by Staci Hart
His own bullshit smile passed his lips. “Yeah, fine. I was about to leave to pick up a skip.”
She looked relieved at the knowledge that he was leaving, and a torrent of emotions rolled through him.
Maybe it is over, he thought. She wanted him to leave, and it wasn’t the first time. Thinking back, it had been a long while since they’d really made it a point to be together, not to hook up, but just to enjoy each other’s company. At some point, they quit trying, and Jon wondered when that point was. But the more shocking realization hit him in the guts.
Should they have to try to love each other?
The revelation spun around his mind, and he cleared his throat and stood, taking his plate with him into the kitchen. “What are your plans tonight?” he asked absently as he turned on the sink.
“Well, I have a date with a sexy Regency duke who will likely rip the bodice of some whorey widow. Will you be late?” She sounded hopeful, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.
His eyes were on his hands as he washed the dish, putting on a smile to hide behind. “Not sure, but don’t let me get in the way of your dirty duke’s cravat untying.”
She laughed and mocked surprise. “You know what a cravat is?”
“I’ll have you know that I’m an educated man, Madame.”
Tori smiled and jerked her chin at him as she left the room. “All right, Jonny Boy. Don’t go getting into any trouble. I’ll see you later,” she said over her shoulder.
“Bye,” he called after her.
Now that he was paying attention, he realized she hadn’t touched him or kissed him, hadn’t made a single affectionate move, and neither had he. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attracted to her … she was funny, sexy and smart, naturally blond with a smile that could knock a man out from across the room. But the fire they’d once had was gone, snuffed out and cold. They rarely even had sex anymore. In fact, the last time had been only a few days before, but it was mechanical. The joy was gone.
He grabbed his keys and left the apartment, entirely on autopilot as he made his way to the parking garage where his Jeep was. When had he and Tori gone off track? How long before? How had he not noticed? The image that he had of their relationship had smashed like glass, and he felt like an idiot that he’d missed something so obvious.
The thought of breaking up with Tori was shocking, but underneath his churning thoughts, excitement flitted around. Everything was in high relief, like he was seeing in high-def for the first time, and when he pulled up to Josie’s to find her sitting on her steps in a pink sundress, that flitting excitement nearly burst out of him.
Twice in just a few days, he’d had the pleasure of seeing her transformation from determined investigator, a sight that on its own was sexy enough, into a full-blown runway model. He watched her stand, her loose hair swinging behind her, nearly reaching the small of her back. She smiled, her wide lips pink and lashes a mile long, long enough that when she looked down to step off the curb, they might have brushed her cheeks.
She pulled open the door and slipped in next to him as he tried to stop staring at her legs. It was no use.
“Hey,” she said amiably.
“Hey, Jo.” His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat.
She raised an eyebrow, and the corners of her lips raised just enough to show her amusement at having caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “You okay?”
“Just fine.” He shot her the smile that usually made her cheeks flush. It worked.
Jon pulled away from the curb, catching her cross her legs in his periphery. He snuck a glance at her thigh, and his eyes snapped to the hem of her skirt. He looked back to the road, reciting the names of running backs to distract himself.
“So,” Jon started, “how’d it end up with our knight in shining suit coat?”
“Who, Jerome?” Josie laughed. “The footage I got was enough to confirm the guy and the story, and the bug … well, that was the ringer. He spent the rest of the night prowling, and I got it all on audio.”
“Good. He deserves to get nailed after all the heartbreaking he’s done. I have to say I don’t understand the appeal. He looked like he was selling snake oil.”
She smirked. “Well, he is gorgeous. And French.”
“I didn’t know you had a thing for accents.” He exaggerated his own. “You know, I speak Creole.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Wi. Ou aprarans bel nan sa sad.”
Something sparked behind her eyes, and he smiled.
“What does it mean?” she said with wonder in her voice.
You look beautiful in that dress. “I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”
She laughed. “It sounded way sexier than that.”
“Did it, now?” He shot her the smile again, and her cheeks blazed.
“I don’t mean it like that, Jon.”
“Like what?”
She tried to huff, but didn’t quite pull it off. “You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
Josie rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. “God, you’re impossible, you know that?”
“It’s been said, from time to time.”
“So,” she shifted in her seat and rested an elbow next to the window, changing the subject, “how do you want to play this?”
Jon settled back in his seat as they drove through the Lincoln Tunnel toward Jersey. “Pretty straight. Just get him outside and cuff him. I’ll be right there.”
“Easy enough.”
“Should be. Not many men would say no to you with that dress on.”
She laughed, but the sound was strained. “I don’t know about all that, but a little underwire never hurts my case.”
Jon shook his head. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”
Josie looked out the window and shifted, feeling awkward and nervous, wanting to redirect the conversation to steadier ground. “What’s his story?”
“Al Sheridan, fifty-two. DUI and possession charges, no priors. Not dangerous, just stupid.”
“Dangerous? Aww, you worried about me, Jon?”
He smiled at the road ahead of him. “I don’t worry about you at all, but I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way without fair warning.”
