Loving Lucas

by Violetta Rand

  “No,” a deep voice answers. “You will.”

  Charles? Oh God. I’ve never been happier to see that jock than I am now.

  “Let her go,” he commands.

  Once again, Connor is outsized. He checks his surroundings, finding two of Charles’s teammates standing in the wings.

  “Be smart,” I suggest, worried the situation might explode.

  Connor eases his grip and I yank my hand free, rubbing my aching fingers. “Leave campus.”

  “I suggest you follow the lady’s advice.” Charles looks lethal.

  We both watch as Connor disappears down the crowded hallway.

  I cover my face with both hands, too ashamed to face my rescuer. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “Thank you for being here. I don’t…”

  Charles lifts my hands, staring at me with deep concern. “Is that what you’ve lived with all this time?”

  I nod, feeling meek as a mouse.

  “And all I’ve done is tease you.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m such an asshole.”

  “No,” I say. “You didn’t know. No one did.”

  “Karlie?” It’s Marie. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Thank God Charles showed up.”

  “I was in the bathroom,” she explains. “I caught the tail end, then made a phone call.”

  My eyebrows arch. “To whom?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “Lucas.”

  “Why?”

  “Who’s Lucas?” Charles looks confused.

  “Listen,” I say to him. “Let me buy you breakfast.”

  Marie coughs. I gaze at her. “It’s late—I can’t miss class,” she says.

  “What about Lucas?” I ask.

  “He’s on his way.”

  I can’t believe she called him. We’ll discuss it later. “I’ll stay with Charles until he gets here, all right?”

  She nods, then kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you later. Thanks, Charles.” She walks away.

  A few minutes later, Charles is sitting across from me, eating pancakes. Of course he didn’t let me pay, but I’m happy to keep him company.

  “How long were you seeing that asshole?” he asks.

  “Almost two years.”

  He blinks twice, like he’s trying to understand why. “Amazing.”

  “What?”

  “That a beautiful girl like you would put up with a piece of shit like that.”

  “It’s not a perfect world.”

  “My sister was married for ten years to an abusive prick,” he says. “It took three restraining orders and several trips to the ER to get the police to do anything about it.”

  I’m not surprised. One in four women in the United States will experience domestic violence in her lifetime; I’m far from alone. “And now?”

  “Happily remarried with a son,” he reports with a smile.

  “You’re an uncle?”

  He nods, taking a sip of water. “Jeremy—three years old now.”

  I’m pleasantly surprised. Charles is nicer than I ever imagined. “Not bad for a jock,” I tease.

  He grins. “You’re not bad for a virgin.”

  I nearly spit my coffee out. “Is that what you really think?”

  “No,” he says. “But it just seemed to fit.”

  “Karlie?” For the second time this morning, someone I wasn’t expecting shows up. I’m mortified to find Lucas in his uniform. “Where’s Connor?” Our eyes meet. He looks pissed.

  “Gone,” Charles answers for me. He wipes his hands on his napkin, stands, then offers his hand. “Charles Wagner.”

  They shake. “Lucas Lafontaine.” I think Charles caught him off guard. “Did you witness the assault?”

  “I’d hardly call it that,” I say, making light of the situation. I just want to forget about today.

  “I stopped it before it got out of hand,” Charles offers.

  Lucas nods in appreciation. “I’m grateful.” He studies him. “Do you mind if I talk to my girlfriend in private, Charles?”

  He just called me his girlfriend. That title pings around in my brain like a pinball. There’s a moment of silence before Charles answers. “Not at all—I need to go anyway.” He throws me a smile. “I’ll tell Rios you’re skipping class.”

  “Thank you again.” I watch him stuff his plate and cup in the nearby garbage can.

  “Darlin’?” Lucas says. “Are you okay?”

  “Distracted.”

  “By Charles?”

  Is he jealous and suspicious of me? “Please don’t get mad—we’re just friends.”

  “Friends?” He clicks his tongue. “Guys aren’t friends with hot chicks.”

