by Kelli Evans
Sex & Pancakes
A Willow City Book
Kelli Evans & Rhiannon Irish
Published: 2019
ISBN: 978-1-62210-460-4
Published by Liquid Silver Publishing. Copyright © 2019, Kelli Evans & Rhiannon Irish.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Manufactured in the USA
Email [email protected] with questions, or inquiries about Liquid Silver Books, Liquid Silver Publishing, or Ten West Publishing.
Blurb
Roz Abrams is a great detective, but the assessing aloofness that makes her such a great cop is also why she’s such a horrible date.
Big, bearded, and broad Patrick Roman has had a crush on Roz since high school. He’s loved her curvy body, her sense of music, and the way she easily takes command of any space she occupies.
When the two are sucked into a hot affair it becomes clear, early on, that this is more than either of them could have planned. Can Patrick break through Roz’s tough walls? Is it possible they both could get everything they want?
Dedication
To closed doors and finding an open window—which made this whole book possible.
Acknowledgements
To our beta readers: Samantha Osburn, Kari Minert, Angie Gabbard, and Linda Shaffer, your kind and honest feedback is so valued.
Chapter 1
Roz
ROZALYN Ana Maria Cruz Abrams’ phone buzzed in her front jeans pocket. She didn’t bother to check it because she already knew who it was.
Oscar, her on again, off again friend with benefits, had been bugging her all night about coming over. Hell, all week he had wanted to hook up, but she was ghosting him.
Sure, he was a hot twenty-three-year-old firefighter with a rockin’ body who was a firecracker in bed, but with the ten-year age difference she hadn’t quite expected the level of immaturity that came along with it. Had she been that way when she’d been in her early twenties? She sure hoped not. It was exhausting.
Plus, she was at her uncle’s, Alejandro’s, retirement party from The Willow City Police Force where he was captain and she worked as a detective.
She was having a good time sipping on her IPA beer, chatting with family and friends, soaking up the cool May night, and listening to the live band play.
The party was being held in her uncle’s backyard. They had strung festive lights from tree to tree, creating a canopy of stars overhead. Brightly colored paper lanterns hung in clusters from trees, and a handful of card tables were set up with people drinking, eating, and watching others dance on the portable dance floor in front of the small wooden stage.
Roz wiggled her fingers in a small wave at her mom and grandma as her grandma’s wheelchair was pushed right up to a card table. Her mom winked back at her. They had a card game going, and several cousins were gathered around, looking at the cards in their hands. The band played an old ‘80s song and there was decent amount of people shaking it on the dance floor.
“Roz! Need a beer?” Mario, her cousin and fellow detective, stepped up beside her, holding out a bottle of her favorite brew. She tipped back the one already in her hand and then swallowed the last sip.
“Perfect timing, Rio.” She grabbed the offered beer before she twisted off the cap. “How’s the Cap doing?” she asked, referring to her uncle, boss, and Mario’s dad.
“He’s doing good. I think retirement might agree with him.” Mario chuckled, brown eyes shining, as they directed their gazes to Alejandro. He spun his wife, Mickie, across the dance floor. They smiled from ear to ear—cheeks flushed. “I don’t think my mom is complaining either,” Mario added, taking a swig from his beer.
Alyssa, Mario’s wife, came up beside them and slid her arm around her husband’s trim waist. “Would you like to dance?” she asked coyly, looking out from under her long lashes.
They were gone and spinning on the dance floor in a blink of an eye. Roz smiled and tipped back her beer. She loved seeing her family all together and having a good time. The kids ran around, darting between people’s legs in a never-ending stream of laughter; these were the nights to live for.
She spotted her best friend, Hannah, across the lawn, mixing a drink at the make-shift bar, which was really just a patio table with an array of liquors and sodas to choose from.
“Whatcha making?” Roz stepped up beside her, and Hannah turned her green eyes toward her—they were already glassy.
“I don’t know,” she giggled, “I’m just mixing stuff together.” She grabbed a liquor bottle, unscrewed the top, and poured some in. “What are you doing?” she asked Roz, capping the one before grabbing another.
“Enjoying the band. These guys are good.” Roz tipped her beer toward the little wooden stage and the rock band. They played an old Poison song that got her tapping her toe on the lawn.