Josie’s cheeks went hot again, and she dug around in her purse for her phone. “Well, thanks. Sounds simple enough. I’ll just play the whole ‘my car broke down’ gag.”
“Piece of cake.”
They rode in silence for a while as she messed with her phone, wanting to get her head straight. She texted Anne first with the message: I hate you for making me do this.
Anne texted her back within a few seconds. Liar. You love me, and we owe Jon. He needed your help.
Her fingers flew. You could have done it.
The phone buzzed in Josie’s hand. As the extrovert of the two of us, you’re much better suited to honey trapping. Suck it up, buttercup!
Josie snorted and shut her phone down, dropping it into her purse. Jon was acting funny, more flirty than usual, though she wasn’t even sure how that was possible. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something had shifted, something in his intent. Whatever it was had her more excitable than usual, and she’d been actively trying to work up the nerve to be annoyed. It was just that her nerves were hellbent on buzzing from his proximity.
Ignore it, Josie. Get your head out of your ass.
Jon parked the Jeep down the street from Sheridan’s house, and they both climbed out. He walked around to meet her with his eyes glued to hers. There was enough intensity behind them to nearly make her knees buckle. She swore to herself right then that she wouldn’t see him for at least a week, no matter what Anne said. She needed some space. And alcohol. Chocolate couldn’t hurt, either.
“All right,” she said softly and took a step, needing to get away, but he touched her arm, stepped closer. The contact of his skin shot all the way up her arm and through her body in a breath. It was all of a sudden too hot. Way too hot, and he was too clo
se, but not close enough, and he looked down at her with weight in his eyes so heavy, she thought she might drown.
“Do you have cuffs?” His words were rough and low, and for a second she wondered if he’d actually spoken or if she’d imagined it.
She nodded stupidly, then blinked, finding her wits as his fingertips trailed down to her elbow.
“Just makin’ sure. Be careful.”
“I’m always careful.” The words were quiet and short, stunned. She turned and walked toward Sheridan’s house, trying to process what had just happened with her heart a jackhammer in her chest. He’d almost kissed her. Why would he do that? Why? She struggled to make sense of it. She hadn’t egged him on, had she? She replayed everything in an instant. No, she hadn’t encouraged him. He instigated it. He always did.
Confusion shifted straight into anger, flashing hot in her ribs. That ass.
She had to get her game face on. Take control of the situation. No more flirting, no more magnetized eyeballs. That was it. The last straw.
Just get through this.
Josie stood a little straighter as she walked up the steps to Sheridan’s house and took a breath before knocking on the door.
The curtain shifted behind the door’s window to reveal a suspicious eye that widened and traveled down her body. She threw on her sorority smile and waved.
“Hey, there!” she chimed. “I was wondering if you could help me? My car just died, and my phone is dead.” She held up her blank phone and wiggled it.
The door opened just enough to catch a slice of the middle-aged man’s paunch. “Yeah, sure,” he answered with stars in his eyes.
Josie sighed with relief. “God, thank you so much. I’m just over here. I can’t believe I was so stupid to let my phone battery run out.” She rolled her eyes, smiling as she turned and took a few steps down to the walkway.
He followed, and she reached into her purse.
“Should I grab my tools?” he asked as walked behind her.
Josie turned and slipped a cuff on his wrist with the smile still on her face. “Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
“What the—”
“Sorry, Mr. Sheridan,” she said as she clapped the other cuff on, and Jon stepped out from around the corner with that maddening smile on his face.
“I work for Jerry J’s,” Jon said as he approached. “Seems you missed your court date. Slip your mind?”
“Something like that,” Sheridan grumbled with his eyes on Josie.
Jon took the man by the arm, and Josie threw up a wall between her and Jon, all business as she followed. She smiled, but her lips were tight against her teeth as she waited on the sidewalk for him to put Sheridan in the back of the Jeep. When he moved the seat back and turned to face her, his brow quirked.
“You okay, Jo?”
“Yup. Fine.”
His eyes narrowed, but he gave her a nod and held the door open for her as she climbed in, stone cold. Once she was seated, he closed the door with a thump, giving her another look before walking around to get behind the wheel. She talked herself down while he started the car. He was her friend. They were friends. That was it. But she’d done her part. She’d stayed away. And it was absolute bullshit that he would try to kiss her.
She was tight as a piano string as she looked out the window, and Jon pulled away from the curb, knowing exactly why she was pissed. He didn’t know what had come over him. He had to touch her, needed to kiss her. He’d almost done it, too. And she almost let him.
The ride back to Hell’s Kitchen was long and quiet, even with their thoughts screaming at each other in the silence. When he dropped her off, she barely said goodbye, only slammed the car door and gave him a curt wave before trotting up the stairs to the apartment. He watched until the door closed behind her and sighed, pulling away from the curb to the tune of Sheridan cracking a joke about what suckers they both were.
And he was right, but Josie wanted him, too. He knew it with certainty. And just like that, it was decided. He’d talk to Tori and they’d end it, and then? He’d convince Josie to give him that kiss without anything standing in their way.
Josie stormed up the stairs with her cheeks on fire, fingers trembling as she unlocked the door and made her way inside. She threw her purse on the couch and flew through the living room.
