Talk to Me

by Stephanie Reid

  Her surprised blue-eyed gaze lifted to Mac’s, and she hid her laugh behind her hand. “Oh dear. What’s gotten into him?”

  Mac grinned. “Quality beer. He’s not used to it.”

  “I’m sorry, Frank. Could you excuse me for a moment while I talk to my brother?”

  Frank stood, allowing Emily to exit the booth, but when she passed him, he grabbed her arm.

  Mac almost snarled.

  “Emily, I’ll come with you. I’ll help you convince him that he should let us take him home.”

  Mac could have done without Frank’s emphasis on the word us.

  She patted Frank’s arm, pulling her other arm from his grasp, and shaking her head. “Oh, thank you Frank, but I’d rather talk to my brother privately. This is a family matter. Please, finish your dinner. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Frank slumped back into the booth and glared at Mac, who was evidently considered family since Emily slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and steered him toward Sean’s end of the bar.

  She leaned into his side and whispered, “So, how bad is it?”

  “Not nearly as bad as I led Sir Talksalot to believe.”

  “Sir Talksalot?” Emily turned her face into his arm, muffling her laugh against his black wool sweater. The touch, so casually given, surprised him. Had she had too much wine? His body warmed at the feel of her pressed against his side.

  “How long have you guys been here?” she asked.

  “Long enough to know that you were not having a good time.”

  Her laughter faded, her now serious gaze meeting his. “Thank you. For noticing. And for coming over.” She dropped his arm. “I’m sure I could have handled him, but I’m not sure it wouldn’t have caused a scene. Things were getting a little awkward.”

  So he’d noticed. And he hadn’t been happy about it. Even just thinking about it now, brought a red hue to his vision. “So, who is that tool?”

  Blushing, she looked away from him, her long lashes hiding her sapphire eyes from his view. They stopped next to Sean’s stool, and Mac checked his hand before he succumbed to the impulse to reach for her chin and tip her face up to look at him again.

  “A blind date. One I don’t plan to see again either.”

  He decided not to question the relief that whirled through him, making his body feel light.

  Thanks to a commercial break, Sean finally noticed them standing next to him at the bar.

  “Hey Sis! So you decided you’re not too embarrassed to come say ‘hi’ to your ol’ brother after all, huh?”

  “Embarrassed? Why would I be embarrassed?”

  “Damned if I know, but Mac here told me to stay put and behave myself when we saw you come in.” Sean tipped his bottle back and looked surprised to find it empty. He shrugged. “So who’s that chunker you’re with?”

  She tried to look appalled, but the effect was ruined by her laugh. “Sean! That’s not nice.”

  Sean stifled a burp. “Sorry, who’s that fat guy you’re with?”

  She punched her brother in the shoulder, though Mac guessed there wasn’t much bite in it.

  “See! That’s why Mac didn’t let me go over and say ‘hi.’ He knew I’d embarrass you.”

  Sean tried to take another drink out of the empty bottle and Mac grabbed the beer out of his hand. “Well, change of plans, man. Emily could use a dose of ‘embarrassing brother’ right about now.”

  “Oh yea?”

  “Yep. Turns out her date is a dud, and she’s in need of an exit strategy.”

  Sean sobered immediately. “Ten-four. Okay, here’s what we’ll do: I’ll sneak out the back door, call your cell—pretending to be your neighbor—and I’ll tell you that your dog is running loose, wreaking havoc on the neighborhood. And that you need to come home right away.”

  Mac and Emily shared conspiratorial grins. They hadn’t discussed how this would go down, but he knew she was thinking the same thing he was. The same way he knew how Sean would respond when they were on a call together. Strange that he should feel such a connection with her…

  Emily spoke first. “Actually Sean, we were hoping that you might play up your intoxication a little bit…”

  “Then Emily can claim that I’m driving you home, and she needs to follow with your car,” Mac finished.

  Sean, ever the prankster, beamed. “I like it! So how drunk am I?”

  Emily chuckled, and Mac caught her gaze, cleared his throat and inclined his head toward Frank—who was unashamedly staring at them from across the pub. She read his signal and took on a more stern mien. “Play it however you want, just get me the hell out of here.”

