Frisk Me

by Lauren Layne

  But why?

  Ava should be thrilled. She was getting exactly what she wanted, but it felt…hollow. Rotten, almost.

  “Okay, people, let’s get in places,” Haley, the production manager, said. “Ava, what’s with your shoes?”

  She glanced down at her flip-flops. Right.

  Mihail handed over her bag and she muttered a terse thanks, ignoring the challenge in his expression.

  What did he expect her to do? Inform them that she hated wearing high heels?

  Or better yet, tell them that she wasn’t going to dig into the messy part of Luc’s past just because it would make for a juicier story?

  This is how it’s done, she wanted to tell Mihail.

  Or maybe she was telling herself.

  She’d splurged on the shoes. Black Louboutins with their trademark red soles. Ava had been longing for the classic shoes since she stepped foot in New York six years ago.

  Now they felt tight, somehow.

  She put them on anyway.

  The interview stage was designed to look like a comfortable, classy living room. Big brown leather chairs, navy carpet, a coffee table that was already outfitted with water glasses and mugs and a carafe. Rarely did anyone actually drink from the mugs during the interviews, but having the option made it seem like it was just a couple of friends sitting down to chat over coffee.

  Luc was already on stage, but had yet to look at her.

  Definitely not two friends sitting down to coffee.

  Every instinct in Ava’s body demanded that she go to him. Talk to him Ava to Luc, not maintain chilly Ava Sims to Officer Moretti silence.

  But something stopped her.

  Terror.

  Though she didn’t know if it was terror about losing the story, or fear of losing him.

  And the fact that the latter fear was the scariest thing of all.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she thought as Haley impatiently sat Ava in the chair, motioning for her to cross her legs to the left so she wouldn’t flash the camera, before positioning Luc.

  He didn’t need much help; he’d look good no matter what. A gorgeous, good-guy cop.

  America’s Hero.

  She watched him as he listened to last-minute instructions from Haley. His face was tense, his eyes wary.

  She’d done that to him. Ava had made him America’s Hero.

  As though his being Luc wasn’t enough.

  She knew now. Luc Moretti was more than enough, just as he was.

  The lights in the studio went out except for the stage, and Ava heard Haley holler for quiet.

  A glance at the prompter told her they were ready.

  Three, two, one…

  It was go time.

  Only then did Luc meet her eyes.

  And what she saw nearly broke her heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Luc made it through the first half of the interview as if he were in a trance, his responses on autopilot as he answered the innocuous questions.

  Ava: So you’re a born and bred New Yorker. Ever thought about moving somewhere else?

  Luc: Never.

  Ava: You live with your brother and grandmother. What’s that like?

  Luc: About like you’d expect; the food is excellent, the privacy nonexistent.

  Ava: When did you know you wanted to be a police officer?

  Luc: I’m not sure there was ever a choice. It’s who I am.

  Ava: You come from a pretty impressive cop legacy. What’s it like being the son of the former NYPD Commissioner?

  Luc: Let’s just say it brings a whole different meaning to father knows best.

  Ava: Tell us about that day in Battery Park. What were you thinking when that little girl went over?

  Luc: You don’t think in a situation like that. You react.

  Ava: You gave your coat away on one of the coldest winters in New York history. Did you get another one?

  Luc: I bought a new one the day after, although I continue to receive replacements from generous people who saw the video…I appreciate the sentiment, although I donate those to a homeless shelter and encourage viewers to do the same.

  The questions went on and on, and Luc forced himself not to snap at Ava that she already knew all of this stuff.

  Because he wasn’t talking to Ava, friend and lover.

  He was talking to Ava Sims, reporter. She looked the part too. She had on some expensive, sexy heels. Her hair was shiny and perfect and sort of hard looking, molded into big waves. Her glasses were nowhere in sight, nor were her yoga pants. She wore an emerald green blouse and black slacks. She looked pretty. Perfect.

  He hated it. Hated her.

  He wanted messy Ava back.

  But messy, approachable Ava had been a fake, hadn’t she?

  Because although he knew he’d seen glimpses of the real Ava—sweet, funny, and vulnerable—the aspiring anchorwoman part of her was bigger. Bolder.

  It was this cold, calculating Ava that had ruthlessly dug into his past and then instead of talking to him about it, gone behind his back to talk to Beverly Jensen and the Johnson family.

  His family had begged him not to come today, and up until an hour before, Luc had fully intended to skip this farce of an interview. He couldn’t stop them from running the footage and info they already had, but that didn’t mean he had to be a willing participant.

  But his family hadn’t known the whole truth. Hadn’t known that it was Luc himself who had pushed her to this. Luc who’d insisted she follow her gut, tell the big stories, blow off the superficial BS and dig for truth.

  She was dedicating her whole heart to her career, and really, was Luc any different?

  Were any of the Morettis different? Cops got credited with being a lot more noble than reporters, but at the end of the day, they were both jobs. And more important, they could both be dreams.

  Being a journalist was Ava’s dream, and he couldn’t bring himself to take that away from her.

  Even if he destroyed his own dreams in the process.

