"Well! What's this?" Mickey asked.
A nasally weasel replied, "I think it's a gift, Boss. I think that broad left it."
Maggie bull-rushed into Mickey's office, "That broad would like an audience with his Highness."
"Mickey, ya what I should--"
Mickey hushed his not-so-subtle business partner. "Get outta here, and take this too," he said throwing a package large enough to conceal a severed head at the untrustworthy scamp.
Mickey waited for the door to close. "What can I do for ya darlin'?"
Maggie's eyes flared, "Don't darling me! I've had enough, Mickey. I'm through."
"Maggie, Maggie." Mickey rounded the corner of his newly acquired desk, and Maggie gave him her back.
"Don't think you can sweet talk me, Mickey! Don't you think I know?!" When he tried to wrap his arms around her, she reeled on him, "I know you don't need me. I know you've got girls lined from here to Nantucket. I can't take it any more! I'm out--"
He chuckled at her bravado. "Woah, cool cheeks."
It was that grin and that glint in his pale blue eyes. She turned to goo every time--he knew it too. Just like he knew she would be blushing, thinking of the first night he called her cool cheeks. They were in his red Chevy listening to the crickets and naming the stars. He had kissed her cheek. She had said her cheeks weren't cold. It was just his hot lips.
She was a young girl back then. A foolish girl.
There was a quick rap on the door before Jack the weasel barged back it, "You okay in here, Boss?"
Mickey broke his loving, gentle character like shattering glass. "Get outta here!" he bellowed.
And in two blinks, he glued all the pieces back together. "Now, Mags, darlin'. What's going on with you?"
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