The Feel Good Factor

by Blakely, Lauren

  “And you’re living with her now?”

  “Indeed. I rented a room from her.”

  She yanks on my shirt and tugs me into the hallway. “Derek.”

  “What?”

  “You’re renting a room from the woman you’re into?”

  I bristle at her word choice. “I’m not into her. We were messing around. More like a Tinder thing.” Though nothing about what I have with Perri feels like an online hookup. I know more about her from our brief encounters than someone I’d go home with from an app. I know she relies on her brother, she’s close with her family, and she values her community. I know she cares deeply about her job, and also about the people in this town. She’s sarcastic and sharp, and I’ve learned she’s creative—with her mailbox and her curlicue chalk drawings.

  Most of all, I know she has a strong sense of right and wrong, along with a soft heart and a fast mouth.

  “And now you’re living with her?”

  “Renting a room,” I correct, like the word choice is critical.

  “Be careful.”

  “Why?”

  Jodie taps my sternum. “The last time you lived with a woman she broke your heart.”

  I wave off her concerns. “Correction—the last time I was in a relationship, the woman turned out to be a lying, cheating you-know-what.”

  “And she broke your heart.”

  I wince, shaking my head. “Please.”

  “Derek,” she says softly. “You had feelings for Katie. You cared about her.”

  “You are ruining my good mood. I’m over Katie. Completely over her.”

  “I know that. I’m saying it wasn’t as simple as she was just the woman you lived with. You were in love with her.”

  “Good thing I’m not in love with my housemate. And it’s a good thing it’s simply a mutually beneficial rental agreement to help out two fine citizens of Lucky Falls.”

  “Okay,” she says, but her tone says she’s not sure.

  “I mean it. We’re good.”

  “Just be careful. You like this woman, and you tend to fall faster than you think you do.”

  I scoff from here to Los Angeles. “As if that’s going to happen.” I shift gears like I’m spinning in a one-eighty on a racetrack. “I’m off.”

  I scoop up Molly, snag the keys to my sister’s car, and take the little monkey to camp. When I return, I straighten up Jodie’s kitchen, give the baby five million kisses, and tell my sister I’ll see her later. I grab my helmet, hop on my bike, and head to work. Not even a crazy day where we’re called to a vehicle crash on a winding road, then a swallowing incident involving a bet about marbles, can get me all the way down. It’s like I’m a new man.

  When my shift is over, I pop by the grocery store to pick up a few items, and head to my new digs, eager to see my housemate.

  A small kernel of disappointment lodges in my chest when Perri’s not home. I go to the gym, and when I return home later that night, the home is quiet.

  I don’t even run into her the next morning.

  And that disappoints me more than it should.

  But when I do see her again, her jaw drops.

  14

  Perri

  Elias bops.

  His shoulders shake, his hips shimmy, and his head bobs as he leaves the police station a few feet ahead at the end of a shift, the evening after Derek moved in.

  He hums some sort of hip-hop tune, then sings, “All night long . . . I want you all night long.”

  I call out to Elias, “Hey, Officer Jazzy Jeff. You auditioning for a talent show or something?”

  Laughing, he turns around and waits for me as I head down the steps. “Something like that.”

  “Seriously?”

  He motions for me to come closer. “You’ve seen those hot-cop videos, right?”

  “Sure,” I say tentatively. “I mean, it’s not like I go online hunting for them, but I’m familiar with the concept. Like that one Gainesville PD did, right?”

  “Yup.” He waggles his hips, waiting for me to say something. When I’m speechless, he fills the silence. “What do you think?”

  As dry as a wine-country summer, I say, “I think you should keep your day job.”

  “C’mon, Keating. Admit it. I can groove.”

  I pat his shoulder. “Fine, you’re a good dancer. But are you actually going to make a dancing video?”

  He taps his nose. “Bingo. That’s the plan. I’m hoping it’ll impress the big man.”

  “A dancing video?”

  “Well, if I can get it to go viral. Will you share it for me?”