“Anne?” The irritation was so thick in her voice, she was even annoyed with herself.
“In here,” Anne called from her room.
Josie turned and cut straight for the bed, flopping down onto it face-first with a groan.
Anne’s eyebrow climbed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Josie said into a pillow and turned her head. “He nearly kissed me.”
She gaped. “No shit,” she breathed.
“No shit. Why, Annie? Why would he do that?”
“Well, did you flirt with him?”
“No! I don’t flirt with him.”
“Yes, you do, and he likes you. Of course he flirts. I’m just saying.”
“I don’t care. He has a girlfriend, and I cannot take this anymore.”
“Okay, question. Did you ‘nearly’ kiss him back?”
“Like, did I want him to kiss me?” Josie’s voice was incredulous, smacking of disgust.
Anne just crossed her arms and waited.
Josie scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You didn’t answer me.”
Josie sat up and hit her with a pillow, putting all the force behind it that she could. Anne almost fell off the bed, laughing.
“Ow, my glasses.” She adjusted them on her nose. “So … yes?”
Pressure squeezed Josie’s ribs, and she couldn’t tell if she was mad or about to have a panic attack. “Fuck, Anne! It doesn’t matter, don’t you get it? I can’t do this.” The words edged on shrill. “I need you to promise me you won’t call him again.” She sharpened the stare. “Promise me. I’m not kidding. This is not a joke or a test or an invitation to keep playing matchmaker. It’s fucking cruel. I don’t want to play anymore.”
Anne’s face softened, and she scooted closer to Josie to wrap an arm around her. “I’m sorry. Of course I won’t call him if you really don’t want me to. I promise.”
Josie nodded and leaned into her friend. “Thank you.”
“You just let me know if you change your mind.”
Josie snorted. “Fat chance.”
Breakup Boots
BY THE NEXT NIGHT, JON hadn’t stopped thinking about Josie and Tori, and he was no closer to an exit strategy as he kicked his boots off by the door and tossed his keys on the bookshelf in the dark apartment. He’d come home late the night before, relieved to find Tori asleep, grateful for the extra time to formulate some semblance of a plan.
He’d spent the day chewing on it over microfiche research, then went to the firing range in the hopes he’d run into Josie, which had happened often enough since it was the only firing range in Manhattan. But she hadn’t shown, and he hadn’t found any answers, not through boxes of ammo or sheets of targets.
He wanted Josie. That he was certain of. He didn’t love Tori anymore, that was one more thing he knew for sure. But he didn’t know how to put the words together to tell Tori how he felt, and imagined that composing that conversation was akin to learning advanced trigonometry.
Jon sank onto the couch and clicked the TV on, though he barely paid attention as he flipped through channels in a daze. Tori would be home soon, and he knew he couldn’t wait, but couldn’t figure out how to broach the subject. He wasn’t usually the one to bring things up, more the type to go with the flow and let her lead. It wasn’t that he didn’t have his own directive, it was just that he didn’t usually care enough about most things to argue. He was unaccustomed to confrontation, usually opting for humor as his primary weapon to defuse an emotional situation. But he had to find a way to talk to Tori. Now that he knew, it was unfair to both of them to wait any longer.
He played through scenarios, an
d every one sounded stupid or asinine. So, I think I don’t love you anymore. No. I love you, but I’m not in love with you. He sighed and contemplated getting a beer. It’s not you, it’s me. All he had was a load of regurgitated clichés, without a single personal experience to pull from. If it wasn’t so sad, he would have laughed.
Tori’s key slipped into the lock and the bolt clicked. The door in front of him opened to the scent of roses, and Tori swore as she tripped over his shoes. Jon busted out laughing again. He couldn’t help it. People tripping was his kryptonite.
“Motherfucker! Goddammit, Jon!” She slammed the door and fumed as she picked up his boots and threw them across the room. “You never put your shit away. Ever. I feel like your fucking mother.”
“My mother wouldn’t let me get away with half of what you do, Tori.” The words left his lips without a thought, the automatic reaction to almost everything. The armor of charm and apathy.
She pulled off her coat with more force than was necessary. “Ugh, don’t do that.”
“Do what?” He stalled.
“Do that ‘I don’t care’ thing you do.”
“I do care, but you looked like a Muppet when you almost ate it,” he volleyed.
“God, you are such an asshole.” She dropped her bag by the door.
“Would it help if I apologized for being an asshole?”
Tori stormed into the kitchen. “No, because you clearly still don’t get it.”
Jon listened from the couch as he tried to figure out how to redirect the conversation, but was distracted by her huffing around in the kitchen, mumbling under her breath, banging pots and pans around and slamming cabinets.
“Something you want to say, Vicki?” He tried lightening the mood by using the nickname he always teased her with.
“Not now, Jon,” she said through her teeth.
He waited through a breath, feeling her anger from the other room, bracing himself for the deluge. “Tori?”
“Can you not fucking push me right now?” Her back was to him as she pulled a pot out of the cabinet.
Jon stood and walked over to the bar. He rested his forearms on the surface and leaned toward her. His words were soft. “Say what you need to say, Tori.”
