To Catch A Player (Second Chance)

by Piper Sullivan

  I shook my head at Ginger and how similar we were at times. “Testing out quotes for the story?”

  “And headlines,” she added before falling silent for a long moment. I let the moment hang, wondering if I had enough time to make garlic and herb butter and whipped honey butter for the biscuits before Maven showed up. “How did things go at the fair?”

  I should have known that question was coming, but I was tired and a little emotionally raw, and Ginger was a professional. “Good. Jackson wasn’t annoying, and he actually put those muscles to use so I can’t complain. Except for Janey’s nonstop picture-taking—I can and will complain about that.” The woman was relentless, and I couldn’t even think of what kind of photos she had taken of me and Jackson under that small tent.

  “Is that all?”

  I debated whether or not to share the kiss with Ginger. She was my closest friend, other than Rafe, and I couldn’t share this with him without risking a lifetime of teasing. There were just some things you couldn’t tell your guy friend, no matter how close you were.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, did anything else happen? A stolen glance or a charged moment?”

  My eyes went wide with disbelief. “He told you!”

  “Ha! I knew it!” She pointed at me, a look of triumph on her face. “I knew it. Spill it, sister. All the juicy details.”

  “To a journalist? I’d rather take a bath in boiling barbecue sauce.”

  “Thanks for the visual.” She held her hand up with a visible shudder. “Not to a journalist, a friend.”

  “Fine. There was a kiss. A teensy little kiss that lasted maybe two or three seconds.”

  “And? What happened after?”

  “Nothing,” I sighed. “The hot brunette showed up and I left.” And Jackson hadn’t stopped me from leaving or tried to clarify the situation.

  “Ha! What you mean is that you saw that smokin’ hot federal agent and let your insecurities get the better of you. Did you spend the night licking your wounds, too?”

  Yes. “No. I said I should go, and he agreed. So, I did.” With four trays of biscuits ready to go, I put them each in the oven and set the timer before turning back to Ginger. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. It was a fluke. A stolen moment, nothing more.”

  She folded her arms and leaned against one of the prep tables, since it was still early and she wasn’t in anyone’s way. “Why are you so sure about that?”

  I let out a sigh and stared at this woman who was a newcomer to town but who had somehow become a friend. “Because we’ve already explored this particular attraction a long time ago. He was gone when I woke up and he hasn’t said a word about it. Ever.”

  “Weird.” Ginger scratched her chin in a strange, almost TV-villain kind of way, and I got scared. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’m on this.”

  “No!” That was the last thing I wanted, using this town like it was homeroom and passing notes between mutual friends. No thanks. Besides all that, I didn’t want Jackson to get the mistaken impression that I cared. I didn’t. “Don’t say anything!”

  “But why? At the very least, you deserve an explanation.”

  I’d thought that, too, in the first few days after our night together, but then I realized he’d done me a favor. “Maybe so, but I don’t want one anymore. Just, please, don’t make me regret opening up to you.”

  “Fine,” she said on a disappointed sigh, but I wasn’t completely sure her urge to investigate was put to rest. “But I still think you’ve got it all wrong. Jackson is brooding and mysterious, and sometimes grouchy. But he’s not a jerk.”

  “They never are.” Except when they were. I was over this subject and I had a surefire distraction. “Hungry?”

  Her eyes went wide and a slow smile spread across her face. “Starved. What have you got?”

  “The next competition is ribs, as you know, and I’ve been perfecting this bourbon root beer sauce.” I scooped some rib tips, fries, and slaw onto a plate for her. “Is it too early for this much food?”

  “Nope. I burned plenty of calories last night. And this morning,” she said, hiding her smirk behind of mouthful of fries.

  “Didn’t need to know that, but burn off a few for me while you’re at it.” I regretted those words before I even finished saying them, because they only antagonized Ginger.