  “I’m not on Facebook. Besides, I think you want others to share it. People who have lots of friends and fans online. You want to get it in front of the right audience.”

  “Good point. I need to think this through more. Find some influencers, as they say.”

  His phone bleats and he grabs it, answering instantly. “Hey, honey bear.” He mouths the wife, waves, and takes off.

  As I walk to my car, awareness hits me square in the sternum. If he’s trying to impress the big man, he’s probably gunning for the promotion too. My jaw tightens. Reasonably, I figured I wasn’t the only one who’d want the gig. Still, it’s tough to go up against a buddy, even if the chief told me I should apply.

  I weigh what I can do to increase my own chances for the role, but I feel a smidge guilty. Elias’s wife is pregnant. Does that mean he deserves this more than I do? He has more at stake, doesn’t he? I don’t like the thought of competing against him, especially given his family expansion plans.

  But that’s life. Sometimes you have to compete against a friend, I tell myself as I stroll past the yarn shop. I pop inside to pick up another ball of merino wool and stop short when I see Jansen at the counter, his arms snaked around his wife and his lips planted on her cheek. I avert my gaze, but she calls out to me.

  “Hey, crafty lady. I still have your yarn.”

  I look up and smile like I didn’t just see them practicing. “Oh, thanks. Just need to get cracking on some new patterns.”

  She waves me over, and Jansen barks out a greeting. “Evening, Officer Keating.”

  “Evening, Chief.”

  “What are you making?” he asks.

  His wife nudges him. “She’s going to make you a new pink hat, Jeff. Now don’t be so nosy.”

  I laugh. “It’s okay. I don’t mind sharing. I found an adorable sweater pattern, but I’m not sure who I’m going to make it for. But I find the routine of knitting helps me unwind.”

  “That’s good. Personally, I like to do jigsaw puzzles,” Jansen puts in. “That helps me let go of the unsolved mysteries at the end of the day. Like who broke into the jewelry store off Main Street the other month.”

  I frown. “I know. Me too. I wish we had more leads.”

  “So do I.”

  “Trust me, we all wish we knew what went on there,” Theresa says. The jewelry store theft is one of the few “high profile” crimes we’ve had to deal with recently in Lucky Falls.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it. I’m confident of that,” Jansen says, then fastens on a smile. “But I also want to know why so many damn people are speeding on Hollowstone Road.”

  That sparks an idea. Jansen did say the other day that he appreciated my willingness to do grunt work and pick up traffic duty without grumbling. “Want me to run traffic duty there this weekend?”

  “That’d be great. Especially since some of them are likely to be DUIs. Let’s get ’em off the road.”

  “I’ll do it, sir,” I say, deciding to ignore the dollop of guilt. I’m not taking anything away from Elias. I’m simply competing in the way that I have to. I’m doing my best to go above and beyond.

  I take my yarn and head down the block to Helen’s Diner, where I happen to know my trouble-making brother usually goes when he’s done with work.

  True to form, he’s parked in his regular booth by the window, digging into his favorite roast b
eef sandwich. I rap hard on the glass.

  He looks up, and I bug out my eyes and point at him. You’re in so much trouble, I mouth, then head inside, march over to him, and push his shoulder. “What were you thinking?”

  He stares at me, chewing slowly on the sourdough. “I was thinking how tasty this sandwich is.”

  “What on earth were you thinking, inviting that man to rent my room? I’m going to wrestle you and take you down to the ground right now.”

  “Just sit and have a soda, Meryl Streep.”

  I sit across from him, staring. “I’m not being dramatic.”

  “Seriously, what is the problem? I thought we worked it all out.”

  “Listen, no joking, no teasing.” I scan the joint for anyone in earshot, then whisper, “You know that guy is one hundred percent my type, and yet you asked him to live with me?”

  “That’s what you wanted me to do. Plus, you already made out with him.” He shivers like the thought of me making out gives him the willies.

