by Amy Andrews
“Holy shit.” Drew thumped the bar as he let out a huge belly laugh. “You had to tell her what BDE was?”
“Yup.” Tucker nodded. “Among other things.”
Arlo shuddered. “Better you than me, man. Thanks.”
Tucker gave a dismissive shrug. “Sure.”
“And thanks for agreeing to be her wingman with the whole Tinder thing. I feel better knowing you’re helping her out. In fact…” Arlo put down his beer and eyed Tucker speculatively. “What are the chances you can get every second Friday off from here and go with her to Denver?”
Oh man. Tucker stared at Arlo. This was not good. “Well…I own the place, so I can get off whenever I want, but…” He did not want to do this.
“Please, dude. I’d owe you big time.”
Tucker was pretty sure Arlo would not be saying that if he knew the secret desires Tucker was harboring for Della.
Sure, on the spectrum of people Della could date, with Tinder dudes on one end and Tucker on the other—he should come out smelling like roses. Hell, he and Arlo had been lifelong friends. Arlo knew Tucker. He knew Tucker was a good guy who treated women with respect.
But he wasn’t exactly rational where Della was concerned.
Tucker and Drew were two of the few men Arlo had trusted implicitly with Della the past three years, and Tucker couldn’t help but think Arlo might see any admission of feelings as a violation of that trust.
“Damn.” Drew whistled. “He’s using his manners and everything. Reckon you could probably get that signed Yankees bat if you wanted to fuck with him a little.”
Arlo flipped Drew the bird. “I don’t have the nerve for it,” he admitted, addressing Tucker. “I’d want to go all cop on her date’s ass, and she’ll be pissed at me. Hell, I’ll be pissed at me. You’re better at that kind of thing.”
“At what?”
“At being hands-off.”
Yeah. Except he was starting to realize he didn’t want to be hands-off, so the less forced proximity, the better.
“Plus, you and her have a good rapport,” Arlo continued. “She likes you.”
Yeah. Della liked him. They had a rapport. She looked at him as a friend. As someone who could teach her to drive and pour her drinks. Not as a man. Not as someone who could be hands-on. Just some gender-neutral sounding board. Which was a good thing.
But depressing as fuck.
“And I’ll know she’s safe.”
Sure, he’d keep Della safe from the dickheads of the dating world. But who would keep him safe from Della?
“C’mon man, I’m trying real hard to step back here, but it ain’t easy.”
Tucker sighed at the desperation in Arlo’s voice. He really was trying hard, and Tucker knew that was difficult. Arlo Pike didn’t do passive very well. But Della deserved to have this time, to enjoy herself a little, to explore everything life had to offer. And if that meant he became some kind of human buffer zone between Arlo’s need to protect and Della’s need to explore, then so be it.
More than anything, he just wanted her to be happy.
“Fine,” he said on an exhalation. “If she’s okay with it.”
Arlo stood with a grin, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving him a shake. “You’re her wingman, dude, why wouldn’t she be okay with it?”
Because Della was smart, and sooner or later she was going to see right through him, see the things he’d tried to keep hidden, and she’d probably run screaming in the other direction.
Chapter Five
Ten days later, Della was excited to be, once again, heading to Denver. It was a gorgeous Friday morning—March had brought some spectacular weather, and she felt as if she could conquer the world. And not just because of her date tonight, but because she was sitting in the driver’s seat.
She was driving into Denver.
Better still, Tucker had made the suggestion. He’d told her she was doing well and that she was ready for her next challenge—city driving.
“How long do you think I’m going to need before I can go for my full license?” she asked as they passed by Frieda’s. The embarrassment from their conversation last time they’d passed by was surprisingly fresh, and she was desperate to ignore the store’s presence this time around.
As much as a giant rotating condom could be ignored.
“Let’s see how you’re feeling about your skills when we next come to Denver. You’ve got a lesson booked this afternoon and another in the morning, which is great, but I think we should do some night driving at some point. And it’d be good if you could go out in the rain as well at least once. See how different it is to drive in slippery conditions and poor visibility. There’s some forecast for next week.”
Della nodded, noting with relief Frieda’s giant Trojan getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “You think I could maybe take the practical test in two weeks’ time?”
“Maybe.”
“I thought you’d make me wait longer.” She’d thought Arlo would be in his ear about her taking it slow.
He shrugged. “You’re a good driver. Careful and considerate of other road users. That’s better than about seventy-five percent of drivers out there.”
“Really?” She grinned. “I’m a good driver?”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”
Too late. Della beamed at him, and even though he wasn’t looking at her, he said, “Eyes front.”
Della returned her attention to the road, suppressing the urge to bounce in her seat. The sense of freedom she felt behind this wheel was infectious. “Will you help me choose a car?”
“I think maybe Arlo might like to help you with that.”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Della conceded Tucker’s point. “Good idea.” Arlo would be thrilled to be asked, and no one was going to sell a lemon to the sister of a police chief.