  And so he made two phone calls. One to Bev, the other to the Johnsons. He wanted their blessing before talking about their loss on national television, and he’d gotten it.

  They’d all agreed that it was time—that some publicity would do more good than harm.

  And so Luc had come to the studio. For Shayna. For Mike. For himself.

  But mostly for Ava.

  He’d done it for her, even though she’d betrayed him.

  Luc refused to let himself acknowledge what that might mean, but some part of him already knew. Knew that his feelings for this woman went deeper than he’d realized.

  Her questions continued, alternating between cheeky and somber.

  Is it true what they say about cops and doughnuts?

  How do you think 9/11 changed the perception of first responders, especially in New York?

  Then she asked him one that caused him to stumble for the first time since he’d sat in the overstuffed chair.

  All the ladies out there are wondering, so I have to ask…are you single?

  Previously, Luc had been looking at Ava without really seeing her…not wanting to connect with her now that he knew what was coming.

  But with that last question, his eyes zeroed in on hers, and she lifted an eyebrow. A challenge.

  Challenge accepted, Sims.

  “Yes, I’m definitely single,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers.

  Ava was a professional, and the only sign that his response hit close to home was a slight, almost imperceptible, shifting in her chair.

  “I’m sure the single women of New York will be glad to hear it,” she said with an easy smile, giving away nothing. “Are you looking to settle down someday?”

  He knew that she was asking for the benefit of the viewers.

  All day, she’d been asking questions that she already knew the answer to, and this one was no different.

  Except it was different, somehow. They both
knew it.

  There was a too-long silence, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Haley woman exchange a puzzled glance with her assistant.

  Then he cleared his throat. “You know, being married to a cop is hard. Really hard. I don’t want to put any woman through that.”

  “What if she decided it was worth the risk?” Ava said. Her easy smile never wavered, but Luc found himself searching her face all the time.

  Was this just another generic interview question?

  Or something more?

  Luc intentionally let a wide grin spread over his face. “Well then I guess I’d have to decide if she were worth the risk.”

  There was a beat of silence. Everyone watching would assume his response was a guy response, just a twenty-something dude trying to maintain his bachelor status for as long as possible.

  But the slight flinch in Ava’s features told him she heard it for what it was.

  He was telling her that she was a risk.

  One he wasn’t willing to take.

  Ava recovered. “A dedicated bachelor then,” she said with an answering smile.

  “I think so.” He fake-smiled right back and their gazes clashed for a second too long before she leaned forward to take a sip of water.

  Her hand shook just the tiniest bit, and Luc instinctively tensed before forcing himself to relax his shoulders.

  It was coming.

  She sat back in her chair and Luc waited for her to triumphantly throw down her trump card.

  But to his surprise, there was hesitation there.

  No, more than hesitation. Agony.

  She didn’t want to do this.

  She didn’t want to sell him out.

  For a second, Luc felt like he could fly.

  Until he remembered that it didn’t have to come to this. She could have told Luc earlier what she was planning.

  Every step of the way, Ava had made it clear this was what she’d wanted more than anything. It was time to see it through.

  He patiently waited for her gaze to come back to his. The entire hesitation had probably lasted only a couple of seconds; likely the audience would see it as nothing more than a slight gathering of thoughts, but it felt much longer.

  And when her eyes finally found his, she looked so bewildered and lost that he wanted to rip off both of their mics, hold out his hand to her, and lead them both away from this circus.

  Instead, he nodded at her. Nothing obvious. Just the slightest tip of his head.

  Permission.

  Do it, Sims.

  And so she did.

  “Officer Moretti, as I was researching your impressive history as a police officer, I couldn’t help but notice there was a bit of a, shall we say, blip on your record…”

  Luc refused to acknowledge the pain that ripped through him.

  You can do this.

  It was time to put everything behind him. It was time to move on.

  And Ava had just made it really easy to move on from her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  It had taken a serious amount of groveling, but Luc had eventually convinced Nonna and Anthony to give him his space.

  Actually, Anthony had agreed almost immediately. After making sure that Luc wasn’t inclined to do anything stupid, Anth had quietly packed an overnight bag. His brother understood that sometimes being alone with whiskey and dark thoughts was exactly what a situation called for.

  Nonna, on the other hand, had only been coaxed out of the apartment when Anthony held a lighter under her precious yoga mat and threatened to toss all her lacy push-up bras in exchange for bulk cotton bras from the local drugstore.

  Luc had thought his grandmother was going to faint at the notion, and she’d finally agreed to leave, only after making Luc homemade macaroni and cheese. It wasn’t classic Italian in the least, but it was bona fide comfort food.

  Luc hadn’t touched it.

  Neither had he gone for the whiskey, although he figured that would be on the agenda at some point tonight. For now, it was him, a beer, ancient flannel pants, and hopes of losing himself in TV, or a book, or anything that would save him from thoughts of Ava.

  It was strange how one could carry around two years of emotional baggage, finally heal, only to be ripped wide open by a woman.

  Even more ironic was that it was the same woman who’d helped him come to grips with the first issue.

