by Tigris Eden
“Calm down, Dali girl. It’s just the captain, and he’s so not my type.”
“You act like the dog understands you.” This comes from Tammy, the hottie in the biker gear.
“Oh, she does. She was one of the smartest dogs in the S.E.E.K. program. Without her, there would be no ATF career for me. I’m basically just her handler. She does all the work.”
“How did the two of you become a team?” Another woman I’m not familiar with says this, but if she was invited for chili, chances are she’s good people.
“Dali and I go way back. She basically saved my life. I was harassed by a group of drunk college students when I was in school myself. Out late, partying it up…you know, wrong place, wrong time. Well, they cornered me, and there she was. She was a little thing at the time, but you’d never know it by her heroic barking. She was loud enough that a passerby heard her and came to find out what all the ruckus was. Turned out, he was campus police.”
“Wow.”
Nicklaus, who still has a hold of my hand, squeezes me gently. It isn’t much, but the idea that he cares is certainly conveyed by that one action. I swear I’m not a girly girl. I’m all about rubbing dirt on my aches and salt in my wounds, but that small gesture from him means so much in that moment, I think I get a little teary-eyed.
He lets go of my hand to pull me into his side, and against my ear, he whispers, “Dali is my new best friend.”
I can’t say anything. My heart is beating entirely too fast due to our intimate moment. We haven’t even had the ‘talk’ yet. But somehow, the two of us together just makes sense. No one at the station says a word about the exchange or his PDA with me. It’s like we’ve been a couple for years. We eat, we drink beer, we talk. Dali stays with us the entire time. Nicklaus even pulls me into his lap as he talks shop with some of the guys. And what do I do? I soak that shit up, enjoying every minute of it.
Chapter 3
I don’t want to leave the station. I am afraid the night with Nicklaus is over, but he quickly puts my mind to rest when he walks me over to my car and asks to follow me home. I can’t say no. How can I? I want to hear him out, and maybe pick up where we left off three years ago. I turn a thirty-minute drive into a fifteen-minute one. The lights at Thomas’s place are out, but my front porch light is on. The sun has just started to go down, so it isn’t that late.
Klaus parks his bike behind my car and is at my door, helping me to get out. He even walks around and unbuckles Dali from her seat in the front. Again, she seems to be really enamored with him, and I can’t fault her. He is definitely someone people want to be around.
“You go unlock the door, Jada, I’ll go grab your pot out of the back.”
“Okay,” I whisper, sounding like some helpless female twit from one of those girly shows. Me, Jada Alexander, independent woman extraordinaire, is playing the helpless female. I stealthily unlock my front door, trying my best not to disturb Poe. My cat has an uncanny way of greeting strangers. Especially men. He will literally hiss and spray. Yes, hiss and spray. Like he’s marking his territory, telling any male who dares to come within one inch of me to back off.
But this time when I open the door, there is no black male cat to greet me. It’s as if the house is empty. Dali saunters past me and goes straight for her food bowl. I set my keys on the counter and thank the mighty cleaning gods that I actually cleaned my house. Klaus walks in and takes in all that is my farmhouse. I pray he likes it. Most people don’t get me. Okay, correction, nobody gets me. I’m not your average bear. Like seriously, my house is the exact opposite of what a farmhouse should look like.
I know what you’re thinking. Exactly what is a farmhouse supposed to look like, right? Well, the décor should be country and welcoming. But I have a replica of Bumblebee in the entrance to my house. Not the exact specifications, of course, but damn near close. Klaus takes it in and whistles low under his breath.
“Well, that’s not something you see every day.”
I laugh it off with a somewhat un-lady-like snort. If the man can’t get down with Bumblebee, then he doesn’t need to be here. Wrong. Warning bells go off in my head as I play back the better part of our make-out session from what seems like forever ago. The man can kiss. He is made for kissing, and if memory serves, and boy does it ever, I was two seconds away from having my way with him until that nasty ring reared its ugly head. He said we’d talk about it, and now is as good a time as any. This can’t go any further until I hear his explanation.
