play tennis again?"

"I don't know," she said, dying to know. "I've never done it before."

He stood up to kiss her. Lifting her chin, his thumb gently grazed her bottom lip before his own replaced it. It was sweet and hot, and just a first taste. Emma wanted more, but...

She pulled away, bringing her hands to her blushing, smiling cheeks.

"Boy, you really know what you're doing there," she said, retreating slowly backward into the kitchen. "What if Gabe comes out?"

"Does he sleepwalk?" Mitch asked, following her.

"He has. Twice, " she said nervously, backing up against her sink. "He peed in the garbage by mistake."

"Who hasn't?"

Mitch leaned into her and kissed her again. He stroked and nuzzled her neck. She held onto his sides as he pinned her to the counter.

"God, that feels good," she whispered. "I can't remember the last time I was held by anyone that didn't leave a sticky print."

She heard and felt him laugh, low and sexy.

"See, I am funny," she said.

"And cute, and very clever." He kissed her again. Holy smokes, she thought. Will couldn't get this much toe-curling out of her with an hour in the bedroom. But...

She tapped him out to stop him. "I gotta tell you, I don't have a casual bone in my body. I mean, it doesn't have to be soulmate stuff, but I get attached."

He looked at her straight on with his soft, sincere eyes. "I'm not starting something I don't want to stick with."

"But what if it gets weird? Neither of us wants to move right now. What if it goes south and we have to avoid each other all the time? How uncomfortable would that be?And how would I explain it to Gabe? He already worships you."

Mitch straightened up, giving her a little more room, rubbing her arm till he held her hand. "I like being with you, Emma. You and Gabe. I'd like to see where this goes, and I haven't felt like that for a long time. There are no guarantees, but I'd rather things get weird 'cause we tried to do something than regret not trying at all."

Emma knew he was right. She needed something to make her smile all the way inside. Safe and practical wasn't going to cut it.

"Come on," he said. "Let's try to be happy. We deserve it."

"We do deserve it, damn it." She threw her arm around his neck and tilted her head back, waiting for his kiss to find her mouth again. A minute later, she arched away, even though her hands were all over him. "We have to take it slow, though."

"That's okay. I like a slow burn," he said in her ear, pressing into her.

"I'm never going to get these dishes done," she whined, melting. If it weren't for his bad elbow and Gabe asleep in the other room, she would have told Mitch to pick her up and cleared the counter. "What kind of slow burn is this anyway? We've only really known each other for three weeks."

"You don't know someone unless you've lived with them. Technically, I think we're ahead of the curve."

Just then, Emma thought she heard a door click. She jumped a little and shushed Mitch. A moment later, with no second sound, she relaxed, giving him a nervous smile. "I have an important day tomorrow," she sighed. She wanted him to stay, but she needed him to leave.

He stepped back, leaning against the opposite counter with his arms crossed, not in an angry way, but to show he was ready to keep his hands to himself. He was charm personified. "What time's his concert thing?"

"It goes till nine-thirty. He'll probably be home at ten."

"Okay," he said, straightening up. "Be ready at six then. I'm taking you out." He kissed her cheek and walked to the door, flashing her one last sweet smile before he left.

Emma hadn't moved, too weak in the knees to show him out. She stayed standing where she was for a few minutes longer in a delicious, dreamy, happy state. That there was a real man, and he wanted to be hers.