Searching for Love

by Christine Zolendz

  He paced back and forth, agitation settling tightly in his neck and shoulders. The more strides he took, the angrier he became. “I think maybe you’ll be my driver for the rest of the month. Maybe we could talk things through. Or maybe, instead of talking, I’m make you drive me all over and wait in the car while I get my cock sucked from other willing girls. That wouldn’t bother you, would it Fury?” His hands were fisted menacingly at his sides.

  “No, Sir.” I backed up, closer to the door, closer to an escape.

  “If you’re fucking someone else. I will make your life hell, Fury.”

  I grabbed the doorknob and yanked it open. “It already is, Sir.”

  I ran out of his office, tears blurring my eyes, straight into the solid chest of Detective Ryan Cage.

  Chapter 4

  Ryan

  It was like getting hit with a lightning bolt.

  A gorgeous, raven haired, lightning bolt, that was crying. “Wait, Brooke. Whoa. Hold up,” I said, tugging at the sleeve of her shirt to slow her down. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  She stared out at the empty hallway and produced the fakest sneeze I had ever heard. “Yep,” she sniffed, rubbing her eyes and nose with the back of her hands. “Just too many flowers in this place. Allergic.”

  Her desk was lined up with them. I rubbed at the back of my neck, wondering why she felt the need to lie to me about crying. She shook her head and looked down at the floor.

  I took a deep breath—attempting to calm my reaction to her tears—locking my jaw, so as to not go all-out Neanderthal on whoever made her this upset. “Hey,” I said, reaching again for her sleeve and giving it a gentle pull, “Are you getting off work now? I was just going to get something at the diner. You hungry?”

  Her eyes snapped up to meet mine. “Uh…” She looked highly suspicious of my motives. “What’s the catch?”

  I placed my hand over my heart like she’d hurt me. “No catch, just grabbing a bite to eat.”

  “Honestly, I’m not very hungry. Maybe some other time,” she said, but her words drowned out by an enormous rumbling from her stomach.

  Stepping forward, I leaned in close to her. She smelled of sweet peas and sugar, and her hair felt silky against my cheek. “That’s twice you’ve lied to me in two minutes,” I whispered against her ear.

  She gasped quietly.

  “Ryan, I’m not really in the mood—” she said, pulling herself away.

  “I’m taking you to dinner.” I’m going to feed her and find out what the hell was going on and hurt whoever was behind it. “Come on.”

  Her stance shifted—her muscles seemed to melt—her tight shoulders pulled down, and she let out a small sigh. Except for the tears when she smashed into me, I hadn’t really noticed the tension in her body until it was seeping out of her.

  “Okay,” she murmured. “Let me just get out of uniform.”

  I walked beside her to the lockers and held the door open for her. The urge to reach out and touch her hand with mine was maddening. I wanted to wipe away the stains the tears made down her cheeks, and kiss her salty lips. I shook my head as we stood staring at each other in front of the locker room; she’d kill me if she knew how crazy I was about getting to know her. She gave me a curious look, followed by a long sigh, and walked through the door.

  I found myself watching her walk away. Couldn’t take my eyes off of her actually, and only did so when my view was blocked by the closing of the door. My fingers itched to pull out my phone and play the video I had of her. I had probably watched it no less than two hundred times already. She was one of the prettiest women I’d ever seen, and from what time I had spent with her, I found she was intelligent, witty, and fun. I wanted to get to know her even more. That’s all, I told myself. I just wanted to get to know her a little better.

  “You look exhausted,” she said, as we slid into a small booth in a quiet corner of the diner. “Everything okay with you?”

  “How about this, gorgeous. You tell me why I almost got bulldozed by a crying woman, and then you can ask any questions you want about me.”

  “You’re such an asshole sometimes,” she said through a small smile.

  “I’ve been called much worse,” I shrugged, tapping the menu on the table.

  The waitress came over and smiled down at both of us. “Hey, guys. What can I get you, today?”