  “Or you can ring up Detective Hottie and scratch your own itch. That’s also an option,” she retorted and shoved a forkful of slaw in her mouth before she said anything else.

  “I would but I’m just too busy. Tonight, I’m busting out the slow cooker to try out a few different times and temps on the ribs. What do you think of the sauce?” The words came out so fast they nearly ran together and I snapped my lips shut.

  “It’s delicious. A little sweet for my taste.”

  I felt my face twist into a frown at her words—that was exactly what I’d been afraid of. “I let the root beer reduce a little too long.” Luckily, it was a small test batch.

  “Maybe you need some time with something other than your battery-operated appliances to, uh, ahem, unclog your pipes.”

  I glared at Ginger for a long moment, until she laughed. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

  Ginger shrugged. “Memory loss and inability to form complete sentences are the main symptoms of sex deprivation. Just sayin’.”

  This time, the only thing I could do was stare at the crazy woman who had invaded my kitchen.

  Jackson

  I’m a detective. I’ve worked every kind of case, from robbery to arson to homicide and everything in between. Gotten some of the most hardened criminals to crack under my interrogation techniques.

  But it one little chef had me all in a tizzy.

  Reese had gone radio silent on me, again. Only this time I knew why. I’d even understood, and I’d been willing to be understanding—but that was a few days ago. Now, I was annoyed. As if I didn’t have anything better to do than hunt down a woman so I could help her cook. It’s not like I even owed her a damn explanation, but there I was standing on her doorstep, prepared to plead my case.

  I finally summoned enough courage to knock and then I waited. And waited. Her car was parked in the driveway and music blared from an open window in the back, but she didn’t answer and I was done playing games. “I guess I’ll go around back.”

  The music got louder as I passed the open window and faded as I entered the backyard that Reese had transformed into a green oasis of flowers and herbs and vegetables.

  There was a little red shed in the back corner of her yard, decorated with yellow tulips. Of course, what else?

  “Stupid damn shelf!” The sound of Reese’s muttered curse brought a smile to my face and I followed it to the flowered shed.

  There she was, standing on the tips of her toes to get as tall as she could, her T-shirt riding up dangerously high on her ribcage to give me the perfect view of her arched back. Her arms extended as high as they could go, still a few inches shy of what she needed. I should have made my presence known, it’s what a gentleman would have done.

  It’s what I would have done if she hadn’t gone dead silent on me for the past few days. Instead, I decided to have a little bit of fun, stepping inside the tiny space and pressing my front to her back so I could reach the high shelf that held just one box. “Let me get that for you.”

  She startled and stiffened at my words, but relaxed the moment recognition washed over her. “Uh, thanks.”

  The box weighed a ton and I sat it on the grass just outside the shed, giving Reese a chance to follow me. “What the hell is that thing?”

  “A smoker.” She frowned. “I need to do something to set my ribs apart, and so far, my last two batches of sauce have turned out too sweet. What are you doing here?” She looked up, more confused than annoyed, which I guessed was some kind of relief. Or not. “Well?”

  “I haven’t heard from you in a few days and figured you might need some
help. Guess I was right.”

  She shrugged off my words. “I had it. That shelf was just a little higher than I remembered, and I didn’t want to go back inside for my stepstool. I hate having to drag it back to the house again after I’m done using it. I should probably just get another stool for the shed, but I always forget to put it on my list.”

  “You’re babbling. You could have just said thanks.”

  Reese’s brown gaze narrowed in my direction. “Pretty sure I already did. Anyway, I don’t need any help today. I’m just testing a few techniques to see which works best. When I need a helper, I’ll let you know.”

  A helper? “Did you seriously just call me your helper?”

  Her lips twitched. “Would you prefer sous chef? I mean, I guess I could call you that, but my sous chef requires a lot less supervision.”

  Okay, she was laughing—that was good. “She’s not my girlfriend. Or anything, really, I mean. Kind of a sometimes colleague.” That was cool and smooth right, and not the verbal train wreck it sounded like from my end?