  “That’s silly—I completely disagree.”

  He chuckles, then sits. “I’m old school, Karlie. I think like a Viking.”

  I check him out head to toe. Three inverted chevrons grace his black uniform. He’s a sergeant—freshly promoted. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better-looking man. My throat goes dry. “Vikings didn’t carry a Sig Sauer P226.”

  “I like when it you talk dirty, baby.” He pats his sidearm. “All joking aside, did Connor hurt you?”

  “My fingers.”

  He gestures for me to show him. He cradles my hand in his, flips it over, then kisses my palm. “It won’t happen again.”

  “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

  He scowls. “I couldn’t agree more. Come straight home tonight,” he says. “We have a date.”

  “Where?” I don’t remember making plans.

  “The firing range.”

  —

  She didn’t flinch or deny it when I referred to her as my girlfriend. After observing the way that jock drooled over her, it was time to stake my claim. Why do girls believe guys want to be friends? Gay guys, maybe. I still have my doubts about that, too.

  “Firing range?” she repeats.

  “Can’t have you running around without protection anymore,” I say.

  “I don’t want to shoot guns. I don’t like them.”

  “Most people don’t,” I say. “But that doesn’t change the fact that psycho boy doesn’t understand what it means to break up.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  I stare at the ceiling, choosing my next words carefully. “I know you’re a peacekeeper, Karlie. I deeply admire that characteristic, but I’m a peacemaker. Connor doesn’t exist in the same world we do. He’s accustomed to one thing—getting what he wants when he wants it. That doesn’t work for me. The next time I see him anywhere close to you, I’ll snap his neck.”

  She swallows, then folds her hands on the table. She’s nervous, probably thinking I blame her for whatever trouble she gets in. I don’t. “Charles scared him away,” she explains. “I doubt he’ll ever show his face here again.”

  “I appreciate Charles’s interest in you,” I say a little too acerbically. “And I’m sure he’ll keep his eye on you while you’re at school. But I can’t function if I think you’re susceptible to another attack. The only viable solution is to teach you how to protect yourself. It’s like teaching a man how to fish…”

  She rolls her eyes, unimpressed with my illustration. “Even if I’m proficient with a firearm, that doesn’t mean I can shoot someone, Lucas. So what’s the point?”

  I sigh. I truly believe girls should be taught self-defense once they hit elementary school. I see too many domestic violence cases—too many rapes, too many bloody lips and broken bones. Regardless of Karlie’s tough childhood, she’s never witnessed the level of suffering I’ve seen some women go through. And I’ll be damned if she’ll ever become a statistic. “Do it for me.” That’s my last line of defense. If she’ll just give it a try, I’ll sleep better.

  She exhales. “Okay.”

  Never mind what crazy thoughts raced through my mind when I observed her laughing at something Charles said. I’ll deal with my jealousy on my own terms. But Connor, that son of a bitch is on my radar from now on. I can’t
begin to imagine what would have happened if he caught her somewhere alone. Fear and anger clench my heart as I admire her. She’s too beautiful and almost too optimistic. But I don’t want to steal that hope from her. That’s what motivates people to change the world, and if given half a chance, I believe Karlie Augustine just might.

  Chapter 14

  Lucas exits off I-37, driving slowly to a parking lot containing a few cars. The surrounding area is pretty barren, with just a few trees and hills. He opens my car door and I get out, still feeling uncomfortable. He drags me to the trunk, opens it, then pulls out a small tactical vest. “Don’t make me dress you,” he teases.

  My cheeks heat as I slip the armor on. He adjusts the straps so tight I can hardly breathe. I watch as he wiggles into his own, then offers me ear and eye protection. After grabbing three gun cases, he shuts the trunk, and I follow him to an administrative building. My heart pounds wildly as I hear rapid fire in the near distance.

  “You all right?” he asks, holding the door open.

  I nod.

  We go inside and he checks in with a uniformed officer at the counter. “Sergeant Lucas Lafontaine, CCPD,” he says, flashing his badge.