They chatted about car types for a while, Della picking Tucker’s brain about every make and model on the market, naturally assuming he’d just know this information. Car talk turned to map talk, which turned to travel talk, and before she knew it she was telling Tucker about the book she was currently reading on London.
The traffic got heavier as they approached the outskirts of Denver, and their chatter fell away as Della gripped the steering wheel a little harder. “Oh boy,” she muttered under her breath as they came to their first traffic light.
“It’s fine.” Tucker shot her a smile. “You’re doing fine. The same road rules apply here as they do everywhere else.”
She nodded, trying to quell the surge of her pulse as it rattled through her temples.
“Relax.” He reached across and gave her arm a squeeze. “Take a breath.”
His hand fell away immediately, but his touch was like a match to a fuse, sparks traveling up her arm and igniting along every nerve cell in her body. Tucker rarely touched her. In fact, it was fair to say that he went out of his way not to touch her. She guessed that was because he didn’t want to do anything that might be a trigger.
But, thanks to familiarity and therapy, his touch wasn’t triggering. It was…electric.
A horn blasting dragged her out of her stupor. “Ignore him,” Tucker instructed. “Go at your own pace. Don’t let some douchebag pressure you into something before you’re ready.” Their gazes locked. “Always go at your own pace.”
Della didn’t think they were talking about driving now, but, with a second indignant horn blast, she eased off the clutch.
High on a great session with Selena and a driving lesson with a professional instructor, which she’d aced, Della was looking forward to her date. The one her wingman had helped her with by whittling down the losers, time wasters, and horndogs.
Tucker’s words.
She was sitting at the same Italian restaurant as last time because she knew it and t
he menu had looked excellent. Hopefully this time she’d actually find out if the food tasted as good as it smelled. Her date tonight was a guy called Bailey. He was also twenty-five, a trainee paramedic, a conscientious teeth flosser, and had three sisters.
According to Tucker, paramedic and flosser was a winning combo. Add in the sisters, and Bailey was kicking all kinds of goals. Plus, he had normal photos—no bathroom selfies, no boozy shots, no pictures of his car. And he’d been great to chat with the past week. Interesting and easygoing. He loved to cook, and his Instagram feed was full of his culinary creations, of which Tucker had enthusiastically approved, announcing he’d go out with Bailey.
“Della?”
Dragging her attention from the window and the guy sitting across the street, Della turned to find Bailey at the table. He was exactly as his pictures had proclaimed—not shorter—with fresh-faced looks and an open smile. She smiled as she stood to shake his hand. “Hi, Bailey. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“And you,” he said warmly, holding her hand for just the right amount of time. “You look great.”
“Thank you.”
Della glanced down at her attire as she sat. She was wearing the nice outfit again because, despite Tucker’s lukewarm response to it—which had continued tonight—she hadn’t seen the point in splurging on new clothes when Bailey hadn’t seen these. She had savings, but now that she was buying a car, she couldn’t fritter them away on a new outfit every time she went on a date.
And she liked the dress, so Tucker and his nice could go jump in the lake.
“What’s good here?” Bailey asked as he, too, sat and reached for a menu.
The night was a success. Bailey was a great conversationalist and an interesting human being. He spoke lovingly of his sisters and shared some funny anecdotes from being on the road as a paramedic. And when the prescribed two hours was up—something Tucker had suggested she put in place with Bailey prior to meeting him to signify that, for tonight, she was interested in a date only—and Della announced she was leaving, he didn’t try to detain her. He thanked her for a lovely evening and asked if they could go out to dinner again the next time she was in Denver.
Della had said yes because he ticked all the right boxes. Okay, there was zero spark when she looked at him. No thrilling little tug. But falling recklessly in love had been the ruin of her last time, so maybe there was something to be said for a slow burn?
A soccer game being played somewhere in Europe was on the wall-mounted televisions as Della entered the bar across the street. The low murmur of conversation and the smell of beer and curly fries greeted her as she headed toward Tucker, who was in the same spot as last time. He glanced at her and smiled, and the tug she felt was like a thousand vacuum cleaners sucking her in his direction.
Those big-ass industrial ones.
“Hey,” Tucker said as he pulled out the chair next to him.
Della shed her coat and bag, slinging them over the back of the chair. “Hey.”
The lighting near the window was subdued, falling softly over Tucker’s features, hugging the breadth of his shoulders and the width of his chest to perfection. The lights reflecting in from the street gave his whiskey eyes a mellow kind of glow. He was in his regulation clothes—Levi’s, T-shirt, and boots. The kind of gear she saw him in every single day, but he wore casual better than any man she’d ever met.
It was like God had made denim and cotton for Tucker Daniels alone.
“Two hours,” he murmured. “I’m assuming you don’t want any food this time?”
Della gave a half smile. “No.”
“You want a drink?”
“No.”
What Della wanted was to reach across and run her fingers along the scruff at his jawline and down his throat. Hell, she wanted to press her lips there and feel the spikiness of his whiskers, the thud of his pulse. She folded her hands in her lap.
“So?” His voice rumbled out from his just-parted lips. “Verdict?”
