by BK Rivers
Except, I wasn’t at my place, and I’ve been trying to change the way I live my life. I’ve done those random hookups way too many times. I don’t want to be that girl who brings just any guy home anymore. Or who hooks up in the guy’s car because she has a roommate who has a kid.
And so I said good night to Ace, and we parted ways. Never in a million years did I ever think I’d run into him again, let alone be living in a house he owns.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to fight the blush creeping up my neck.
Ace glances around the bookstore, taking in the upper loft with its iron railing and oak bookcases. When his gaze settles back on me, I see hesitation and confusion drawn on his brow.
“Truthfully,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I really don’t know why I’m here. I was on my lunch break and in the area. I guess I kind of just ended up here.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his navy blue uniform pants that cling to his thighs, highlighting the strength in them.
“Do you like to read?” I ask, and immediately want to slap my palm to my forehead. Do you like to read? What kind of conversation starter is that? “I mean, this is a bookstore after all. Maybe I could recommend something to you?”
Ace raises a brow as his lips narrow into a half smile. His icy blue eyes hold a glimmer of a sparkle and I take it as a challenge. “A book? Sure…I could read something.”
“Any particular genre?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Surprise me,” he says with a faint grin.
Yes, Mr. Officer, I accept this challenge. He follows me through the store as I make my way back to the romance section. I turn before we get to the shelves and stop; Ace nearly collides with my chest.
“Whatever I pick, you have to promise to buy,” I say, raising my brow as I place the challenge before him. He nods and opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a finger and continue. “You also have to promise to read it.”
“You’re not going to make me read some boring historical fiction book, are you?” he asks, and it’s a valid question since that’s currently where we are standing.
I shake my head and walk him two shelves over, scan the titles, and pull out one of my favorite romance books. It’s about a girl who gets her heart broken by her boyfriend and then moves in with a neighbor temporarily and ends up falling in love with him. But the twist is she doesn’t know the roommate is deaf until after she moves in because he plays the most beautiful music on his guitar. It’s one of those books that, sure, it has romance in it, but it also makes your heart swell and your knees weak.
“What are we doing in the romance section? That’s just as bad as historical fiction,” he says, tugging on his left ear. “I don’t want to read that crap.”
I pull the book from the shelf and hold it against his firm chest. “This,” I say, patting his shoulder. Okay, maybe it was more of my hand slipping down his bicep to his elbow. Holy muscles under that navy blue uniform! I clear my throat and finish my thought. “This book is not crap. It’s beautiful.”
Ace turns the book around, reads the title, and groans, tilting his head back. “What kind of book title is Maybe Someday anyway? God, I’m going to turn into a chick, aren’t I?”
Laughing, I pull him by the elbow up to the counter where he regretfully pays. He leaves with the promise that he will actually read the book and then he’ll call or text me to discuss it. I can’t hide the girly giggle escaping my throat as he walks out the door. Julia walks in just as Ace walks out and she gives me a quizzical look through her glasses. She scurries up to the counter, her lips pinched together.
“Is everything okay?” she asks in a rush. She glances around the store and returns her gaze to me. “I saw that cop leaving, did something happen?”
“Relax, Julia. That was my friend Ace. He came in to see me and ended up buying a book.” The smile on my lips keeps growing and I don’t want to do a darn thing about it. I like that he put it on my face.
She visibly relaxes, her shoulder dropping and lips stretching out into her typical pleasant grin.
“Okay, that’s…good, then. Did you eat while I was gone?” she asks, stepping around me to settle behind the counter. I shake my head and she continues. “Well, I can handle things here if you want to take your lunch break.”
I pull my purse from underneath the counter, tell her thanks, and head out the door. I shoot off a text to Ace telling him not to let me down, and then while I’m at it, send one to Reggie asking if we could talk when she had some time. I ate my lunch alone without a response from either.