  “I’m fine! Jus’ fine! I’m good to drive.”

  Startled by Sean’s sudden outburst, Emily backed into Mac’s chest and he caught her. He kept one arm around her waist—for appearances of course—so it would look like he was protecting her from her obnoxiously drunk older brother. It had nothing to do with the perfect fit of his hand on her hip.

  Emily, also speaking loud enough for every patron of Muldoon’s to hear, delivered her line. “Sean, no! Please, I’m begging you. Give me your keys.”

  Sean took his keys and held them over his head, then stood up and stumbled from his stool. Hard to say if Sean was really that drunk or just that good of an actor, but Mac knew for sure that Sean should not be driving tonight, and so with a little more force than was necessary for the act, he reached up and ripped the keys out of Sean’s hand. Luckily, Emily stepped out of the way half a second before Sean football tackled him to the ground.

  “Sean, don’t!” Emily’s yell sounded horrified, and Mac took a small amount of comfort in the fact that it upset her to see him attacked.

  “What the hell—”

  Sean wrestled Mac onto his back—which Mac liked to think was only possible because he had been taken by surprise—and in a low voice, so as not to be overheard, asked, “Should we brawl?”

  Mac didn’t bother to whisper. “No, you idiot! Now get the fuck off me!”

  “Not until you give me back my keys!”

  Mac pushed up against Sean’s chest, trying to throw him off, but was hampered by the instinct not to hurt his friend.

  Sean pushed back, put his head close to Mac’s ear and whispered, “Come on. Don’t be a pussy. It’ll make it look authentic.”

  “I’ll show you authentic.” Mac grunted and hurled Sean off him, no longer caring if he hurt the idiot, and rolled up to his feet in one movement. He turned back, expecting to find Sean still on the floor, only to get socked in the kisser by an already standing Sean.

  “Oh shit! Mac, I’m sorry!”

  “Sean! You cretin!” Emily bopped Sean on the head with her purse.

  It looked like a very heavy purse. Good. Sean deserved it.

  “Ow! Ow! Would you stop it?”

  Theatrics aside, her eyes shot sparks at her brother, and Mac found himself more than a little intrigued by her fiery spirit. “You went too far, Sean,” she said, her voice a growl.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hit him.” Sean rubbed his head.

  “Then you’re more drunk than you think you are, man, because your aim is shit.” Mac nodded to Emily, trying to silently tell her he was fine, and she could calm down. It didn’t work. She looked like she could happily clobber Sean.

  Frank picked that moment to interject. “Well, I never—”

  At the sound of his voice, Emily rounded, directing all of her rage at the slack-jawed Frank. “Well, you never what, Frank? Go ahead. Finish that sentence.”

  Frank stared at her as if she’d just grown horns and a tail, and Mac’s instincts demanded he get between her and Frank, but she was doing just fine without his help. He stayed where he was.

  “How about ‘never let another person get a word in edgewise.’ Huh? How about that? I know everything there is to know about you, Frank, and you don’t even know what I do for a living. You never asked!”

  All eyes in the pub were glued to t
he drama unfolding at the end of the bar, and Pete, the bartender, approached, ready to intervene. Mac caught Pete’s eye and motioned for him to stand down, simultaneously placing a calming hand on Emily’s shoulder.

  Emily, however, was miles past calm. She yanked away from Mac and advanced on Frank, who looked as if he was trying to shrink his huge mass into a corner and disappear.

  She poked her index finger into his chest. “Well, I’ll tell you what I do for a living. I’m a counselor. And I’m sure I could recommend a colleague of mine that would be happy to help you with your raging narcissism!”

  She ended her tirade at the volume of a shout and seemed shocked to realize she had captivated the attention of every patron and staff member of Muldoon’s. She looked around, her cheeks turning a darker shade of red, and Mac’s chest tightened at the sight of her embarrassment. He put a protective arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the door. He glanced back to see Sean staring at Frank, clenching and unclenching his fists, no doubt unsure if he should deck the guy in his sister’s honor or just walk away.

