by Jenna Harte
“Not even a grunt? Stabbing someone takes effort.”
Sydney squeezed her eyes shut to the violent, painful memory his question evoked. Tears ran again, but she forced herself to go back. “Not that I remember or can describe.”
“Maybe Jenny will be able to give us something to work with.” He handed her another handkerchief.
Guilt flared again. She dabbed her eyes, turning away slightly, embarrassed he was seeing her so emotional. “Mitch, I’m so sorry. I think the world of Jenny and know she and Kevin are your friends—”
“You need to stop that.” He sat forward, pointing his beer bottle at her.
“What?”
“Blaming yourself. Beating yourself up. Whoever attacked you and Jenny is to blame. Feeling sorry for yourself—”
“I don’t feel sorry for myself!”
“Guilt then. You didn’t do this, Syd. But I’m going to find out who did.” He finished off his beer and set the bottle on the coffee table.
Sydney didn’t know how to respond. Instead, she scooped up a handful of cookies. “Do you have a glass or something for the moonshine?”
He smirked. “Usually you drink moonshine right from the bottle.”
She studied him, trying to decide if was teasing or telling her the truth. Although she’d had moonshine with Julia and Patrick, the potency had urged them to mix it with juice. Who’d drink it straight, much less out of the bottle?
He held up his hands in surrender. “God’s truth.”
She shrugged, picked up the moonshine, and pulled out the corked top. Taking a deep breath, she put the bottle to her lips and drank. The strong alcohol smelled like her dentist’s office and tasted like it too. She winced as the clear liquid burned her throat. Why did people endure this? But then the burn turned to warmth. The crystal clear images of violence dominating her brain a moment before dimmed and turned fuzzy. The fear and uncertainty in her life melted away into calmness. Suddenly, moonshine made sense. It dulled the senses and clouded the mind. Quickly. If anyone needed a remedy like that, it was Sydney. She took another swig.
“Go easy on that.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a move her mother would be mortified by. “Do you want some?” She extended the bottle toward him.
He shook his head, amusement tugging at his sublime lips. “Nah. Someone needs to stay sober.”
There was that grin again. The sparkle of mischief in his eyes.
She shrugged, sank into the couch, and drank. In the back of her mind, she knew she’d be sorry. If not for the hangover, then for the things she might say or do once her filter was completely off. But she was tired of worry, guilt, and fear. Of walking on eggshells around Mitch. For one night, she’d let all that go. Mitch would tease her about it later, but he’d keep her safe now. So she lifted the bottle in salute to him and swallowed another gulp.
Mitch was both amused at and worried about Sydney’s abandon. In college, she’d been rigid. She’d focused on her plan and done what was expected. She’d lightened up over the nearly four years they’d dated but never really let go, except once. That had involved alcohol as well. With her inhibitions gone, she’d spilled her guts about how much she loved him and the life she’d planned for them, which was something since they hadn’t been talking marriage yet. She told him how much she hated her organic chemistry teacher, mostly because he hit on her, which made Mitch want to hit him. Then she’d told him the things she wanted to do to him, with her hands and mouth. Even thinking about it now, Mitch’s jeans grew uncomfortable. They’d been having sex by that time but, like with everything else about Sydney, there’d been an order and reserve to it.
Not that he minded. Many of Mitch’s sexual escapades since their breakup were more adventurous, but with Sydney, sex had been more satisfying. He was no dummy and knew it was because it involved love. But even without love, sex could be good. And sex without love also meant no heartbreak.
The one night she’d gotten drunk in college, Sydney made all sorts of suggestions that, even today, Mitch had never experienced. As game as she was at that time, it was the booze talking, and it wouldn’t have been right to take advantage. When he suggested some of the things she’d talked about later when she was sober, she’d blushed and declined.
“Do the ladies like real hankies?” She dangled the handkerchief with her thumb and forefinger, bringing him out of his thoughts.
“Uh, I don’t know.”
“Then why do you have them? I didn’t think they were in use anymore, at least with our generation.”
“My mema says real gentlemen carry them, so she gives me several every year for Christmas.” He had enough handkerchiefs to open a store. Losing a few to Sydney wouldn’t come close to putting a dent in his stockpile. Sometimes he donated the unopened boxes to the thrift store. He wondered if any of them sold.
“How come I’m not good enough for you?”
“What?” Mitch jerked his attention back to her.
“You’re a ladies’ man. Rumor is you’re not too particular. So, why not me?”
Christ.
“Am I not pretty enough? Is it because you hate me?”
He leaned over, picked up the cookies, and handed them to her. “Eat something.” He reached for the bottle of moonshine, but she wrapped her arms around it like it was her greatest possession. He sat back and sighed. “I am particular, you’re beautiful, and I don’t hate you.”
“You didn’t like the kiss?”
He closed his eyes, willing this conversation to be a dream. But he reopened his eyes to find her waiting for his answer. “Yes. I liked it.” A lot. Too much.
“Then what?”
“Do you want me to seduce you, Syd?” Despite the anger, there were moments when he’d give anything to have her in his arms again, to touch and taste, and re-discover every inch of her luscious body. But not now. Not like this.