  The officer slides a clipboard across the counter. Lucas jots down our names and signs. I explore the room, drawn to a wall where there are a dozen framed photos of the men and women who so bravely lost their lives in the line of duty. Above the display is a sign, Fallen but never forgotten…My chest constricts, because I know Lucas could very easily be included in this memorial someday. I don’t like the way it makes me feel. In fact, it’s the only detractor this man has. I startle when he creeps up behind me, his hand trailing up my back.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “Do we really have to do this?”

  He gently turns me around. “Overcome your fears, Karlie,” he advises. “It’s empowering.”

  He’s completely right. But I just don’t like the idea of holding a weapon. I’m grateful for his service and don’t mind that he carries a gun. Still…

  “Eye and ear protection,” he directs.

  The black earmuffs are a snug fit and the shooting glasses are similar to what I wear when I ride my motorcycle. He nods his approval and leads me out a side door. We walk two hundred yards, passing several storage sheds, then stop underneath a wood and metal canopy. Rapid fire sounds again and I jump.

  “Easy, darlin’.” He steadies me, then points east. “Beyond that embankment is the rifle range. That’s what you’re hearing. Don’t worry, there’s no danger to us.”

  I check my surroundings. Everywhere I look are dirt embankments, at the end of the range where the targets are set up and along the sides. Where we’re located, there are eight wood benches and a few metal tables. No one else is here. Lucas opens one of the gun cases, then another. He shows me the first gun; it’s smaller than the one he carries for work.

  “This is the Bersa Thunder 380.” He offers me the weapon. “It’s a semiautomatic pistol produced in Argentina. It weighs 20 ounces unloaded, is 6.61 inches long, and has a muzzle velocity of 1,050 feet per second.”

  He might as well speak Greek. I cradle the weapon in my hands like it’s made of glass or Kryptonite.

  “What’s muzzle velocity mean?” I ask, feeling like an idiot.

  “It means you’ll drop the son of a bitch in a split second if he gets near you.”

  I frown. “Really?”

  “Don’t like cop humor?”

  “Not when it deals with life and death.”

  “Sorry.” He shrugs.

  “I forgive you.”

  “Back to business?” he asks.

  “Absolutely.”

  He takes the gun. “We’re going to use a ten-round single-stack magazine today.” He slides it in place, then chambers the round. “Come closer, darlin’.”

  I do.

  “This is the safety.” He shows me how to flip it. “Red is dead.”

  After going over the physical features of the pistol, then reviewing shooter safety twice, he sets me up on the firing line. My hands are a bit shaky, but I’m determined to give this my all so he’ll be satisfied.

  “Just remember to breathe before you squeeze the trigger,” he reminds me. “Take the pistol and line up the sights with the target.” I do, but he quickly corrects my stance. “Isosceles triangle.” He takes the gun and demonstrates before handing it back.

  I repeat it several times before I feel comfortable.

  “Good girl,” he praises me before taking the gun. “Now stand behind me and watch.”

  He fires several rounds, then lowers his hand. “Want to check the target?”

  He puts the safety on, places the gun on the nearby table, then walks me down range. There are three bullets center mass and one to the head. “How far are we from the target?” I ask, impressed and intimidated by his accuracy.

  “Thirty meters.”

  I sigh. Is he a marksman? “I’ll be lucky to hit the paper.”

  He chuckles and we return to the firing line.

  —

  Two hours later, Karlie and I are standing outside my car. She’s carrying the target—chattering incessantly, showing off her shooting patterns. Holy shit, my girl is a natural. Once she relaxed, her instincts took over, and she never missed. I open the passenger door and she gets in, holding up the paper.

  “See that?” she brags. “Nearly as good as you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Annie Oakley.” I shut the door.

  Twenty minutes later, I pull into the Brewster Street Ice House downtown, a 1932 warehouse transformed into a sports bar. There’s nothing fancy about the place, but the burgers are great and the beer is cold. We go inside and pick a table. I stare at the concrete floor and metal roof. On warm days, the overhead garage doors are open, granting access to the patio and playground. A waitress delivers our menus and water.

