by Freya Barker
To my abject horror, amusement wins and Jake busts out laughing; his head thrown back and the strong column of his throat exposed. He looks beautiful like this, and I feel even more like a superior idiot.
“Rosie,” he starts hiccuping, and I wait for the next words to come but instead he dissolves into laughter again.
Irritated—with myself and with him—I launch myself off the couch, mumbling under my breath, “Fuck this, I need to pee.”
CHAPTER 19
JAKE
I admit, she scared the snot out of me when she made that reference to me going on my knees for her, and laughter felt like my only option. But damn...she makes me feel like a dirtbag when she beelines it out of here.
The moment the bathroom door slams shut; I get up and follow behind. I wait outside until I hear the toilet flush and try the door. It’s locked, so I knock softly.
“Rosie, let me in?”
“I’m peeing.” Her voice is muffled by the closed door.
“You just flushed,” I point out, grinning.
“I have to go again.”
The door would be easy to open with the end of a paperclip, but instead I back off and give her the space she clearly wants. I head to the kitchen to check on my chili, and start pulling out ingredients for my jalapeno cheese cornbread. By the time I hear the click of the bathroom lock, I have my oven hot and my batter ready to go in the loaf pan. I’m tempted to turn around when I hear her walk into the kitchen, but decide against it. I sense her moving closer to peek at what I’m up to. Sliding the cornbread in the oven, I set the timer for thirty-five minutes.
“Did they find the car?”
I turn to the sound of her voice. “Parked on university grounds,” I explain. “Radar just called to say the cops weren’t able to secure any evidence in the car to help find out who was behind the wheel, but they did find damage to its front end and the flecks of paint left behind appear to match your PT.”
“What about the license plate?”
“Nothing quite that easy, I’m afraid; the car was stolen in Glenwood and the plates at the Grand Junction airport, off a car left in long-term parking.”
“So how do you find him now?”
“Radar just looped me into a tape from a university security camera, showing the vehicle pull in to the parking lot, just after midnight, early Saturday morning. Then, just ten minutes later, you see a guy in a light ball cap walking out to the street. From the angle of the camera, you can only see the bottom half of his face, but we’ve got a good look at his clothes and can put together a better physical description now.”
I grab two beers from the fridge and hand one to Rosie, who takes a deep tug, doing her best to avoid my eyes. I’ll give her that play, but as soon as dinner is over, I plan to haul her into the bedroom and set her clear on what happened earlier.
While we wait for the cornbread to bake, she asks me questions about growing up without my parents and my service years. The first is easy enough; I’ve long since come to terms with the rough period I had in my teen years, before the Mazurs took me in. Whatever Mami and Tata Mazur didn’t knock out of me, the military did.
Talking about my tours in the Middle East is more challenging. Guilt still taints those experiences. Plus, some things I’ve done and seen, I’d rather not remember, let alone share with Rosie. Still, I share as much as I’m comfortable with, and she listens attentively, asking pointed, and at times, uncomfortably intuitive questions.
The simple, “Thank you for your service,” she expresses at the end, feels like a soothing balm. Almost like an absolution, for lack of a better term. It has impact, coming from someone who holds more pieces of me than even Dimas does.
The chili isn’t too spicy, but I make up for it with the cornbread, which holds enough kick to have Rosie dive into the fridge for another beer.
“Yikes, the bread is good, but it’s got a bite,” she admits after downing her drink. “I’m tasting something different in the chili, but I can’t quite place it. What is that? Almost a hint of sweetness.”
“Two tablespoons of pure cocoa powder.”
Her eyes grow big. “You put chocolate in your chili? I love chocolate, but I never would’ve thought to put it in chili.”
“The Mexicans put chocolate in their mole sauce, so why not their chili? Gives it a nice rich flavor.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” she says, shoving another spoonful in her mouth.
It pleases me she likes it. I’ve never given two shits about what I throw together, but I find I like cooking for her. Something very satisfying about feeding someone. I finally get why Mami was never happier than when she had her ‘boys’ around the dinner table.
Feeding someone is the most basic form of caring for that person, and there is no denying I care about Rosie. More than I planned for. More than I ever thought possible, in fact, although I’m not quite sure what to do with that. Yet.
Once our dishes are washed and the leftover dinner is stored in the fridge, Rosie heads for the couch. I manage to catch her by the hand, just before she sits down, and tug her behind me to the bedroom.
“Jake, what’s gotten into you?”
Silently I lead her toward the bed, pushing her gently so she falls backward onto the mattress, and I lower myself on top, pinning her down.
“We had plans, remember? But first we’ve got something to clear up.” The instant I mention that, Rosie shifts her eyes to the side, avoiding mine. “You overthink things,” I start, and I immediately have her eyes back, but they are sparking with defiance. “Hear me out. When a situation or a person makes you uncomfortable or unsure—like this afternoon—you don’t let it play out. You draw a conclusion based on your own assumptions and run with it, most of the time in the wrong direction. In this case, quite literally, straight to the bathroom.” She squirms underneath me, but I’m not about to let go of her, instead, I press a hard kiss to her lips. “You’re still working up things in that head of yours, thinking you know where this is going, but you don’t.” A dirty look is thrown at me. “Here’s the truth of what’s playing out inside me; you are a surprise, a very pleasant one I might add. One I wasn’t looking for, or ever expected, but here you are, and I don’t want to let go of you.”