Chapter 12
Ace
I spent the weekend reading that damn book Stacey made me buy and two things happened. The first is I realized being around her makes me feel something other than pain. Guilt settles in a little later when I have time to think, but not feeling hurt and angry is…nice. The second one is I found out I actually enjoyed reading that book. So as I sit here at 9:30 p.m. on Sunday night, I find myself sending her a text stating as much.
Me: Okay, so you were right about the book.
She doesn’t need to know exactly how much I liked it, but enough to know it wasn’t terrible like I’d assumed it would be. A few minutes pass with no response so I decide to grab a quick shower and wash the day off me. Being a police officer is extremely rewarding, and when paired with riding around in my patrol car with Duke, it’s even better. He and I make a great team.
The warm water soothes the tight muscles in my back and for a fleeting moment I let my mind wander. Showing up at the bookstore where she worked wasn’t something I’d planned. Honestly, during my lunch break, it was like the car had a mind of its own. Like it was suddenly on autopilot, headed straight for Stacey, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. When I walked inside and saw her dancing uninhibitedly to whatever song was on the radio, I wanted so badly to take her in my arms, pull her face to mine, and kiss her until she begged me to strip off her leggings and take her behind the counter. She brings out something primal in me—a hunger—I haven’t felt…in a very long time. If ever.
My relationship with Marley was great. We were high school sweethearts and horny as hell. She could turn me on with just a passing glance. I loved her fiercely and I loved her hard. The hunger I feel toward Stacey is animalistic. I almost feel like a predator laying claim to my next meal, and if I weren’t so wrapped up in the guilt dragging me down, I’d eat Stacey for breakfast.
And lunch and dinner.
But none of that matters because my will power is holding fast. I won’t be tempted. I won’t be swayed. But hell if I won’t take care of Mr. Willy here in the shower.
Fifteen minutes later, shower over and slightly more relaxed, I dry off, toss the towel over the shower rod, and head to bed. Duke whines from his kennel, asking for a quick scratch behind the ear, which I indulge him in. In fact, a little romp around the room and a quick game of tug-o-war is in order. He snarls with his teeth clamped on his end of the rope and jerks back until a ping from my cell makes me lose my grip.
Like a teenager, I spring across the bed and snatch my phone off the nightstand. Pressing the center button, the screen lights up, revealing a text from Stacey.
Stacey: I told you so! Now call me to discuss.
I glance over to Duke, who is lying on the floor with the rope dangling over his front paws and his big brown eyes gazing up at me longingly.
“Do I call her back, boy, or just send her a text?” After receiving no reply from my dog, I take a deep breath and call her. What will it hurt to talk to her about a book? It’s not like we can’t be friends. So I do maybe the third most idiotic thing since meeting her.
I call.
“I wasn’t sure if you were going to call,” she says when she answers.
I take a deep breath and slowly let it out, hoping to calm my racing heart.
“I wasn’t sure either.” There. The truth. It’s always best to lead with it regardless of the situation. “But if you start telling me how d
reamy the deaf guy is, I’m hanging up.” Her laugh could revive a sleepy room with its tender sound and comforting warmth. For the better part of an hour we talk about the book, and as we dive deeper into it, I admit I actually was a little angry with the guy for staying with his girlfriend out of guilt. But as Stacey and I spoke more, I wondered if maybe she knows more about me than she’s let on. I’m still holding on to my wife and she’s dead. Could Stacey know about what happened? Or why I am who I am today?
“So you see, it’s possible to love two people, but in different ways,” she says, bringing me back to the present. I really have no idea what she was talking about, but my comfort level has diminished significantly. I won’t do love…ever again. Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll do like. That in and of itself is dangerous.
“Hey, my dog needs to go out. I’d better get going.”
“Oh,” she says quietly. I feel her disappointment tugging at my chest. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
My cheeks puff out as I release a breath and my hand tugs at the back of my neck. “Yeah. I’m a K-9 Officer. But he’s more like family than my partner.” My hands are beginning to twitch from the need to hang up the phone.