She sat, staring at him, looking sad. Forlorn. Lost. Shaking his head, he went to sit by her on the couch and reached for her moonshine. “I want some.”
He took a long swig, giving a small grunt at the burn, and then put the bottle on the coffee table. He sat back, put his arm around her, and pulled her close.
Surprise shone in her eyes initially, but then she acquiesced and let herself be held. She needed a friend. He could be that for her.
She rested her head on his chest. Her sweet floral scent swirled around him, making him drunker than the moonshine would. He’d truly thought she was out of his system, but sitting here, with her in his arms, the longing welled.
“I wasn’t very good. I’m still not.”
He tilted his head down. “What?”
She looked at him with glassy eyes. “In bed. I wasn’t very good.”
“You were fine.” Her lips were soft, plump and damp from her licking them. Jesus, he wanted to kiss her.
She shook her head, nestling back against his chest. “I don’t blame you. I’m certain I’d fall short.”
He swore. “Things are different now, Syd.”
“You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”
She was looking at him again.
A mixture of annoyance and desperation swept through him. “Is that why you’re here? You want forgiveness. You want to become a notch on my bedpost, because that’s all I’ve got to give these days.”
She flinched, as if he’d slapped her. He hated seeing it and yet, maybe it would make her stop.
“You didn’t used to be so… mean.”
“Neither did you.” He pushed her away, picking up the bottle of moonshine as he stood. He took a long gulp, now not caring what it did to him.
“What do you mean?” She looked stunned and vulnerable.
“Seeing you hurts me. You know it, yet you keep poking at me. And I’ll be happy to poke back… in more ways than one.” He waited until she understood the innuendo of this comment. “But what we had is long gone and can’t be brought back.”
Te
ars welled in her eyes, and he cursed himself for putting them there, but he did nothing about it.
“That’s what I came for.” She stood and wobbled.
He reached out to steady her, but she recoiled. “Syd.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you, but I’ve said that. I’m not going to continue to take the blame for your bitterness toward the world.”
“I’m not bitter.” He watched as she carefully made her way around the coffee table, hopeful that she wouldn’t teeter over.
“Yes. You are.”
“Because I can’t go back to what we were?” He ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath, pissed at and concerned for her all at the same time.
“No.” She shook her head and stumbled to the side, catching herself with her hand on the fireplace mantle. “No, you’re bitter because you’re still back there and can’t go forward.” She pushed off from the fireplace and made a beeline toward the guest room. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
He watched her until the door to her room closed. Then he grabbed her bottle and sat, hoping to drink away the fact that she was right.
Chapter Nine
Sydney reminded herself that she’d chosen to drink and accepted the consequences as she splashed cold water on her face in the small bathroom and then searched her bag for pain reliever to dull the cleaver whacking her brain. She probably owed Mitch an apology but wasn’t sure what for, except for the usual: the letters, her parents talking her out of marrying him. No. She let them talk her into postponing the wedding, not cancelling it. That was on him.
She needed to clear her head and the toxins from her body, so she got dressed to go running. Mitch lived in an established residential area with lots of houses. Surely she’d be safe. She put her toiletry bag back in the guest room, at which point she heard Mitch in the kitchen. Steeling herself, she made her way out but stood at the entry of the small kitchen, not wanting to crowd him. His back was to her, a pair of sweatpants riding low on his hips. He didn’t wear a shirt, exposing a more toned, defined back than he’d had in college. How many pushups or pull-ups had he had to do to get the near-perfect V-shape from his shoulders to his waist?
He turned, taking a sip from the coffee mug he held, his eyes scanning her from head to toe and back again. “Running before coffee?”
“Coffee is my reward, usually.”
She tried to tell herself the cotton in her mouth was dehydration from drinking the night before. But it was hard to convince herself of that when all she could think about was dragging her tongue over his perfectly sculpted chest, running her fingers along the ridges of his six pack, and following the trail of light, bronze hair disappearing into the waistband of his sweats.
“You know, someone is trying to kill you. You shouldn’t be running by yourself.”
“I figured you’d come with me. You look like you can keep up.”
One bronze brow lifted, then he glanced down, as if he’d only just realized he was shirtless. He took another gulp of his coffee, turned to put his cup in the sink, and then strode around her. “Give me five.”
When he emerged, he’d changed into running shorts and shoes, but had left off a shirt.
“I haven’t folded my laundry yet.” He went through a side door in his kitchen to what looked like a mudroom. When he returned, he was wearing a tank top. Sydney stifled a groan. Following Mitch’s firm sculpted body would have made running all the easier. But then she remembered their conversation about how he had no intention of letting her get her hands on him.
“Normally I run along the river, but there aren’t a lot of people and you’d be an easy target. So we’ll have to run in the neighborhood.”
“I just need a couple of miles to run off the moonshine.”
He smirked. “I warned you.”
If only he knew that the majority of her pain was emotional, not from a hangover. “You did.”
With a nod, he made his way to the front door. Sydney followed him outside and to the street, swinging her arms in preparation for running.
“Ready?”
She nodded and headed up the sidewalk. He ran beside her in the street.