“It was good. Bailey’s…nice.”
“Nice is good.”
Yes. Nice was good. Nice was a far cry from her ex. What wasn’t nice was how much she wanted to kiss Tucker’s barely moving lips. “Like my dress.”
Tucker blinked at her reply, obviously surprised. As was she. She certainly hadn’t planned on letting that slip out.
“Umm…yes?”
She suppressed the urge to laugh at his clearly bewildered response. She could see the cogs in his brain turning, trying to figure out if he’d done something wrong.
“It is nice,” he reiterated.
Great. “Okay.”
More confusion crinkled his brow. “What?”
Della blew out a breath. Did she have to spell it out? “Nice is just about the blandest word in the dictionary, Tucker. It’s not the greatest compliment you can give a woman, you know? You might as well have said whatever.”
“Hang on, no. I didn’t mean that…”
“It’s fine, Tuck,” she dismissed irritably as he trailed off. “I look nice. Whatever.”
“No.” He shifted in his chair, half turning to face her. “You looked…you look…” He ran his eyes over her, and every skin cell sizzled beneath the hot sweep of his gaze. “Awesome.”
Della folded her arms. “Awesome?”
He tried again. “Cute? And…sweet?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Cute and sweet?” For the love of all that was holy… “Like a litter of kittens?”
Tucker rubbed his forehead. “Jesus, Della, what do you want from me?”
“What I need is a confidence boost. Something a bit more effusive than nice. Something that makes me feel like I might actually be attractive instead of just mildly interesting.”
He picked up his bottle of beer, which was half full, and took three long swallows.
Della laughed at his obvious desire to not be part of this conversation. “Wow, really? Am I that terrible to look at?”
He thunked his bottle down. “Goddamn it, Della.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, blasting her with a glare. “Don’t do that. Don’t put yourself down like that.”
She glared back. “Because you’re doing it so well?”
Now she needed a drink. Grabbing his beer, she tipped her head back and drank it all down.
“Fine,” he huffed. “You want a word, how about sexy?”
Della almost snorted. Sure. “It doesn’t count if I’ve had to drag it out of you.”
“Yeah well, too bad, because you in this dress is just about the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen. The fabric is like liquid moving around your body. It flutters around your knees and flows around your ass, and that dip at your cleavage shows nothing but waves a giant red flag anyway. And yes, the color makes your eyes an even more incredible blue. And with your hair down like that and your lips all shiny, I—”
Della blinked as his speech came to an abrupt stop and he looked out the window. She really, really wished he hadn’t stopped. “You what?” He’d been about to say something else, damn it. When he didn’t respond, Della pushed. “You what, Tucker?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
It did matter, but she let it go. “Is that true?”
“What?”
“What you just said?” She inspected his profile. “The…sexy stuff.”
He turned his head, his eyes locking with hers. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say that the first time?”
“Jesus, Della…” He broke their gaze to stare out the window. “We don’t have that kind of relationship.”
“What? The kind of relationship where I ask for your honest opinion and expect you to give it to me? I thought that was exactly the kind of relationship we had.”
“The kind of relationship that involves me saying the word sex
y to you.”
Oh for the love of…“Because of Arlo?”
“Yes.” He shot her a hot glare before he huffed out a breath. “No. Because I’m your friend and eleven years older than you, and it feels…I don’t know…weird and wrong. And…” He returned his attention to the window. “Dirty. And not the good kind.”
Della pressed her lips together to stifle the laugh building in her throat. Poor Tucker. Trying to walk a line between his role of best friend to Arlo and wingman to her and not rock any boats.
“There’s a good kind of dirty?” she asked with faux innocence.
Startled, he glanced at her, clearly alarmed that he’d given away some kind of secret, and Della burst out laughing. His expression changed to withering. “Very funny,” he said.
“Relax. I’ve read Winona’s books.” Obviously, that information was not reassuring, and Della laughed again. “They’ve been very informative.”
“Excellent. That’s…great.”
“You have no idea. I wish I’d been reading them in high school.” No way in hell would her father have allowed pornography in his house. Even though it wasn’t. The sex was graphic, but the stories were great. “I might have had higher expectations.”
An awkward silence followed, Tucker clearly uncomfortable. Anybody would think Della was trying to discuss the merits of different tampon brands. It was no surprise when he changed the subject. “So…is there going to be another date?”
Della took pity on him and followed his lead. “Yes. Next time I’m in Denver.”
“Okay, good.” He nodded, obviously pleased to be on firmer guy ground. “But you should also line up another date—maybe even a couple. Make the most of your Denver trips.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely. Why not multitask?” He shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta kiss a lot of frogs, et cetera, et cetera.”
Which is what she hadn’t done. Todd had been her first kiss. Her first everything. “You think I should be kissing these guys on the first date?” Damn it, she wished this stuff came to her naturally.
Tucker glanced out the window again, his ass shifting on the chair. Aaaand they were back to awkward. He cleared his throat. “That was just…metaphorical.”