  She held up a hand and waved it between us. “You don’t owe me any explanation.”

  I knew that trick and I refused to fall for it. “You mean, you’re fine with me kissing you and then turning around to leave with another woman? Good to know.” This woman was completely unbelievable.

  She let out a growl and it was sexier than it should have been, considering the fact that her brown eyes were “spittin’ mad,” as they liked to say down here in Texas.

  “All I mean is that the kiss was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened, so it doesn’t matter who that woman is to you. If someone is owed an explanation, it isn’t me.” Her arms were folded across her chest now, but she didn’t look vulnerable, she looked defensive. Giving off clear “fuck off” vibes. “But thank you for stopping by with an explanation. It was thoughtful and unexpectedly appreciated.” That little ghost of a smile hit me right in the gut with the force of a linebacker. It was soft and sweet and feminine. Sexy as hell.

  And there was no way I was letting her try to give me the brush off. Again. “It wasn’t. A mistake, I mean. The kiss. It wasn’t a mistake, Reese.”

  She shook her head, blond waves falling all around her shoulders and down her back as she attempted to lift the smoker. “You don’t have to say that, Jackson. It was a mistake, just a ‘in the heat of the moment’ kind of thing from being in such close quarters all day. It happens.”

  “To you? You and Rafe, maybe?” Yeah, I sounded like a jealous freak—I knew it, too, but I was powerless to stop myself.

  “Me and Rafe? Yeah, right. Anyway, that’s beside the point.” She tried one more time to pick up the smoker before I hip-checked her out of the way and picked the damn thing up.

  “Right behind you,” I told her, pressing pause on the steam she’d worked up judging by the gold fire glittering in her eyes. I enjoyed the brief silence as well as the view, the sway of her hips and ass as she angrily marched up the steps and into her kitchen.

  “The point is,” she began, turning on me and pointing a finger in my direction, “it happened, sure, but it shouldn’t have.”

  “Why?” That was the part I didn’t get. It was obvious we were attracted to each other, and this weekend proved that we could carry on hours of conversation without missing a beat. So, what was it about me she found so objectionable?

  “Because. We’re just not right for each other, Jackson.” She turned away and went to the fridge, pulling out four big silver trays stacked with spice-coated ribs.

  I stepped in close, but not too close. “We might be,” I countered, because I had a feeling that whatever it was holding her back, it wasn’t personal.

  “We’re not,” she insisted, taking one step back and then another until she was trapped in the corner of her massive kitchen.

  “I can prove you wrong,” I told her honestly. And a little smugly.

  Reese nodded. “I never denied being attracted to you, Jackson. Obviously, that’s the case, but that’s it and that’s not what I’m looking for.”

  “And you know what I’m looking for, is that right?” I held her face gently and let my fingers sift through her long blond hair. It was just as silky as I remembered, and when she tilted her head back and her pink lips parted, I was powerless to do anything but taste her.

  Devour.

  It was meant to be a short kiss, like the one in the parking lot—just a small tease to remind just how good even a little taste could be between us. But that’s not what happened when my lips touched hers. Lights went off, blinding at first, and then in a rainbow of colors that heated my skin and made the taste of her more vibrant on my tongue.

  Reese moaned into my mouth and pressed her body into mine, and my cock went from stirring to wide awake and ready to take care of business. My hands moved like they were possessed, on a mission to memorize every dip and curve of her body, all the spots I remembered that would make her moan. Cry. Purr. Her hands clung to my shoulders, and then those nimble fingers found their way to my hairline, playing and making me shiver as her own tongue began to tease.

  I deepened the kiss and held her close, tightly because I couldn’t do anything but. Her curves, her hips felt right in my hands and her lips felt perfect on mine. Hot and fiery, just it should be.

  Then she moaned again and pulled back, licking a trail of heat up my neck until she nibbled my ear. “Fuck,” I growled and took a step back. “Did you hear that?”