“You said we’d talk about the ring.”
“I did, didn’t I,” he says, thoughtfully. “Where would you like to talk?”
My brain screams bedroom, floor, shower, couch, in front of the couch, outside on the back deck, anywhere this man wants to go that leads to us being horizontal, I am okay with. My body is all too on board with that plan. But I rein in my inner temptress. I could say “slut,” but who am I kidding. I don’t get down like that. Never have and never will. Klaus gets this heated look in his eyes before rubbing his hand down his face.
“Don’t stare at me like that. I really want to talk. When you look at me like you want to consume me, all the blood rushes from my head to my cock.”
The nerves in my stomach are now all aflutter with lust.
I look down.
Yep, blood is swinging south all right, and dude, I’m so not ready for this.
“Let’s go into the kitchen. I’ll make us some coffee and serve up some pie. How does that sound?”
“Conducive to a conversation that I hope you’re able to take in.”
Why would he hope?
This can’t be good. I’m about to panic, but Klaus places a hand on my waist and turns me toward him.
“Everything is going to be all right, Jada. I know it.”
He kisses the tip of my nose, and I almost melt. From a kiss…on the nose. Whoa. On shaky legs, I make my way over to the kitchen. Which, by the way, is decked out in DC gear. I was originally going to go with the whole Nightmare before Christmas theme, but my guest bathroom downstairs already boasts some spiffy Skellington decor. I’m surprised he doesn’t mention my decorative style or criticize me. He just seems to be taking it all in.
I put on coffee and set the apple pie out on the counter. Klaus is eyeing my kitchen with a smile on his face. When the coffee is served, and the apple pie is piled high on our plates, I sit across from him at the table. He doesn’t say much at first. Just stares. His beautiful gaze roams over my face, and although I don’t know what he’s thinking, my body is hearing whatever telepathic commands he’s throwing out. I watch as his eyes drop to my lips, then move up again to my eyes.
“I really want to kiss you right now,” he says, his voice deep and heavily accented. Still there, and still just as sexy as the first time I heard him speak.
“Well, I would agree with you, but you said we should talk, and as much as I want to be kissed by you, I need to know what the deal is with your marriage and why you didn’t tell me the first time we met.”
Klaus clears his throat.
“My wife and son died almost five years ago,” he says slowly. His eyes are filled with true pain. He’s reliving the exact moment he lost them. The agony, clear on his face, pierces me deeply. I want to say something but don’t get the chance because he keeps talking. “It took me a while to get over the fact that they were gone. I was in the car with them when it happened. I survived. They didn’t. Went through a year of rehab. Had to learn to walk again. Severe spinal damage. They thought for sure I’d be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” I whisper as tears clog my throat.
“It wasn’t your fault. I know most people think the appropriate response to that is ‘sorry.’ But no one can be sorry. Only me. I’m the one who’s sorry.” Klaus clears his throat. I know his words are stuck. I can tell he’s deeply affected.
How am I supposed to even respond to that? The whole “I’m sorry” is an automatic respon
se to someone’s pain. Most people would have accepted the apology, but not Klaus.
“I don’t know what it feels like to lose someone you love, but I’ve seen a lot of death in the last couple of years. I’ve talked to families and watched as their whole world was turned upside down. All I can do is offer my condolences.”
Klaus nods his head before continuing on.
“Anyway, the night we met, I was passing through. Stopping off to visit my wife’s parents. She was from Sulphur.” His gaze catches mine as a pit opens up in my stomach. Sulphur isn’t big, but it isn’t small either. Everyone pretty much knows everyone, which is why I want to throw up now. He’s talking about Amelia. Amelia Ingels. My and Caroline’s best friend, Amelia. We’d grown up together, said we’d get married and have babies all at the same time, and live on the same street. I hadn’t been able to make the funeral. My flight was delayed. I’d sat inside of JFK, bawling my eyes out at the injustice of it all. And her son, little Nico. I’d seen pictures of her beautiful boy. Why couldn’t I remember ever seeing Nicklaus?