“That’s nice. I’d love to meet him,” Stacey says, the pitch of her voice climbing higher in tone. She’s looking for an invite or something, and, sadly, she’s not going to get one.
“Yeah, maybe someday. But right now, I’ve got to go and take him outside. I’ll talk to you later.” Before she can object or keep me talking longer, I tap the end call icon, silence my phone, and lay it facedown on the nightstand. Because I don’t like to lie, I throw on a pair of boxer briefs and a white t-shirt and take Duke outside. Of course he does his business like the good dog he is and then scoops up a ragged tennis ball from near a tree, bringing it straight to my hand. I rub the scruff at his neck, sit on the back steps, and throw the ball at least a dozen times.
Thirty-seven. Thirty-seven is the number of times I thought about Stacey over the next three days. Sometimes it was the joyous sound of her laughter. Others it was her creamy white skin and soft shoulders I still wanted to nibble on. But like right now, right now as her name pops up on my caller ID at 7:30 a.m., all I can think about is how fast my heart is beating in my chest.
I’ve spent years honing my body, training it to respond how I need it to, especially in the line of duty. Why the hell can’t I stop it from reacting like a hormonal teenager whenever she’s involved?
“Hello?” My hand is on the door of my police SUV, Duke’s in the rear, secured, and I need to get to work.
“Ace,” Stacey pants, sending inappropriate thoughts straight to Mr. Willy. My hand fists around the door handle, pulls open the door, and I slip inside. “The garage door won’t open and I need to get to work.” She’s in full panic mode now, her voice an octave higher than normal.
“I need to get to work too, sweetheart.” Shit. I didn’t mean for it to sound clipped and irritated, nor did I intend to call her sweetheart.
“I’m working alone today,” she pleads; my resolve is fading. “Could you please come fix it?”
I slam my hand down on the steering wheel, fire up the SUV, and pull out of Ethan’s driveway like I’m running from Hell. The house is only about a ten-minute drive from here, but I’ll be late to work now.
“Fine. I’ll be there in ten minutes. But I don’t have time to fix it; you’re going to have to settle for me driving you to work.”
“Okay, that’s—”
I hang up before she finishes, call the captain, and let him know I’ll be late, and then, because I’m a freaking police officer, obey all the posted signs and stop lights between Ethan’s house and hers.
Stacey’s sitting on the front porch steps when I pull up to the curb in front of the house. Her hair is twisted into a messy bun on the top of her head, the dark jeans she’s wearing draw my eye to her long legs, making me think about how they’d feel wrapped around me. Dammit! She jogs up to the passenger side of the SUV, climbs inside, and immediately the scent of peaches and lilies swirls around me.
She buckles up, turns to me with a giant grin on her face, and says, “Thank you so much for doing this.” I grit my teeth and pull away from the curb while I try to ignore the way her perfume makes me want to lean across the center console and lick her neck to see if she tastes anything like she smells. “So, I think I locked the keys to the house inside.”
My foot slips off the gas and stomps on the brake pedal, lurching her forward in the seat. Duke whines in the back from losing his balance.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I ask, breathing hard through my nose. Thank God we’re at a stop sign with no one behind us because I can’t physically remove my foot from the brake pedal at the moment.
Stacey’s jaw falls open, then snaps shut as her eyes narrow in confusion. “You’re the one who slammed on the brakes, not me. Shouldn’t it be me yelling at you?” She leans back in the seat, folds her arms across her chest, and rolls her eyes.
“Sorry,” I mumble, then proceed through the stop sign. “I have a spare key you can borrow when I drop you off after work tonight.”
“Fine,” she says, turning her gaze to the passenger window. That suits me just fine…silence and the occasional sigh.
I really hate the occasional sigh.