  Reese blinked out of her lust-induced fog and shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything.” But her eyes were wide and her chest heaved; even she was shocked by the force of the heat and chemistry between us.

  “That feels pretty damn right to me.”

  She licked her lips and glared at the same time before she pointed a finger at me. “Come back tomorrow. You can help then.”

  I smiled, because it was progress. “Excellent. I’ll bring the wine.”

  “Water,” she said to my back as I made my way toward the front door. “Bring water, because we’ll be working. Not kissing. Not anything but working.”

  I opened the door and barked out a laugh.

  “What’s so funny about—what’s that?” She pointed at the small brown box with the loose flaps.

  I parted the flaps and laughed again. “Wine and chocolate cake. Guess I don’t need to bring the wine, after all.” I smiled up at Reese.

  She responded with a glare of her own.

  Reese

  Damn Jackson, just damn him all to hell for getting in my head. For trying to get into my pants. Again. And most of all, damn him for kissing me again just to prove that I wanted him. Yeah, I wanted him, so what? Big deal. I wanted Chris Hemsworth, too, but you didn’t see me making a big deal about it, did you? No, because I was a grown-up. An adult who was more than capable of keeping her emotions in check.

  Under control.

  And in the spirit of that control, there would be no kissing tonight. None. No kissing and no touching and definitely no nudity. Or sex. There would be cooking and stirring, chopping and sautéing. Nothing more.

  To that end, I took a quick shower and I didn’t take the time to blow dry my hair, opting for the steam treatment provided by the overheated kitchen. I wore old, slightly baggy jeans and a ratty T-shirt that was almost two sizes too big. It could never in a million years be construed as sexy, which meant I was safe.

  There would be no making out. Just meat—no, just ribs and barbecue sauces.

  Nothing else, no matter what those damn meddling matchmakers thought they were doing by dropping off that little box of romance. It wasn’t happening, no matter how much that kiss made my toes curl and my heart race. No matter that my palms were sweaty when I locked the door behind him.

  Jackson was a runner. A heartbreaker, and I’d already had enough of that to last several lifetimes. So, no kissing. I repeated that to myself at least fifty times in the hour before Jackson was due to arrive, while I got ready for him to show u
p.

  Not that I did anything special for him, but I did make chili in the slow cooker with nacho fixings, since this was still a volunteer mission for him. And that thought brought a smile to my face just as the doorbell sounded. I dried my hands and turned the slow cooker to the lowest setting then put the two pots on the stove on simmer, the smile still on my face because it all finally made sense.

  Jackson didn’t want me. He was bored. The Hometown Heroes calendar had turned into much more than that, it was now a whole civic endeavor and the poor guy probably hadn’t anticipated it. He was flirting and kissing out of boredom, not actual interest. I ignored the twinge of disappointment in my chest as I made my way toward the door and the still-ringing bell. This wasn’t about my ego.

  It was about managing Jackson and his faux attraction.

  “I’m coming, hold your horses.” I pulled the door open while he was mid-fist pound, and his face twisted in a dark, angry scowl.

  “What the hell? I thought maybe you’d fallen or something.” His chest heaved and with a closer look, I could see that his face was red and he’d set down the paper bag he’d brought.

  “I’m fine, Jackson. Really.” It wasn’t smart to touch him after all that talking I’d done to myself before he showed up, but he needed the comfort so I placed a hand on his bicep. “I had to turn down the pots on the stove. And the slow cooker.”

  His hazel gaze scanned my face and then the rest of my body; every inch his gaze touched was left hotter than he’d found it until he made his way down to my bare feet. “You have bumblebee toes.”

  I looked down and wiggled the yellow toes with black stripes. “Tulip’s Tributes are doing a mani-pedi fundraiser to help with the statue since they aren’t allowed to buy the dumb stupid calendar. Bailey’s words, not mine.”