by BJ Bentley
What was that about?
“Yeah. Well, I’m glad Colin was able to step up instead.”
My eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them while they traded pleasantries and parted ways. Once Vance was behind the wheel, I pounced. “Did you get tapped for that interdepartmental drug task force?”
He darted a quick glance at me before pulling out into the street. “I did.”
“And you turned it down?”
“I did.”
“That could have been an incredible opportunity! Why would you say no?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but not from anger. It was like he didn’t want to admit what he was about to say. “Call came in the same day we met.”
I blinked. “What?” I thought back to that first day in Captain Griffin’s office. The way he’d sized me up and immediately dismissed me. “You hated me on sight.”
“Wrong. I wanted you on sight.”
“What?” I asked again. It seemed to be the only question I could ask during this mind-blowing conversation.
“Baby, seriously?” he asked, grinning. “You couldn’t tell?”
“You…you… ugh!” I threw my hands up. “I thought you were a jerk,” I admitted.
“And I’m sure my reputation preceded me.”
Okay, that was true. I remembered thinking how attractive he was when I first laid eyes on him. And I also remembered how I shut it down the moment I learned who he was. The department maverick. Known to go rogue and put investigations in jeopardy with his freewheeling investigative techniques. Though, now, after weeks of working alongside him and getting to really know him I wondered how much of that reputation was earned and how much was hype. Jealous slander brought on by idiots like Chad Zanetti who couldn’t close a case if the suspect walked into the bullpen and confessed to his face.
I didn’t answer because I didn’t have to. He knew I’d looked at him with preconceived notions. He also knew how I felt about him now.
“Got a call while you were enjoying a home cooked meal, leaving me to fend for myself at the precinct vending machines.”
I rolled my eyes. “What kind of call?”
“Micah’s been discharged, and he’s resting comfortably at home.”
“Really?” It had been just over a week since Micah had been shot, and last I heard, he wasn’t scheduled to be discharged until the next day. “That’s great.” I was going to bring him a dozen of Delilah’s Bavarian creams the first chance I got.
“Don’t suppose I can talk you into leaving him alone for a day or two to let him get settled before you start hovering?”
“Nope,” I chirped, popping the ‘p’ with a smirk.
Vance shook his head, not really expecting a different answer than the one I’d given him. “Buckle up, baby,” he murmured, turning the key in the ignition and taking us home.
I came awake to the early morning sun streaming through the sliver of space between Vance’s blackout curtains and his fingers working between my legs.
After we’d left Heath’s the night before, Vance had decided we were spending the night at his apartment instead of mine because it was late, I was tired, and he needed to restock some of his things at my place anyway. Instead of packing up what he needed and driving across town to the duplex, we just crashed there. Vance’s bed was comfortable and it smelled like him, so falling asleep had been blissfully easy.
Waking up was proving to be even better.
“Sleep good, baby?” His warm breath and raspy morning voice in my ear intensified the pressure building where he was touching me.
His expert touch, with just the right amount of pressure and speed, had me on the precipice, ready to fling me into oblivion when it all suddenly stopped.
“Vance,” I whined.
“Shh, baby. Someone’s here.” He rolled, swiping his gun from the nightstand, and crept to the bedroom door. His body was poised for action even though he kept his stance loose.
It took a considerable amount of effort to drag my eyes away from his toned, black boxer brief clad butt and climb out of bed. My reaction time was shameful considering there was an apparent intruder in the apartment at the crack of dawn.
“Vance? Honey?”
I froze where I was standing at the side of the bed and heard Vance mutter, “Crap,” even as he relaxed and lowered his weapon.
“Vance?” I whispered.
“Get dressed, baby. My mom’s here.”
“You’re kidding.” I watched him with wide eyes as he placed his gun back on the nightstand and pulled on a pair of cotton pajama pants. “That’s it? Your mom’s here? Just like that?”