  “Hungry?” I ask, squeezing Karlie’s hand.

  “Didn’t think target shooting took so much energy,” she answers, flipping her menu open. “I’d like a Tecate with lime to start.”

  I signal for the waitress. “A Tecate with lime and a bottle of Bud.”

  She smiles, then heads for the bar.

  “Aren’t you going to look at your menu?” Karlie asks.

  “Nope. I already know what I want.”

  “Come here often?”

  “It’s a popular place for officers to grab a beer after work.”

  “And for groupies.” I follow her gaze. She’s focused on some girls sitting a few tables away, staring at me. “Friends?”

  She’s jealous. “I’m acquainted.”

  She clicks her tongue, looking more desirable by the second. I’m glad I’m not the only one feeling overly protective of our relationship. It’s a positive sign—she cares. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, darlin’.”

  The server returns with our drinks. “Ready to order?”

  Karlie nods. “I’ll have the Cuban burger and a salad.”

  “Dressing?”

  “Ranch on the side,” Karlie answers.

  “Double that order,” I say, taking a sip of my beer. “You like the Cuban, too?”

  “I’ve only been here once,” she says. “But I remember how good that burger was—a half-pound patty with turkey and pulled pork, Swiss cheese, and spicy chive mayonnaise.” She licks her lips seductively. “I can only think of a couple of things that taste better.”

  Instant erection. I lean across the table, fixated on that sexy mouth. “Tell me…”

  “You.”

  My beer is halfway to my mouth, but after hearing that, I set it down, thick with desire. “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

  “Sure about you.” She smiles. “Wait until we get home.”

  “Yeah,” I say, tipping her chin. “Wait until I get you home.”

  “Is that a threat, Sergeant Lafontaine?”

  “Maybe I should take you to the range more often. I like this I’m
-Karlie-hear-me-roar woman.”

  She giggles.

  “Lucas?”

  We both turn at the same time. Sarah Costas, a girl I took to dinner and bed months ago, is standing beside me. “Hello, Sarah.”

  She smiles, then gives Karlie a quick glance. She faces me again. “I heard you transferred to Corpus Christi. Why didn’t you call?”

  I clear my throat. “Let me introduce you to my girlfriend—Karlie Augustine.”

  She barely acknowledges Karlie. “Trying to avoid my question?”

  Our waitress arrives and I sigh with relief. Sarah is pretty, but she’s the type of woman who thinks just because you sleep together a marriage proposal is sure to follow. “It was great to see you again,” I say, hoping she’ll leave the table. “Keep in touch.” I couldn’t express my disinterest any clearer without being rude.

  “Good night, Lucas.” She retreats.

  Karlie stares at me, an indiscernible expression on her face. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Then don’t.” I take a bite of my burger.

  “Really?”

  I finish chewing, then drop my food on the plate. “Didn’t mean to sound so impolite. Just a girl I hooked up with on one of my weekend trips to Corpus.”

  “A one-night stand?”

  Damn, she looks so disappointed. Confession time. “Yes.” I tip my chair back, ready to get a tongue lashing.

  “She’s very attractive.”

  “And OCD.”

  “Is that why you dumped her?”

  “Come on, Karlie,” I plead. “It didn’t mean anything. I can count on one hand how many women I’ve had casual sex with. It’s a guy thing and I’m over it, trust me.”

  She studies me over the rim of her glass. “I don’t want that kind of cold reception if we ever break up and run into each other in a restaurant.”

  That would never happen, but Karlie doesn’t know how hard and fast I’m falling for her. She also doesn’t know how priceless she really is. “We didn’t have meaningless sex.”

  “No,” she agrees. “But we didn’t date, either.”

  “Victims of circumstance.”

  “Victims?” Her voice rises an octave. “That’s an interesting perspective.”

  No matter what I say, she’s going to take offense. “Can we discuss it after dinner, in private?”