“Oh. But I thought...”
“Sweet Rosie, get out of your head. If you’re not clear on what I’m thinking, ask and I promise I’ll tell you the truth. So far the truth is, you’re opening my mind to a whole lot of possibilities I would never have considered otherwise. Including, but not limited to, going down on a knee.” She blushes at that and I rub my nose along hers before continuing, “And for the record; you rambling is funny and cute.”
“Whatever. I babbled like a dweeb.”
“A very funny, cute dweeb. Now, what about those plans we had?”
“We had?” she throws back at me. “From what I recall, you’re the man with the plan.”
“Fuckin’ A I am.” I grin and run my hand slowly down her body as I lower my head.
“For the record,” she echoes my earlier words, stopping my kiss with her index finger against my lips. “I wasn’t looking for you either, but I’m starting to think I’m pretty lucky I found you anyway.”
ROSIE
His eyes go from light gray to dark in an instant.
Before I can take a breath, his mouth slants over mine and takes away any opportunity. His kiss is hungry, and the hand he skims over my body restless, imprinting himself on my skin everywhere. In seconds, I’m floating on sensation: touch, taste, and lightheaded from lack of oxygen. When he finally breaks the seal, I draw in a lungful of air as he rests his forehead on mine.
“What you do to me,” he mutters, his breath ghosting over my face, and his hands tugging on my clothes. Seconds later, I’m divested of my shirt and bra, when he sits up, his knees on either side of me, looking down. “Are you still sore?” he asks, his eyes scanning my left arm and shoulder.
“I can’t feel anything but
you.”
“Good.”
He leans over and presses his face between my breasts, inhaling deeply before drawing first one nipple between his lips, softly stroking it with his tongue, and then the other. “Beautiful.” He straightens up and leaves his hand high on my chest, his fingertips dipping in the hollow at the base of my throat, where my pulse drums rapidly against his touch. Torturously gentle, he drags his hand down the center of my body, and I squirm when he finally reaches the waistband of my pants. Suddenly he grabs either side of my hips and flips me onto my stomach, tugging down both my pants and underwear at once. “Lush.” I hear him whisper, as he runs both hands up the back of my legs to the globes of my behind, which he gently squeezes.
“Jake,” I beg in anticipation.
The sharp sting of a bite on my ass cheek has me hiss in response, and he follows with the same treatment for the other.
“Yesss...”
“On your knees,” he orders, as he gets off the bed.
I hear the rustle of his clothes and quickly comply, spreading my knees wide on the edge of the mattress, primed and uninhibited.
“Christ, Rosie...” His voice is quickly muffled as he presses his face between my legs from behind.
The first stroke of his warm, wet tongue from front to back sends a violent shiver through my body.
Decadent, dirty, and delicious—so very, very delicious.
By the time I feel the blunt head of his erection prod the slickness at my core, he has me whimpering for mercy. Intent on torturing me, he fills me ever so slowly, driving me insane with need. Rooted deep, Jake bends his body over mine and I feel his lips brush the center of my back. “My sweet, sweet Rosie.”
All of a sudden his soft touch and languid pace is gone. He firmly holds onto my hips and with a powerful rhythmic surge, drives first to my, and then his own release.
AFTER BEING OFF WORK and inside Jake’s house for days, I’m bored senseless. The week is slipping by and I haven’t done a single worthwhile thing.
Don’t get me wrong; I love his place, the quiet, the views, and yes, the company. Just this morning I woke up to being hauled out of bed and into the shower, where he showed me once again how much he appreciates my not so perfect body. But the rest of the day, he works, while I twiddle my thumbs.
I tried reading, which really isn’t that relaxing when you’re in the same room with someone who is working on his laptop or talking shop on the phone. I tried my hand at baking bread to keep myself busy, but I can tell you baking bread is not fun when you suck at it. Three days, three loaves, and all of them solid enough to pave the driveway with.
I honestly thought it would be exciting to learn about his job, but it turns out a lot of it is endless chewing over details, looking at plans, and waiting. The only interesting bit of news came an hour ago, when Radar called to say he’d finally connected with a cab driver who recalls picking up a ride, fitting the driver’s description, on the corner of North Twelfth and Orchard, around the time he was caught on the security tape. Radar is taking a copy of the footage to confirm with the guy. He’s supposed to swing by after, to let me have a look at it too. Perhaps I’ve seen the man around before.
That is the only reason why I’m back in the kitchen now, working on a stack of grilled cheese sandwiches and some soup for lunch.
Like I said; June Cleaver.
“Smells good.”
Jake’s strong arms slip around my front as he folds himself around my back, his chin on my shoulder. He tries to sneak a sandwich while distracting me with his mouth on my neck, but I catch him.
“They’re for later,” I admonish him, slapping his hand away.
“I’m hungry now,” he growls in my neck, while shoving the thieving hand down the front of my pants.
“Jake, he could be here any minute.”