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah, baby. Get dressed.” With that, he walked through the door and left me standing there with my jaw on the floor.
What the heck? He’d just had his hand down my pants, and now he was going to just casually introduce me to his mom? I was still standing there, in full panic mode, when he came back.
“Mom’s making breakfast, so I hope you’re hungry.”
“Huh?” I asked, still unmoving.
Vance walked into the bathroom and shut the door. I sprang into action. I got as close to the door as I could and hissed, “Vance!” through the solid white barrier. I heard the toilet flush and the tap turn on, at which point I deemed it safe to demand some answers. I pushed the door open and stood with my hands on my hips. I gave his broad chest wide eyes.
Focus, Poppy!
But did he have to be so beautiful?
“You’re not dressed.”
“Hmm?” The sound of dishes clanking snapped me out of it. “I can’t believe your mother is here!” I whisper-shouted.
Vance rocked back on his heels and sighed. “Pop. I’m gonna say this one more time. Get dressed. Mom’s making breakfast. Bring your appetite.”
“I can’t meet your mom!”
Vance laid his hands on my shoulders and steered me to his dresser, where he proceeded to pull out a t-shirt and another pair of cotton pajama pants. “Put these on. Come eat some of the best food you’ll ever taste, and meet…my…mom.”
I hated that he was getting impatient with me, but I was freaking out. I couldn’t help it! Meeting the parents was a big deal, and I didn’t want to do it wearing his clothes because I’d obviously spent the night here with him and had nothing else to wear. What was she going to think? Was she going to hate me on principle? Did I care? Yes! I most definitely cared.
I peeled off the t-shirt Vance had loaned me to sleep in last night and grabbed my bra from the floor before pulling on the fresh clothes. I took my time smoothing out the material and fussing with the way it hung on my body, making sure I was wrinkle-free and decent.
“Poppy.”
I stopped rolling my waistband and lifted my head.
“She’s gonna love you.” With that, he smiled and walked through the door, obviously expecting me to follow him this time.
So, I did.
24
Vance
“Smells great, Ma,” I said, planting a quick kiss on her smooth cheek. Sixty-five years old, but she had the skin of someone much younger. She claimed it was just good genes, but I suspected it also had to do with the multitude of lotions, serums, and masks she kept stashed in her bathroom medicine cabinet. Genetics or tonics, either way, she was still beautiful.
“Oh, I’m so glad you think so, honey. I fear I might have gone a little overboard.” Her hands fluttered as she spoke, nearly upending the mixing bowl of pancake batter on the counter.
I grasped her hands in mine. “Ma. Relax.”
“Do you think she likes French toast?”
I swept my gaze over the assortment of bowls and pans on the counter and stovetop. “You’re making French toast and pancakes?”
“And bacon and eggs. You need your protein.” She patted my cheek like she’d done since I was old enough to remember.
“That’s a lot of food, ma.”
Her body str
ung tight and her face fell. “You think it’s too much?” Her horrified whisper twisted my gut.
“No, ma,” I reassured her. “It’s good to have variety.” I gave her a wink and another kiss on the cheek, sighing with relief when I felt her relax.
Ma was a little high strung on a good day, and I know she was putting the pressure on herself to make a good impression on Poppy. What she didn’t know was that Poppy was just as nervous to meet her if her morning freak out was anything to go by.
“C’mere, baby,” I said when I spied Poppy standing in the doorway to the kitchen absently picking at the peeling paint on the door jamb.
I studied her as she made her way to me. She kept her eyes on the floor until I had her in my arms. She glanced up at me before leveling her gaze on my mom.
“Hi, Mrs. Brody,” she greeted her, speaking hesitantly and softly.
I watched Ma carefully, looking for any signs of imminent disaster, but she only stared at Poppy with an intensity that almost terrified me before her face broke out into a huge smile.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Poppy. And, please, call me Paula.” Ma spun around and began whipping her pancake batter into a frenzy. I was momentarily worried for the state of the whisk.