  Brooke hadn’t even opened the menu that was on the table in front of her. She just rambled off her order like she’d eaten there a million times before. “A loaded cheeseburger, fries, oh, extra onion rings and a vanilla shake.”

  “Make that two of the same orders,” I said, winking at the waitress. I turned my attention back to Brooke when the waitress walked away. “Wow. Nice. I’m impressed, really,” I chuckled, watching her eyes sparkle back at me.

  “I haven’t eaten all day,” she smirked.

  “And here, I seem to remember you saying you weren’t hungry. Where do you put all that food anyway?” I asked, honestly questioning it.

  “Have you seen my ass?” she laughed, rolling her eyes.

  “Yes, Brooke, yes I absolutely have. It’s been the focal point of the majority of my dreams since I transferred here.” Her face turned bright red. “Holy crap, I made you blush?”

  “I just blush easily. It’s not you,” she said quietly, fidgeting with her napkin.

  “Well, I like watching it,” I said low, watching her carefully. Her gaze didn’t look away from mine, and we sat staring at one another for a moment before she broke the silence.

  “I think you like watching a lot of things, don’t you?” she whispered, her cheeks deepening their shade of red.

  “Are you going to ask me what I like to watch? Because this is starting to sound like a very blush-worthy conversation, and I’m not sure your cheeks would be able to handle it.”

  She lifted her hands to her cheeks and squeezed her eyes shut with a loud laugh. “They sort of do feel like they could burst into flames any minute.”

  “Well, let’s change the subject then. I wouldn’t want that beautiful face to self destruct unless it was something noteworthy,” I teased.

  “Noteworthy? Hmmm.” she said, curiously. “And what would be noteworthy enough to make my cheeks completely explode?” she asked folding her arms across her chest.

  “A long sordid, filthy night with me,” I smiled, leaning back against the cushion of the booth.

  She looked away then, her cheeks and neck, even the tops of her ears turned a bright, blazing red. “God, you are such an ass,” she laughed. “Do any women actually believe your lies?”

  Lies? I chuckled at her accusation. It was said bitterly. She was burned by someone—probably recently—she didn’t even think my flirting with her was actually true. That blew. She was holding on tightly to some sort of baggage, wasn’t she?

  I wanted to ask her about it. I wanted to know everything about her. Everything. But our food came out then, and the waitress clanked our loaded plates down in front of us and without hesitation she dug right in. I watched her eat for a minute, amazed. How could watching someone eat be so sexy?

  “In all seriousness, tell me why getting flowers makes you cry,” I said, after a huge bite of my burger.

  She poured a ton of ketchup into her plate, drowning most of her fries, and shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Well, I really need to know. You know, just in case I ever have the audacity to find it in myself to purchase the offending gift for a woman.”

  “Why?” she groaned, and took a huge bite out of her burger. “This was a nice conversation.” A dab of ketchup smeared over her cheek. “You don’t want to hear about my stupid flowers, believe me.” She talked through chewing, and held up a finger. “And don’t go by me, most women love flowers. Just don’t give them to someone out of guilt.”

  I reached out and brushed the ketchup off with my thumb, thoughtlessly. Her smiled faded and for a brief terrifying moment she looked like she might get sick. �
��I’m sorry. You just had some ketchup,” I whispered, gesturing with my fingers where the ketchup was on her cheek.

  She pressed her lips together tightly and looked down.

  “Does the thought of me touching you always make you look green?” I asked.

  Her gaze back shot up to mine, a tentative shy smile slowly appeared on her lips, and once again, her cheeks filled with color. I leaned back watching, enjoying the sunset across the soft perfection of her face.

  “I try not to think of you touching me,” she said, trying to keep her tone light, though her voice trembled and tripped over the words. She reached for a French fry and dipped it in more ketchup.

  “I think I like the fact that you have to try not to think about me touching you,” I baited. I know I was horrible, but this back and forth with her was the highlight of my days since coming to this command.

  She popped the fry into her mouth and choked out a cough. “That’s not what I meant.” She balled up her napkin and tossed it at me.