  “Shaw, what have you known about me and men my whole life?”

  “That . . . you haven’t dated in a while?”

  “Hello? Tattoos, ink, tall, dark, and handsome, bad boy. It’s that simple. It’s my temptation.”

  “You’re not going to go to the bone zone, so what difference does it make?”

  “You couldn’t have found some nice, quiet, skinny accountant who drives a Subaru and spends nights with his calculator?”

  Shaw cracks up. “You’re never satisfied.”

  I slump down. “I appreciate you doing it, and Derek and I have sorted it out. But it’s honestly one of the most insane things you’ve ever done.”

  “Some might say it’s one of the most helpful.”

  “I’d have thought you knew better than to put me in that situation.”

  “And what situation did I put you in? Something where you can’t handle your own hormones? You’re a big girl. You’re one hundred percent capable of keeping them in check.”

  The bell above the door rings, and Vanessa strides in. Shaw whips his head around, and I swear something changes in his dark eyes. Before she can reach us, I hiss, “Don’t even think about it.”

  “About what?”

  “Are you thinking of making a play for one of my best friends? You do know she is precious to me. And I don’t want you and your ladies’ man attitude anywhere near her.”

  He jerks his gaze back to me. “I’ve known her since she was six.”

  “And you will keep your playboy paws off her. She’s like a sister to me. Which makes her like your sister.”

  He scoffs. “You do know she has her own sister? Also, I definitely don’t think of Vanessa as our sister.”

  I don’t even want to know how he thinks of her.

  Vanessa reaches us. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

  Shaw clears his throat. “We were just chatting about Perri’s new roomie.”

  And I want to kick his shin all over again.

  But I don’t. Because I can keep my shin-kicking desires in check, right along with my hormones.

  In fact, it’s no big deal whatsoever.

  Derek’s not even home when I return that evening. I presume we’re on opposite shifts, or he’s out doing whatever he does when he’s not home. Hell if I know what that is. But I do find a note on the chalkboard.

  I replaced the eggs I ate. Have I mentioned I have a large appetite? Also, I picked up some of that coffee you seem to like. And I noticed you were low on Talenti Caribbean Coconut. Don’t you know that’s a crime, officer? You’ll find some more in the freezer.

  My stupid lips curve into an even stupider smile as I take out the pint and enjoy a few spoonfuls.

  And I’m still smiling the next morning when I make my coffee.

  * * *

  Shaw was right.

  I keep my hormones in check the next day, and not seeing Derek in the kitchen helps the cause immensely.

  When I return home on Wednesday night, my hormonal state is as cool as a cucumber.

  As I drive home.

  As I park the car.

  As I get out of the car.

  And when I hear a voice. A sweet, bright four-year-old voice. “It’s the animal-sound lady!”

  But then I walk around the garage and stop in my tracks. I run a hand through my hair, and my chest flutters.

  Because holy shit. Derek is pushing a baby in a stroller down my walkway and holding the hand of the frog-loving little girl from the market.

  Just like that, I zoom from cucumber-cool to red-hot chili pepper. These hormones are so very not in check.

  15

  Perri

  “Giraffe! Do a giraffe!”

  The order comes from Molly, who introduced herself officially to me, along with the sleeping baby in the stroller. Today, Molly is tutu-free—she’s decked out in cowgirl boots and a red cowgirl hat. I have no idea what sort of sound giraffes make, but the concentration distracts me from my libido.

  I’m so damn grateful for giraffes right now, and for the obscurity of their vocalizations, forcing me to scroll through my mental list of animal sounds.

  Perfect lust-killer.

  I turn to Derek. “Any chance you know what a giraffe sounds like?”

  He shrugs too, flashing a crooked grin. “I’m stumped. I bet Google knows.”

  Before I can grab my phone and ask the all-knowing search engine, Molly shakes her curly head and thrusts a piece of pink chalk at me. “I brought my sidewalk chalk. Can you draw a giraffe with me instead?”