I looked down at Poppy, grinning. “See? Not so scary,” I whispered.
Poppy shot me a look and, against my wishes, extricated herself from my arms before sidling up to the counter.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Ma beamed at her but declined. “You and Vance sit and enjoy your coffee.” She pointed her whisk in the direction of the coffee pot, the carafe full of java brewed dark enough to put hair on your chest. It was the way my father drank it, therefore it was the only way my mother knew how to make it.
“Oh. Are you sure? I can scramble a mean egg—“
Ma’s eyes went wide with panic. I intercepted Poppy’s left hand as it reached for a frying pan and laced our fingers together.
“C’mon, baby. Let Ma make us breakfast. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
“Oh! I didn’t think I would be. I just wanted to help.”
“I know,” I soothed and dipped my head. “Just let her do this, please,” I whispered in her ear. “It’s important to her.”
“Okay,” she whispered back.
I guided her to a chair and moved to pour our coffee.
“So, Poppy, how do you like the job so far?”
I set both mugs down on the table and got the cream and sugar for Poppy, straining to hear the answer I was far more interested in hearing than my mother ever could be, though she’d asked the question.
Poppy doctored her coffee as she spoke. “I’m learning a lot,” she said, flashing a small smile.
“Well, I hear you have the best teacher.” Ma’s praise was unwarranted, but it made Poppy smile, so I’d accept the compliment.
“I’ve been very lucky.” Poppy’s softly spoken words were obviously sincere and multi-layered, sending a flood of warmth through me.
They also had the same effect on Ma, who was looking suspiciously moist around the eyes. It didn’t take much to win Ma over; I suspected that she had pre-approved of Poppy just from the way I talked about her, and that was only solidified when Poppy came out of my bedroom dressed in my clothes.
Ma cleared her throat. “Yes, well, I’m sure you’re not the only one learning a new trick or two.” She flicked her eyes to me and back again. “Being Fred Leighton’s daughter, you must be quite the smart young lady already.”
“You knew my dad?”
Ma’s posture stiffened and she shot me a panicked look. “Well…”
“It’s okay, Ma. Poppy knows about my misspent youth,” I said with a wry grin.
She relaxed and blew out a breath. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought for a second I— Well, never mind.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway, yes, I knew Fred, though not very well. Just enough to know that my son had a good role model when he needed one most.”
As the words left her mouth, her face fell, and I knew she was lamenting the fact that that role model I needed should have been my own father, but after Warren died, well, Dad went down his own path of grief and I went mine. And Ma hers. None of which were particularly healthy, but Ma and I were at least now relatively well adjusted. Dad, on the other hand, was hit or miss depending on the day.
Whereas I had Fred and what turned out to be my life’s calling to set me on the straight and narrow…ish, Ma had the kitchen and her many foodie experiments. Dad, on the other hand, fell into a bottle of Jack Daniels and only occasionally managed to dig himself out. On the days that he did, it was only to fall right back in again after a week or two. Recovery wasn’t something my mom or myself held out much hope for any more, and nobody could force Cliff Brody to change.
Poppy sat quietly, absently stirring her spoon in her coffee.
“Poppy?” Ma called and waited for Poppy to look up. “I hope I didn’t say something to offend—“
My girl’s eyes widened in surprise as she adamantly shook her head. “Oh, no, not at all. I’m glad that you got to know my dad, even if just a little. And I’m glad he was there for Vance.” Poppy’s voice took on a raspy quality, her emotions starting to get the better of her. “I just miss him is all.”
“Of course you do, honey.” Ma reached out and gave Poppy’s hand a squeeze.
“It’s nice to hear other people talk about him, you know? It makes me feel like I’m not the only one who still thinks about him. I don’t want people to forget him.”
I left my chair the moment the lone tear escaped from the corner of her eye and pulled her into my arms. “No one who ever met Fred Leighton could forget him, Poppy.”