“You knew my wife. She talked about you all the time.”
This was wrong.
On so many levels, wrong.
Like junior high and high school wrong, when girls swapped boyfriends, and they’d all be in the same social circle, wrong. I can’t do this. I can’t get boned, or hell, even think about being boned, by my dead best friend’s widowed husband. No. No. And hell no!
I put a spoonful of pie in my mouth to try and combat the dread in the pit of my stomach. I look over at Klaus. He’s watching me closely. Waiting to see my reaction, I’m sure. But what the hell can I say to him? “Sorry you lost your wife and son, but you gotta go. Get to stepping. Kick rocks, dirt, gravel, whatever the hell my road is paved with.” Like that will work. I could tell him to take his sexy ass off my property and never darken my doorstep again. But what kind of person would I be? Obviously, he doesn’t understand the severity of this situation.
“Um.” I clear my throat and try again. “Um, Klaus. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. I can tell by the look in your eyes. You’re shocked, but Amelia told me all about you. And before she left me, she wanted me to find you, seek you out.”
“What? Why?”
“Because she said the only other woman who would be as good to me as she was would be you.”
Mic drop.
He did not just drop that bomb at my fucking feet.
Holy hell on a wet Sunday. How does one even respond to something like that?
My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth because I don’t know what to fucking say to that. Amelia was always a bit wacky, but this, she went way too far with this shit.
“Look, Klaus, I don’t know what Amelia may or may not have said about me, but I can assure you, she was joking. Seriously, Amelia would never want me for you. Not in a million years.”
His face contorts with what looks like anger. Why is he mad at me? I’m not the one trying to hook up with my dead wife’s best friend.
“You’re wrong. She may have been dying when she said it, but that doesn’t change the fact that she did. I didn’t plan to seek you out. Hell, it took me an entire year to even work up the courage to go to Sulphur, and even then, I didn’t plan to run into you. But I did, and, well, things changed.”
“Dude, we haven’t seen each other in three years.”
“So?”
“So! So?! Are you out of your mind? We can’t hook up. Not now. Not ever. Friends. That, I’ll agree to, but hooking up? No. And as much as it pains me to say it,”—I shake my head furiously—“heck no.”
His eyes darken to a deeper shade of blue. Just moments ago, they were light. Damn blue-eyed hottie.
“You say you just want to be friends, yes?”
“Yes.” I nod vehemently.
Nicklaus chuckles to himself before straightening his face.
“Friends it is then, Jada Alexander.”
“Friends it is.”
Nicklaus stands and rounds the table and pulls me in for what can only be called an awkward hug. He doesn’t say another word as he heads out my front door. Not one single word. But I have this funny feeling that the topic of our friendship, or non-romantic relationship, is not off the table. My Spidey-senses are tingling. I can’t put my finger on it, but some major shit is about to go down.
Chapter 4
My alarm goes off to the tune of Kid Cudi’s, Immortal. It’s Sunday, or is it Saturday? I don’t remember which. I stayed up late, like super late, thinking about all Klaus had said. I need to talk to Caroline, but sometimes, she just doesn’t understand. I can hear her saying, “Well, if Amelia said it was okay, bang him like you need him every day of the week.” Yeah, that pretty much sums up my very relaxed and open friend.
Dali is at the foot of the bed, and Poe is sitting in the chair next to the window. His bright green eyes tell me I should have been up at least an hour ago to feed him. Dali, as always, is happy to sleep in. My fur babies have separate schedules, and their own set of rules they expect me to adhere to. Gotta love the kids.
“All right, Poe, what’s it gonna be, chicken or beef?” I ask.
Meow.
“Chicken it is, then.”