  “She’s been drawing up and down the whole street,” Derek adds.

  I narrow my eyes and straighten my lips as I face Molly. “Aha! I see I’ve nabbed the mad Sidewalk Drawer. We’ve been looking all over for you.” I stretch out my arms as if to grab her.

  She squeals and clomps down the sidewalk in her boots, watching me the whole way and shouting, “Come get me.”

  I chase her, grab her waist, and declare “Gotcha” in my most over-the-top voice.

  “Oh no! You caught me!” She giggles, and I let her go. “Now, draw!”

  “Draw, please,” Derek corrects as he pushes the stroller with the sleeping baby in it.

  “Draw, please,” Molly adds, batting her eyelashes at me.

  “Now that you’re in my custody, sure. I’ll do it.”

  Molly laughs again. “Do it in blue. Please.”

  “I will draw a blue giraffe. But would you let me change first?”

  She sighs dramatically. “Okay. I’m not allowed to color in my school clothes either.”

  I smile broadly at her we’re all in this together comment. “Exactly.”

  Derek stares at my work attire. “You don’t need to change. You can draw in that, right?”

  I toss him a flirty look, remembering his comments from the other night. This man clearly has a thing for a woman in uniform.

  All the more reason to change. Best to avoid temptation.

  “Be right back.” I head inside the house and turn the corner to my bedroom. I strip off my uniform and tug on exercise pants, a sports bra, and a tank top.

  Then I go to the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and take a deep breath.

  I can handle sidewalk chalk–drawing with a hottie pushing a baby and tending to his precocious four-year-old niece. After all, I don’t even want to have kids.

  Yet.

  Maybe someday. But I definitely don’t have baby fever, so there’s no reason the sight of him with two absolute cuties should make my heart speed up or my skin sizzle.

  I return to the front lawn, where the man looks me over again from stem to stern. “Nice yoga pants, but I still miss the uniform.”

  Spotting Molly twenty feet away, I whisper, “That’s because you have some sort of uniform fetish.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows. “A big one.”

  “Why’s that? You want to be cuffed? Told what to do?”

  He scoffs and stalks closer, shaking his head. “Not
at all, kitten.”

  The way he says kitten—so raspy, so commanding—sends a shiver over my flesh. “Not at all?”

  “What I want is the complete opposite.”

  Holy hell, he can tell me what to do all night long. Tie me up, pin me down, cuff me.

  Except I can’t go there. We can’t go there.

  Fortunately, Molly skips to her Lou right on over to us, thrusting a bucket of sidewalk chalk at me. “You do a giraffe, and I’ll do a hippo.”

  “Sounds like a deal.”

  And it sounds like what the doctor ordered to stop the quick spread of a lust relapse.

  Molly squats on the stretch of sidewalk in front of my house.

  “Giraffe time,” I declare as I bend down to the concrete, working on the shape of the long neck as Molly draws a big bulbous blob for a hippo head. “That’s not too bad.”

  She smiles. “I want to be a vet.”

  “For safari animals?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s awesome,” I say as I outline the tall creature’s face. “So you’d be a big-game vet.”

  “Or I’ll be a cowgirl.”

  “That could be fun too.” I draw giraffe ears next, as Molly works on the hippo’s belly.

  “Or a ballerina, or a rock star.”

  “What if you’re all four?” Derek chimes in as he joins us on the sidewalk. In the stroller, the baby’s eyes flutter, and she stretches her little legs and arms, looking too adorable for words.

  “Yes! I can be all four.”

  “You can be anything you set your mind to,” I add as I finish the giraffe’s tail.

  “Whoa!” The praise comes from Derek as he surveys my handiwork. “You sure can draw.”

  “Thank you. It’s just something I do for fun.”

  “That’s a helluva talent for fun.”

  “Uncle Derek, you said a bad word,” Molly calls out.

  “Want me to arrest him?” I offer as I stand, dusting one hand against the other.

  Derek offers me his wrists, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, please lock me up.”