  “Yeah, maybe. But that’s what I’m going with.”

  “You are such a huge flirt. Why?”

  “I’m not a huge flirt,” I laughed.

  “Yes, you are. This morning, I watched you flirting with Martinez, sitting on the corner of her desk. She was giggling and blushing and flipping her gorgeous hair at you.” She sipped at her shake, swallowed and continued, “You’re always flirty and fooling around.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “And what did you feel when I was talking to the gorgeous-haired Martinez?”

  “Absolutely nothing, why?” She deadpanned tragically. Someone needed to tell her what an awful liar she was.

  “Just wondering.” I took another bite of my food and chewed slowly, watching her reaction. She swirled a fry through the ketchup, but didn’t put it in her mouth. “Martinez does have gorgeous hair,” I added, with a smile.

  “Yes, she does,” she agreed, quietly.

  “Nothing like yours though,” I said, seriously.

  She dropped the fry and arched an eyebrow at me.

  “What? What’s that look for?” I asked, laughing.

  “You’re flirting again.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes. Stop,” she laughed.

  “I like flirting with you. Will you giggle and laugh and flip your hair too?”

  “I’m not one of those girls, Ryan,” she said, swallowing hard, eyes focused back down on her food.

  “Maybe that’s why you seem to be my favorite person to flirt with.”

  She snapped her head up and blinked at me, her cheeks taking on another pink glow, and I could have sworn she was fighting a smile. My chest swelled with heat, one of those intense feelings I haven’t had since I was a kid.

  “So…honestly…” I shrugged. “What’s with the flowers and the tears?”

  She let out a slow breath, and twisted her fingers together, fidgeting. “My ex. It’s really not worth talking about. We were falling in love one minute, and the next…” she slowed down her words and looked away as if thinking of how to continue. “He morphed into a completely different person. I didn’t even see it coming.”

  Her voice was low as she spoke, her fingers continually twisting at the sleeve of her shirt. “You look scared to talk about him.”

  She made a slight grimace and narrowed her eyes at me. Her lips moved to deny what I said, but I wouldn’t let her. “You remember, I am a detective, right Brooke? I do this shit for a living. I read people. You’re scared.”

  “It’s not like that, Ryan. I was just surprised that I didn’t realize he wasn’t right for me, that’s all.” She sipped at her shake and shivered. “I’m not scared. I’m just tired of only meeting the absolute worst men. What about you?”

  “I usually skip the men and just deal with the ladies. Men seem too hairy to me,” I teased, trying to pull out a smile from her. “And they’re kind of gross and watch too much sports, and hunt and stuff.”

  “You’re an ass,” she laughed, popping another bite of her burger into her mouth. “So what’s going on with you? You look drained. Late night?”

  “Yes. Definitely,” I said, nodding my head and rubbing a hand through my hair. I was starting to really feel it now, the exhaustion, settling into my bones, pulling me toward the ground.

  “So… Who kept you up all night?” she smiled, her face flushed. You could learn a lot about Brooke just by watching the various shades of pink that brightened her cheeks.

  “His name is Cameron,” I said, smiling. “He’s my sixteen-year-old autistic brother, who is staying with me for the next four weeks while my mother and step-father go on a much-needed vacation in Italy.”

  “And so last night?” she prompted, waving her hand for me to continue.

  “Was the first time Cameron ever stayed over anyone’s house overnight. So he basically just had a complete meltdown the entire time.”

  “That’s rough, Cage. What did you do?” she asked, sipping at her straw.

  “I pretty much had an identical meltdown right beside him.”

  “Was it being in a new place? Or just being away from your parents that set him off?” she asked, twirling the straw in the glass.

  “I’m not sure. He’s not very verbal. He repeats everything like a parrot, but he has trouble letting people know what he needs or wants.”

  “Does he have one of those speak apps for an iPad?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. What is that?” What the hell kind of magic is she speaking of?

  “It’s an app that helps non-verbal individuals to communicate,” she said with a beautiful smile.

