Mickey's Lessons on Bad

Lesson 19: Threats Never Gets Old

       Never before in his life had Mickey been so proud of his mother.

       Michelle’s body was wrapped in a pink– or as Ella would correct salmon– dress that he knew was strapless, seeing as she wore a white, cotton sweater that was unbuttoned and barely reached her hips. The top part was a darker salmon color than the bottom with more of those designer wrinkles. Her skirt reached mid-thighs, but it had a tail reaching her ankles. Her feet were covered in a silver part of heels that added a few inches to her height, but not enough for Michelle to reach his height.

       “Wow,” escaped Mickey’s lips as all he wanted to do at the moment was run his fingers over the fabric of the dress to feel each of her beautiful curves. “You look,” he swallowed, “breathtaking.”

       Much to his pleasure, her cheeks heated up as she stared up at him through those beautiful, blue eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured bashfully, her eyes trailing over his attire. “You don’t look, um, half as bad.”

       He grinned, responding, “Thank you.” He was wearing a black and white tuxedo, along with a salmon colored tie that his mother forced on him. That explained a lot.

       “Should we get, uh, going?” Michelle asked, her bashfulness slowly dissipating. She shivered a bit, folding her arms over her chest. “It’s kinda cold.”

       Mickey’s eyes widened and he didn’t hesitate in stepping out of the way of the passenger’s door, opening it for her. “Oh, here,” he said, gesturing for her to get inside. “Sorry.” His heart hammered in his chest when he felt those warm pair of lips brush against his cheek.

       “It’s fine,” she replied and slipped into the car, fixing the dress so the tail was underneath her butt.

       He closed the door behind her and squeezed his eyes shut, just standing there for a good moment, allowing the cold, November air nip at him. Mickey then reopened his eyes and walked around the car, slipping into the driver’s side. He made a mental declaration that tonight was going to be an interesting night.

 *

The moment they stepped into the entrance, warm air blasted them, engulfing them in a nice hug.

       Michelle's grip on Mickey's arm tightened at the sight of all the rich, elegant people that wandered in the foyer, chatting with friends and entering the banquet hall. She felt like a little kid walking into an adult's party. Mickey looked like he belonged here more than she did.

       "Are you okay?" Mickey whispered to her, laying his hand over hers and giving a comforting squeeze. "We can always lea–"

       "No," she interjected, releasing a shaky breath. She forced a smile to her face as she looked up at him. "I'm fine, just a little self-conscious."

       He sent her a disapproving look and began guiding her towards the hall. "About what? You're the most beautiful woman in this room– in this entire banquet."

       It seemed like lately Mickey enjoyed adding color to Michelle's cheeks as she blushed. "You didn't even look around at the other women," she pointed out.

       He patted her hand and laughed. "Do I even have to?"

       Michelle opened her mouth to retort when a body suddenly slammed into her, arms wrapping around her torso. Thankfully, the body didn't lay a finger on her arms. Her vision was filled with short, dark brown locks. "You're choking me, Ronnie," she managed to hiss as the idiot squeezed the living life out of her.