That’s what he said. Chicken. Meow meant chicken. If I got a purr, that would be beef. I know my children. I pull myself out of bed and make my way into the kitchen. Poe is following close behind and not like your normal cat would. I had ledges installed in the house. Some of them are high, others are low. There are even tunnels linking the rooms together, and before you knock it and call me crazy, don’t. Cats are natural predators. They need to feel like they’re stalking their food, or spying on their would-be human masters. I wasn’t about to let my cat feel like he was totally domesticated. So I had the house cat-pimped. Poe follows me on one of the higher ledges, the pitter-patter of his feet is almost silent. He hasn’t quite mastered his stealth yet, but I’m not giving up hope.
When I reach the pantry and grab the chicken, I turn to find Poe waiting for me on top of the island. Okay, maybe he’s moved it up a notch in his stealth tactics. Before I can even open the can of cat food, there is a knock on my door. Thomas is off on Sundays, so who could that be?
“Be right back, gotta go see who’s at the door,” I tell my cat.
When I reach the entry, I look through the peephole, and who is it? Why, it’s the bane of my sexual frustration. Yes, frustrated, because I got off not once but twice last night with just my hand. That’s like never happened before. I usually need my B.O.B. for that kind of work, but, oh, hell no. A good imagination will take you a long way, and I have one hell of an imagination. I look down. I know my hair is a mess, and I’m wearing bikini panties and a Pac-man tee shirt. Fuck a duck.
Yanking open my front door, I glare at Klaus.
“What are you doing here?” I ask angrily.
He eyes me from head to toe. The movement is slow, sensual, and makes heat rise in my cheeks. Dear God in heaven, but why is this man looking at me like this? It’s too early for this, but I suddenly realize why he’s staring so hard. Shit. Shit. Shit. Did someone order dork a la range? Because, seriously, life can’t get any crazier than it already is. I’m practically naked. I knew what I was wearing, and instead of putting on clothes before I answered, I flung the door wide open like a crazy person. You should have put clothes on. I should have, but I didn’t. What does that say about me? That you’re deliberately trying to bait and hook you a man. If I had the remote control from Click, I’d seriously be redoing this moment. Played it better. More level-headed. But it’s too late for that now.
“Good morning to you to, friend,” Klaus says with laughter in his eyes. He doesn’t even ask permission to come in, he just shoulders past me, and he’s holding coffee. From effin Raldi’s. And why the fuck do I even care? How does he even know I’d kill a bitch for Raldi’s coffee? Then I remember. Fucking Kole. He’s the only one who knows about
my secret love of Raldi’s. He must have put Klaus up on his game. Traitor. Now you’re trying to help a brother out by giving him the deets on me. Oh, we’ll just have to see about that.
“You can’t be here. It’s early, like way early.”
Klaus looks over at me from the living room and shrugs.
“Put some clothes on, friend, unless when you said we could be friends, you meant some other kind of friend. Like the kind with benefits.”
His voice, it does it for me every time, and how freaking sick is that?
Put a lid on it, Alexander, that’s Amelia’s man.
Right.
Dead best friend’s husband. I have to remember that.
I stomp into my room, grab a pair of sweats, and scratch Dali’s belly.
“Come on, girl, if I have to get up, so do you. Besides, there’s a man in the house.”
At that, Dali’s ears perk up. See, I knew my dog had my back. Poe would jump on board too, especially since Klaus interrupted his breakfast. I make my way to the front of the house and I can hear Klaus’s deep, accented voice rumbling through my kitchen. What’s he doing in my kitchen? When I round the corner, I stop dead in my tracks. Klaus is feeding my cat.
Let me repeat that.
Klaus is feeding my cat.
As in Poe.
Poe.
Who doesn’t like anyone, like anyone at all. Especially another male.
What planet am I on? And why is my cat loving the hell out of Mr. Intruder?
I clear my throat, and Klaus turns around with a smug grin on his face. Oh, how I want to wipe that grin off your face with my lips. What!? No!
“You’re getting pretty cozy there with my cat, Klaus,” I say, crossing my arms. His eyes go dark for a moment as he zeroes in on my chest.
“Pussies love me, what can I say?” There’s that devil of a smile again. He’s teasing me, and I’m doing my best not to fall for it.