“So? Not like he can surprise us, he still has to ring the—”
Just then the doorbell startles me. Jake grudgingly releases me and moves to the front door to let Radar in. I quickly ladle soup into bowls from the cupboard and set them on the counter, before sliding the last sandwich from the pan to the plate.
“What smells good?”
A tall lanky guy with nerdy good looks—longish blond hair and glasses perched on a chiseled face—I assume is Radar, walks into the kitchen, sniffing the air like a dog.
“Rosie, this is Radar,” Jake follows behind, introducing us.
Radar walks right up and wraps me in a bear hug. I’m not quite sure how to respond to this, so I awkwardly pat his back.
“Jesus...” I hear Jake mutter as Radar takes a step back, his hands on my shoulders, looking at me with a twinkle in his eyes.
“I just want you to know you’re already a legend in the office,” he informs me.
“How so?”
“Don’t mind him,” Jake interjects, swiftly stepping between us.
“Never thought we’d see this man discombobulated,” Radar responds, not even a little deterred by Jake’s attempt to intervene. “Always steady and even-keeled, nothing fazes him, yet you’ve rattled him good. It’s funny as shit.”
“All right, enough with the fancy words and the ribbing,” Jake groans, elbowing his teammate in the gut. “Sit your ass down, Rosie made lunch.”
“Hungry?” I bite down a smile as I direct Radar to a seat.
“Always.” He’s already bitten off half a grilled cheese sandwich when he answers.
Lunch is a lively affair. I’m regaled with anecdotes of past cases the two have worked on, and although Radar has the floor most of the time, eventually Jake relaxes and occasionally jumps in with a comment. I almost forget this is not a social visit, when Radar suddenly turns serious—after putting away two bowls of soup and two sandwiches—and goes to grab the briefcase he dropped on the couch when he walked in.
“Have a look at this,” he says, pulling out a sheet of paper and placing it in front of me on the table. “Sorry for the poor quality, but do you know this man? Seen him before?”
I study the grainy black and white image of what looks to be a fairly big man, wearing a white or light-colored baseball cap with some kind of logo and dark clothing. I can’t really make out any features, other than that he appears to be clean-shaven.
“Can’t say I have,” I answer honestly, as I peek a little closer and shake my head. “Sorry. All I can tell is that it’s a white man, who appears to be quite a Rockies fan.”
“What?” Radar turns the picture around and leans forward, looking at it closely before standing back, slapping his hand down. “Son of a bitch, I did not catch that.”
“What?” Jake takes his turn scrutinizing the ball cap in the image.
“That’s gotta be a fairly new ball cap,” I explain. “The Rockies changed their logo recently to simple initials. If I’m not mistaken, that’s the C and the R.”
“Yup. I see it too,” Radar confirms, coming around to my side and placing his laptop on the table. His fingers move over the keyboard in a blur, and then a video pops up on the screen. “Have a look at this and tell me what you see.”
Jake moves in behind me and looks over my shoulder.
At first, I only see a street light illuminating part of an empty street and sidewalk, and at the edge of the frame you can just make out the corner of a building. A man walks into the image, moving around the corner, into the light of the street lamp, and toward the camera. It’s the same guy from the print, ball cap on his head. Now I know what to look for, it’s easier to recognize the Rockies logo.
“Same guy,” I point out. “He’s wearing glasses; you can see the bottom rim just under the bill of his cap.”
“Witness said he saw the drive of the Ford wearing sunglasses,” Radar fills me in.
“He’s fit,” I notice. “Broad shoulders, long legs, walks with a confident stride. He’s not looking around like he’s worried.”
“He’s a professional,” Jake concludes. “He planned and prepared.”
“
Prepared for what? To scare me?”
“Not so sure scaring you is all he was after.” Radar looks at me with an apologetic smile. “The driver’s side of your car is crumpled. Had you been behind the wheel, I doubt you would’ve walked away. According to the GJPD investigator in charge, your engine was messed with, causing it to break down on your way home. My guess is he hung back until he saw your car stopped, but didn’t realize you’d already gotten out.”
“He’s a professional,” Jake repeats, his face solemn. “He’ll be back to try and finish the job.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Radar looks at me with concern on his face, and a shiver runs down my spine, as if someone stepped over my grave.
“Well, shit,” I add, leaning down to take one more, good look at the man on the screen.
CHAPTER 20
JAKE
I look over to where Rosie is bent over a pad of paper, writing furiously.
She’s been at it since Radar left earlier, and for the past few hours I’ve let her be, but my curiosity is getting the better of me.
“What are you up to?”
Her head comes up off the paper and she looks almost disoriented.
“Writing down everything I remember. From the moment I heard the crash down the alley. Every tiny detail I can recall.”
I note a rushed, almost speedy quality to her words, and her body language screams tension. I move over to stand behind her, put my hands on her shoulders at the base of her neck, and feel the taut muscles under my fingers. Carefully I start applying a little pressure with my thumbs, and at her responding moan, I add a little more. The sounds she makes are more than a little distracting as I try to massage the tension from her neck and shoulders. If she keeps this up, she’ll have a whopping tension headache tonight.