She nodded, her face rubbing against my chest with the movement.
“Oh, dear. Here, eat this,” Ma ordered, settling a huge platter full of stuffed French toast on the table in front of Poppy’s chair.
Poppy used the hem of my t-shirt to wipe her tears. “Don’t you dare blow your nose on me,” I grumbled, eliciting a small laugh from her now smiling mouth.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I took my seat where my mom had set my own plate full of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. I was definitely going to have to return to Linc’s if I continued to let my mom feed me.
“Oh my god!” Poppy moaned, my dick snapping to attention. “Is there…cinnamon in this?”
I watched her shove another giant piece in her mouth.
“There is,” Ma confirmed with a smug smile. She knew her stuffed French toast was the best this side of the Mississippi, and there wasn’t a single person who would argue with her. “And a dash of nutmeg.”
“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Poppy mumbled with a full mouth.
The sound immediately evoked images of Poppy’s mouth stuffed with something entirely different, and my dick, which was already standing at attention, gave a jaunty salute.
Did it make me a bad son if I was already devising ways to get my mom out of my apartment? Not sure I could give a fuck.
“Eat up, baby. We’ve got things to do today.” I shoveled my own breakfast into my mouth so fast, Ma scolded me to slow down and remember my table manners.
“What have we got to do today?” Poppy asked after swallowing a bite so big I feared she might choke.
I couldn’t exactly describe my indecent fantasy in front of my mother, so instead I asked, “You want to see Micah?”
Poppy’s face softened, and the way she looked at me was almost worth the lack of attention my dick was currently getting with my mom at the table. “Yeah.”
“Then finish your breakfast, so I can take you home to change. Unless you want to wear that.” Truthfully, I wouldn’t mind one bit if she went around in my clothes, branded for the world to see.
She looked down at herself, contemplating her options. She shrugged. “These pants are a little big, so yeah, I’d better change.”
My chest swelled.
She said nothing about changing her shirt. “Eat,” I directed once more, softly this time.
When we were done eating, Poppy went to my room to gather her things.
“Thanks for breakfast, Ma. It was delicious.”
“My pleasure. Thanks for indulging me.”
“Leave ‘em. I’ll wash ‘em later,” I said, taking the plates from her hands.
“Oh, I don’t mind—“
“Ma,” I warned.
“I love her for you,” she blurted, leaving the dishes in the sink and abruptly changing the subject.
I never thought I’d need my mom’s approval when it came to the women I dated, but I was quickly learning that it was only important I had it when the woman was important. And no woman had ever been more important than Poppy. “I’m glad, Ma.” I took a deep breath and confessed something I’d been holding onto. “‘Cause I think she’s it for me.”
Ma’s bottom lip started to quiver. “Oh, honey.”
“Ma, don’t you dare cry.” I wrapped her in a hug and gave her the time she needed to get herself under control.
“I’m just happy for you. Let me express that how I need to.”
“Let you express that how you need to? Did you learn that in therapy?”
She gave my arm a playful swat and pushed me away. “Yes,” she huffed, her nose in the air. “And Dr. Brown was right.”
“I will not argue with the good doctor,” I said, smiling. Besides her kitchen exploits, Ma’s other coping mechanism had been Dr. Brown. I’d looked into her, of course, when Ma said she was seeing her. She was a little new age-y for my tastes, but Ma liked her, and her sessions with her seemed to help, so I left it alone. There were a lot of quacks out there who could do more harm than good, but Dr. Brown seemed to genuinely want to help, and as long as I didn’t feel like Ma was being taken advantage of, I wouldn’t call attention to the fact that Dr. Brown’s ‘degree’ was less clinical psychology and more alternative wellness, whatever the hell that meant. “Besides, I don’t have time.”
“Yes, yes. You and your girlfriend have things to do, I know, I know. I’ll get out of your hair.”