  Mac was relieved to hear Pete’s calm voice. “Um, Officer Simon, I think maybe it’s time to clear out.” Pete’s tone was polite and respectful. After all, he knew Sean and Mac, considered them friends, as well as frequent customers, and Mac appreciated that he didn’t add to the drama of their little performance.

  Mac pushed open the door to the exit, ushering Emily through, Sean close behind them.

  “Emily! Should I call you sometime?” Frank’s whiny voice caused Mac’s jaw to tighten—just the thought of Frank talking to Emily, even through the distance of a phone, filled him with a barely controllable rage.

  He let the door slam behind them and wished whole-heartedly that Sean had punched Frank in the face after all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Oh my Lord! Sean, what’s happened to you?” At Julie’s startled exclamation, Emily glanced up and noticed the giant goose egg that had formed on Sean’s forehead where she’d hit him with her tote bag.

  Sean closed the front door behind them and pointed at Emily. “She did it.”

  Normally, Emily would have jumped to her own defense, launching them into a talk-over-each-other sibling argument, until one of them realized getting the final word wasn’t worth the time it took and gave up. But in the well-lit foyer of Sean and Julie’s house, Emily was distracted by the injury she could now clearly see on Mac’s face. His bottom lip was cracked and swollen on the left side, where Sean’s clumsy right hook had met its mark.

  “You’re going to need some ice for that,” she said softly, regretting that he’d been involved in the mess that was her night.

  Sean huffed. “That’s nothing compared to what you did to me. I’m dealing with a closed-wound head injury here.” His tone was teasing, but Emily detected a note of defensiveness, as if he felt bad about hitting Mac and was hoping for confirmation that he hadn’t injured him that badly. Good. He should feel bad.

  “Would somebody please explain what the hell happened?” Julie’s no-ifs-ands-or-buts mommy voice got the desired response, except that it came from three people at once.

  “I was trying to help Emily—”

  “I was on a blind date—”

  “Mac was plying me with expensive beer—”

  Julie held up her hand. “Enough! One at a time, please.” She pointed to Sean. “You. Start talking.”

  “Emily hit me in the head with her purse. What the heck was in there anyway? Do you carry rocks around in that thing?”

  “First of all, it’s not a purse, it’s a tote bag.” Purses were for your wallet, keys, and perhaps some lip-gloss. A tote bag, however, could carry anything and everything. It was an important distinction—and certainly helped to explain what she was about to say next. “And I had a can of chicken noodle soup in it.”

  “You keep soup in your purse?”

  “It’s a tote bag, Sean. And yes, it was going to be my lunch at work today, but it was a busy day, and I didn’t have time to eat it.”

  Julie sighed. “Maybe we should start at the beginning.”

  Mac succeeded where Emily and her idiot brother had failed, quickly explaining to Julie how he and Sean had seen Emily and her blind date at Muldoon’s and had tried to extricate her from a painful evening with an excessively chatty narcissist.

  Emily listened to the deep timbre of his voice and felt a magnetic pull in his direction. She hadn’t even realized that she’d moved to stand close to his side until his arm came around her shoulder. Warmth transferred from his body and then radiated throughout hers. She leaned closer, soaking up the comfort he offered. Between her session with Carl and her date-gone-wrong with Frank, it had been a pretty lousy Friday.

  Mac finished his explanation, and Julie’s eyes darted back and forth between them. Emily had the uncomfortable feeling Julie was reading a little too much into the way she and Mac were standing, so she stepped away from him.

  Julie turned her perplexed gaze toward Sean. “Just one more thing. What were you and Mac even doing at Muldoon’s? You’re both on from three to eleven tonight, and it’s just now ten o’clock. Why aren’t you at work?”

  “Mac had a shitty day, and there were plenty of people working second shift, so we asked Sarge if we could drop some time and knock off work at five.”

  Julie looked as if she might be considering adding to Sean’s head injury. “And you didn’t think that warranted a phone call home?”

  Sean crossed his arms and puffed his chest, his posture confrontational, and Emily choked back a laugh, thinking he looked like an overgrown Peter Pan. “I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission.”