Chapter 13
Stacey
I don’t know what’s worse, pissing off Ace or not knowing what I did to anger him. Either way, he’s mad—I guess—and won’t answer my texts asking if he wants me to pick out another book for him. It’s not that I really want to pick out another book, but he’s really the only person I know in Warner and consider a friend. He’s been avoiding me for ten days and it sucks.
After a long day at work, the last thing I expected to come home to is a woman wearing a knee-length floral skirt and a soft pink sweater standing on the front porch, holding some sort of casserole dish. She’s around my age, maybe, with a fringy blond bob, eyes the color of ivy, and a hesitant smile.
“I’m Lucy,” she says, walking to meet me near the driveway. “I’d wave but…” She glances down at the foil-covered glass pan and then expectantly back at me.
“Stacey. And you have your hands full.”
“My mother always says you should bring a new neighbor some food after they move in, and since it’s been a while, I thought maybe you’d be out of casseroles from neighbors and I’d bring you over one of hers.” Her hands are covered in lilac-colored oven mitts, and when I move to accept the dish, she pulls it back. “It’s super hot, and Mom would kill me if you burned yourself.”
“Your mom made this?” We step inside the house, Lucy following me through to the kitchen. Thank goodness I had the sense to clean the dishes last night before bed.
“I can’t cook to save my life,” she admits, setting the casserole on the counter on top of the trivet I pulled out of a drawer. “Mother tells me no man will ever want to marry me if I don’t know how to cook.” We both laugh and fall into easy conversation as she joins me to eat the chicken and noodle casserole. It’s amazing and I help myself to a second portion.
Turns out Lucy is a year younger than I am, single—since she can’t cook, apparently—and teaches third grade at a nearby elementary school. She’s easygoing and I think I’ve made my first girl friend here in Warner. Inside, my inner fourteen-year-old self is doing an awkward happy dance because I really needed this.
“I’m so glad you came over today,” I say while gathering our plates. “I could really use a single friend right now.”
“Can I see the house? I’ve been dying to look around since it came up for rent.” Lucy stands, straightens the hem of her floral skirt that looks like it belongs in the 1950s, and stares, wide-eyed, at me.
“Sure, I guess. I’m still not quite unpacked. So if you don’t mind the occasional mess, I’ll start the tour.”
“Mother says the man who used to live here lost his wife about five years ago,” she says, and
it sends chills down my arms, like a breath of frozen air has settled around me, puckering my skin in goose bumps. As we tour the house, Lucy peers into each room and when she sees an empty bedroom upstairs, a goofy grin works its way onto her oval face.
“This house is amazing. I wish Mother would let me move out, then you and I could be roommates.” Actually, that would be pretty nice, rooming with someone again.
“Maybe Ace would let you move in. I’ll ask him the next time we speak,” I say, crossing my fingers he says yes. I’m not making a whole lot at the bookstore, and adding someone else to pay for rent would more than make me feel comfortable.
Lucy’s eyes fall, like she’s been given terrible news. “I really don’t think Mother would allow it.”
A bark of a laugh slips from my mouth but I cut it short when her eyes narrow—she’s being totally serious.
“Lucy, you’re twenty-six years old. I’m pretty sure you can move out if you want to.”
She shakes her head, clasps her hands together at her waist, and then slowly descends the stairs. “You don’t know my mother, she can be…very persuasive.”
Before she opens the front door to leave, I grab her elbow and pull her around to face me. I let go when I see the telltale signs of tears.
“Do you want to move out? Because if you do, I can help you. No one should feel trapped, even if it’s their own mother doing the smothering.”
Lucy sniffs, blinks away the tears on her bottom eyelashes, and smiles sweetly. “I would like that very much,” she says, and then slips out the door. She scurries, like a little mouse, down the walkway to the sidewalk and then quickly walks down the street toward her mother’s house. As much as I loved the casserole that woman made, I’m not sure she’s a person I ever want to meet. Not only does she seem to know about some history with this house, but who doesn’t let their grown daughter move out if she wants?