  Without Ava and her CBC vultures shining a light on every dark corner of Luc’s past, he’d never have gotten the courage to talk to his brothers about his nightmares.

  His father never would have come clean about his interference with the media two years ago.

  Luc wouldn’t have gone to see Mike’s widow, wouldn’t have called to check in on the Johnsons…

  He certainly wouldn’t have talked about it on national television. Wouldn’t have spoken about his feelings of guilt that often came with the sometimes no-win world of law enforcement.

  Luc couldn’t quite say he was over what happened that day. He probably wouldn’t ever be over it, and that was okay.

  But for the first time, he felt like he could move on. Each breath was just a little bit easier.

  Luc tipped his beer back. Not that he’d be sending Ava and her people a thank-you note. Any good that had come out of her manipulation was a happy coincidence.

  It certainly wasn’t from good intentions.

  Luc wasn’t sure that Ava Sims had any.

  He swore softly and stood to get another beer as he remembered what an ass he’d made of himself at her apartment a week ago. When she’d asked if she was a cold, calculating bitch, he should have said yes.

  Instead he’d looked into those lying gold eyes and let himself be totally fooled by a truly beautiful face.

  And the hell of it was?

  He didn’t hate her. Not even now, when he knew he’d been thoroughly used.

  What he felt for Ava wasn’t hate, or dislike, or antipathy.

  It felt alarmingly the opposite of that. A word Luc wasn’t ready to put a name to under the best of circumstances, and certainly not when the circumstances were what they were:

  Completely shitty.

  He popped the top off his beer, but set it on the counter instead of taking a drink. He couldn’t seem to help but torture himself, wondering what she was doing now.

  Popping the champagne with her skeevy co-workers?

  Laughing with Mihail as they planned their next story?

  Would she still work for CBC? He had no idea how that worked. He knew she wouldn’t deliver the story she wanted, but it was a headlines grabbing story all the same. That had to count for something.

  He hoped so. In spite of everything, he still wanted that for her, because she wanted that.

  In spite of it all, he cared enough about her to want her happiness. Desperately.

  He was an idiot.

  “This sucks,” he muttered to nobody.

  He was halfway back to the couch to resume his brooding when there was a knock at the door.

  A strange sense of calm came over him as he moved to open it.

  He knew it wouldn’t be his brothers.

  Nor would it be Nonna or his interfering parents.

  It wouldn’t be Lopez or any of his other guy friends.

  He opened the door.

  Ava.

  While he wasn’t surprised to see her standing there, he was surprised to see this version of Ava.

  Gone was the smart-looking blouse and pressed pants and perfect makeup.

  Her brown hair was pulled back in a messy knot and her lipstick was long gone. Her feet were in flip-flops, her glasses just slightly askew on her nose. Seriously, why didn’t she get ones that fit better?

  “Sims,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb.

  “Moretti.” She pushed past him.

  “Come on in,” he muttered.

  He’d barely closed the door before she threw a crumpled-up ball of paper at his head. He dodged it. “Wh
at the hell?”

  “I’m not paying that damn ticket.”

  In spite of everything, he nearly smiled as he played dumb. “What ticket?”

  “The one you left on my desk at the station!” she snapped. “You can shove it up your ass, Moretti.”

  He lifted an eyebrow, mockingly.

  She got in his face, shoving at his shoulders, and he was surprised to see anger in her eyes. Why the hell was she angry?

  A tear ran down her cheek and Luc felt real alarm, even though he was supposed to be mad at her. “Sims?”

  “Why’d you do it?” she asked.

  “Honestly, if I knew you were going to be such a pain in the ass, I probably wouldn’t have bothered with the ticket,” he muttered. “I’d have let you be some other cop’s problem.”

  She shoved at his shoulders again. “No, I mean why’d you get up there and let me ask you those questions?”

  Ah. That.

  He swallowed. Lied. “I didn’t know you were going to ask them.”

  “You knew. You knew.”

  “Yeah, I knew, though not because you told me!” he exploded, temper snapping. “What the hell, Sims?”

  Her eyes darted away, guilty, as she should be. “When we were feeding each other spicy tuna rolls you couldn’t find two seconds to say, by the way, I know about Shayna and Mike and the cover-up?”

  “It’s not a cover-up, not officially,” she said quietly. “We did our homework. There’s no way anyone can press charges against you or your father, or your brothers for colluding.”

  “Oh, well, that’s nice, Sims, thanks for that,” he said sarcastically. “That makes me feel so much better about the fact that I fucked up and people died.”

  “You didn’t fuck up,” she said quickly. “I tried to make that clear by the end of the interview that there was nothing you did wrong.”

  “But you certainly planted the seed, didn’t you? Had to make sure everyone knows a little girl and another cop died on America’s Hero’s watch.”

  “You’re twisting my words.”

  “Yeah, Sims, you’re the victim here,” he said, swearing and moving toward the kitchen, needing space from her.

  “Luca—”

  The sound of his name on her lips ripped at him, and he closed his eyes. She moved up behind him.