  “I didn’t say you needed my permission, but the courteous thing to do would have been to tell your wife that you weren’t at work like she thought you were.”

  “I think this is our cue to leave.” Emily grabbed Mac by the elbow and led him into the kitchen, Sean and Julie’s argument fading behind them.

  “And miss seeing Sean get dressed down by his tiny blonde wife? You’re no fun.”

  So, was that Mac’s type? Tiny blondes? It shouldn’t matter to her. It didn’t matter to her. She didn’t care what type of woman he liked, because he wasn’t her type. She’d decided that a week ago, in this very house, and she wasn’t about to change her mind now, just because he’d come to her rescue with Frank.

  Or just because he’d been so understanding about the whole mess and never even complained that she’d cost him a busted lip.

  Or just because he looked so incredibly handsome in dark jeans and a black sweater that stretched just a little tighter over his broad chest than it did at his slim waist.

  No, she would not change her mind, and she would stop thinking about all these just-becauses.

  She set her mind to the task of finding a clean dishtowel and filling it with ice cubes. “Here. Press this to your lip, while I grab some antiseptic to clean that cut.”

  Mac followed her instructions, but protested nonetheless. “This isn’t necessary, Em. I’m fine. By tomorrow, it’ll be nothing more than a scratch.”

  Her stomach did that flippy-floppy thing again when he called her “Em.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She headed toward the first floor bathroom where Julie kept a first-aid kit, happy to place some distance between them.

  She reached the bathroom, closed the door behind her, and took a deep breath, studying her reflection in the antique mirror. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and she looked tired. Exhausted.

  Which explained why she’d found it so easy to lean on Mac tonight.

  She couldn’t deny her attraction to him, she’d felt it the moment they met, but she needed to keep her head. She had no interest in being involved with a police officer, number one. And two, she didn’t need the complication of someone who may or may not be struggling with PTSD. She did enough counseling at her day job, and she was making an effort not to play the role of counselor with her family and fr
iends. A relationship with Mac would mean worry. And complications. What she needed—she reminded herself—was a normal life with someone who had a normal job and an uncomplicated psyche. Mac would be no good for her.

  Not that he was giving the slightest indication he was even interested. And really, staring at her reflection, why would he be? Her eyes were tired, her face drawn and her hair was this not-quite-blonde and not-quite-brown, flat, non-color.

  Confident that Mac could resist her, even if she was finding it difficult to resist him, she grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet and headed back to the kitchen.

  * * *

  He felt her return moments before hearing the light tapping of her flats against the kitchen tiles. Her proximity had that effect on him, made his every nerve stand at attention. His gaze lifted to her face, and he noticed the signs of exhaustion under her eyes, smudges of blue that, while making her look tired, also somehow made the blue of her irises even more vivid.

  She’d mentioned being too busy at work to eat lunch. Was she taking care of herself?

  She sparked a protective streak within him. It’s what had caused him to put his arm around her in the hall when she’d seemed to sway on her feet. He wanted to drive her home, cook her a hot meal and then tuck her into bed for a good night’s sleep.

  However, the thought of her drowsy and warm, lying in bed, led to other thoughts that were far less protective and much more predatory in nature. He cleared his throat. “You look tired.”

  She laughed. “Don’t I know it? I’m a mess.”

  An adorable mess. Her hair was tousled from her barroom brawl with Sean. Wisps of caramel colored locks had worked their way loose from her hair band, framing her face, and giving her a softer look than when it had been tightly pulled back.

  She placed the first-aid kit on the counter next to him and concentrated on opening a package of gauze. Her lower lip jutted out, and she let out a puff of air in an unsuccessful attempt to blow the hair away from her eyes.

  Entranced, not fully aware of what he was doing, he lifted a strand away from her face, feeling the silky texture between his fingers, and gently grazing her cheek with his fingertips as he tucked it behind her ear. Hearing her breath catch, his body tightened, and he leaned closer, breathing in the smell of her hair, an unidentifiable but uniquely feminine scent. Her eyes met his, her clear blue gaze pulling him closer with its own gravitational power until their lips were scant millimeters apart.