“Do you run every day?”
“A couple times a week.” Sydney was already getting winded. She’d gone out too fast, probably in an adolescent effort to impress him.
Mitch, on the other hand, looked like he was engaged in a leisurely walk in the park.
“You?”
“I run a little. I’m involved in rec sports, basketball, and soccer. I prefer to play rather than exercise.”
She wondered if that was a reference to sex.
A horn tooted twice as it pulled alongside Mitch.
A woman grinned at Mitch through the window. “That ought to be against the law, detective. You could cause an accident, running your fine self up the street like that. Swooning women will drive off the road.”
The woman in the car was probably a few years older than Mitch, but very pretty with blond hair. Long fingers with red nails held the steering wheel. Immediately, Sydney’s stomach tightened and she had a profound desire to grab Mitch, and kiss him senseless to mark him as hers. She wondered if his supposed other women had felt the same, although if the rumors were true, they hadn’t. In fact, apparently, all of them loved him, despite his having a reputation as a lothario.
“You look alright to me.” Mitch trotted alongside the car.
“Yes, well, it wouldn’t go over very well if the wife of a police sergeant was distracted by a lowly ole detective running up the street.”
Mitch laughed. “You should get your husband out here. He’s looking a little soft in the middle these days.”
Sydney frowned. The flirting woman was the wife of Mitch’s superior? She couldn’t decide if she felt guilty or relieved.
“I’ll tell him you said so.” The woman gave Sydney a once-over and smirked.
Sydney knew the woman had to think she was Mitch’s new conquest. She wouldn’t have minded, if it were true.
“Don’t go getting me in trouble, Beth.”
The woman laughed and then drove off.
Mitch continued up the street, with Sydney following. His easy, jovial manner wasn’t actually gone, except with her. Seeing you hurts me. His words came back to her. She hated that. She didn’t want to hurt him.
“Let’s cross.” Mitch veered left, crossing the street.
As Sydney followed, the buildings began to look familiar. They were heading toward the oldest part of town, a square that looked as if it were plucked from a Norman Rockwell painting. The closer they got to the square, the more people they passed. Some were running, others walking.
A few women called out, “Hey, Mitch.” They drew out the “Hey” so it sounded like cooing.
Sydney rolled her eyes.
They entered the square and, while it was still early, there were shop owners sweeping the sidewalk and preparing for opening. A true Mayberry. All of them did a double take as they ran by.
“Everyone is going to think we’re together.”
“Worried I’ll ruin your reputation?” Mitch glanced at her over his shoulder.
“No. I’m worried I’ll cramp your style.”
“I’m not a sex addict.” He said in a clipped tone with a sideways glare toward her. “I think I can go a few days without having a woman.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“And consider this, Syd. People will think we’re together, including whoever is trying to kill you.”
She wondered if his plan included pretending to be an item. “What do I tell people when they ask?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Tell ’em I’m protecting you.”
“Right,” she muttered. Glancing over at Mitch’s muscles moving beneath his shirt, Sydney was overcome by disappointment that they couldn’t even pretend to be together. Not that she wanted pretend. She longed for something real. And despite how obvious it was that Mitch wouldn’t be that person
to her, her wish that he would be grew. Even though he wasn’t the same man. It made no sense.
They circumnavigated the square and headed back the way they’d come to Mitch’s home.
“You can have the shower first.” Mitch opened the door, letting her in before him.
“I won’t be long.”
Mitch watched Sydney from the corner of his eye as she made her way back to the guest bedroom and he went to the kitchen. He pulled a glass from the cupboard, filled it with cold water, and drank it all in a single gulp. It wasn’t very hot out, nor had he worked very hard on the run, but he was burning up. Sydney’s running outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination. And despite the pain being with her brought, his hormones didn’t seem to care. All they paid attention to were the long legs and the curves. More curves than he remembered. Curves his hands longed to get reacquainted with. And if her question from the night before was any indication, she was open to letting him touch her.
The lower part of his body called him a fool for letting his head dictate his actions. Mitch was a strong man, but if his reaction around her so far was any indication, he wasn’t strong enough to withstand her appeal. Of course, it wasn’t just the fact he was having a hard time letting go of the past that had him hesitating. It was that Sydney wasn’t a woman who had casual affairs, and he wasn’t a love-ever-after kind of guy. Not anymore. It was unfair to blame her for that. In fact, knowing what he knew now about the status of his letters, she didn’t deserve for him to be so hard on her. She’d been a victim of her mother’s “good intentions” as well.
“Your turn.”
He inhaled a breath before turning to look at her. He didn’t want the evidence of his thoughts etched on his face. “That was fast.”
She wore a light blue dress that should have looked plain, but it hugged all her curves. He was jealous of that dress.
“I’m not as high maintenance as I used to be.”
She didn’t need to be. She never had.
“I’ll be a few minutes.” He rushed past her. In the bathroom, he turned the shower knob to “C,” hating that he had to subject himself to the shock of cold. For a moment, he considered inviting her to join him. They’d never had sex in a shower while in college. The only time they’d done the deed in water was in a hot tub during a winter break ski trip.