  “How do you know about that?” I asked, dropping my burger back into my plate, stunned.

  “My brother, Dean? His girlfriend, who is also my best friend, works in The New York Center for Autism. It’s a charter school up in Harlem. I volunteer there with her every other weekend I’m off,” she shrugged like she wasn’t saying shit to make me crush on her more.

  “You’re kind of making me want to flirt with you even more,” I said honestly.

  There’s that beautiful blush.

  “If you need any help while he’s staying with you, I can give you Liv’s number,” she said, wiping her lips with a napkin.

  “How about yours?” I blurted. Damn, I wanted her number bad.

  “Can I get you guys anything else?” the waitress asked. I stared at Brooke’s face, hoping we could stay in this little corner booth for the rest of the night. I didn’t want to face Cameron again; not knowing how to help him was killing me. Watching him become so frustrated and enraged, because I didn’t know what to do made me feel like the worst brother in the world.

  “No, thank you. Just the check,” Brooke said, smiling up at the waitress.

  “Sure thing, here you go, hun,” the waitress replied and placed the bill on the table between us. It was adorable when Brooke went to reach for it.

  “Touch it, and I will tell everyone in this diner that you’re here trying to buy me as an escort, for a whopping sum of five hundred dollars.”

  Her hands froze, hovering an inch over the bill. “You wouldn’t dare,” she laughed.

  I shifted my body around in the booth and whistled at an older couple, two booths away. “Hey,” I called.

  She smacked my hand away. “Shut up, stop. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “That’s the point,” I laughed.

  “What, to embarrass me?” She asked, laughing back at me.

  “No,” I laughed harder, shaking my head, “To let me pay for your dinner.”

  “I can’t let you pay for my—”

  “Yes, Brooke, you can. Please let me pay. I’m kind of old-fashioned, and I think a beautiful woman deserves to have dinner bought for her every now and then.”

  She slowly pulled her hand away, and her face paled. “Thank you, Cage.”

  I pulled out my wallet and threw down a few twenties, making sure the waitress got a good tip.

  Brooke slid
out of the booth and stood. I helped her with her coat, and she blinked up at me in surprise. “Uh, thanks. Again.”

  “You’re right,” I whispered, not able to keep the pity out of my voice.

  “What am I right about?” she asked, looking up at me through impossibly long lashes.

  “You’re really used to meeting shitty men. You shouldn’t be surprised when a decent one wants to pay for your dinner and help you put your coat on.”

  “Meeting them is not my problem, unfortunately.” Her voice was sad, hollow, and she grimaced.

  “Then, what is?” I asked, curious to see if she was honest with what her problem really was.

  “Decent seems to bore me. Wild turns me on. I’m a complete cliché. I like bad boys. And I fall in love so fast, and I’m gullible and believe what I want to see instead of what’s real.” As she spoke, her eyes glazed wetly. She’d probably said that speech to herself in the mirror dozens of times in her life. Maybe it was something she’d heard too, from someone who was trying to put her in a neat little box with a pretty pink bow. Women aren’t so simple. They’re not easily explained, and my mother taught me long ago to never try to understand why people fall in love, just that they will and sense means nothing. Not when the heart is concerned.

  We walked out of the restaurant, me walking as close to her as I possibly could. Close enough that the back of our hands touched, and her gaze kept glancing toward the spot like it was something to be frightened of. We walked that way, that close, all the way down the block to the parking lot where she parked her car for work that morning. I opened the door for her as she turned slowly and stilled, realizing how close she was standing next to me. Once again, I could smell the sugary sweet soap she used. I found myself leaning toward her, and stopped, backing away. “Thanks again,” she whispered.

  “Anytime,” I said, low.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, probably, maybe,” she murmured, but stood motionless and wide-eyed, staring up at me.

  “Yeah, tomorrow,” I said, taking another step back to put more distance between us.

  I walked backward, watching her stumble into the driver’s seat of her car. When I turned around to walk toward mine, I could feel her stare following after me.