“Yeah, they are! They sound even better than back in high school.” Hannah topped off her concoction of a mixed drink with a splash of cola. She raised her glass, took a sip, and shivered. “Oh, this may be a little strong.” She shrugged and took another swallow.
“What do you mean in high school? Do we know them?” Roz questioned. Hannah looked at her as if she were out of her mind.
“Uh, yeah! Skeeter and the Eater!” Hannah proclaimed like an excited groupie. “I think they’re called something else now because Chase and Patrick are the only original members, but still, they rock!” She threw her fist up into the air and shook her hips a little.
“Chase, like prom Chase?” Roz asked, eyebrows raised. Chase had been her prom date senior year. They had had a great time dancing and laughing and sneaking sips out of the flask she had hidden in her garter belt, but it had never gone further than a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night. She thought they might be Facebook friends, but now wasn’t entirely sure when she thought about it.
Hannah nodded while taking another sip from her red Solo cup. “Yup, you remember he played bass? Well, he still does.” She giggled while bopping her head to the music, her short curly auburn hair bouncing around her face. Roz looked toward the stage, and now that she really looked, she could see it was indeed Chase. He looked good, fit with short brown hair and gentle eyes that had small wrinkles around them that actually made him look more endearing. “He’s married with two kids.” Hannah giggled. Roz rolled her eyes. Well, there goes that idea.
“I need something new in my life.” Roz turned to the patio table full of booze and snatched up a bottle of dark liquor. “I also need a shot.”
“New as in…drink, hairstyle, or sex?” Hannah wiggled her eyebrows a little, giggling.
“First, there is nothing wrong with my hair.” Roz brushed back a lock of her long curly ebony hair behind her shoulder and winked. Hannah laughed. “And second, the sex isn’t so much the issue.” She smirked. “It’s that he’s just so…clingy. We’re not even exclusive. I’ve been very clear about that. And Oscar’s so…so…young.” Roz shrugged and poured out two fingers worth of alcohol into a cup.
“And the problem is?” Hannah smirked. “Don’t forget to pour me one!” She pointed at Roz, who laughed.
“Already on it.” She poured another shot.
“So, are you going to stop sleeping with him?” Hannah bumped her
shoulder against Roz’s.
“I’m not feeling the same way he is and I’m starting to feel bad about it. Like I said, I’ve been clear about boundaries, but it’s pretty obvious he’s caught feelings.” The butterflies were gone for Roz. Shouldn’t there always be butterflies?
“We all know Rozalyn Abrams doesn’t catch feelings.” Hannah nudged her again, teasingly. “Let’s find you somebody tonight!” Hannah exclaimed, bouncing up and down a little on the balls of her feet. Roz shook her head and laughed at her friend’s obvious alcohol buzz that was getting her all riled up.
“Where? Here? It’s all my family and oldest friends.” Roz smiled.
“Maybe not here.” Hannah giggled and looked around, acknowledging the truth in that statement. “But somewhere! Soon! Let’s go out. I’ll find you new dick and maybe you can find me a girl to take home.” Hannah winked, a twinkle in her eye.
Roz laughed, nodding. “Sounds good.” Hannah had a hard time finding women to go out with in Willow City. The town wasn’t that big and most of the residents had been there since birth. They often headed to Traverse City to hit up the bars. There was a different energy in a larger city and it was nice to occasionally let loose.
“Let’s do these shots!” Hannah exclaimed, raising her drink. Roz doubted that Hannah needed more alcohol but raised her glass regardless. “To new experiences and new dicks!” Hannah proclaimed. Roz laughed before tipping her cup back.
Chapter 2
Patrick
THE party was dying down. The music had switched from the band playing to a playlist as they loaded up. “Go shoot your shot.” Chase nodded his chin in the direction of the woman with that long, thick, curly hair and the sweetest hips Patrick had ever seen.
Patrick playfully rolled his eyes at his friend. He’d had a crush on Roz in high school, one that matched the grin on his face—big and goofy. She looked even better in her thirties.
Patrick ran a hand over the trim light-brown scruff on his face. He wound his tall-and-husky frame through the straggling partygoers, over the fallen yard decorations, and around the card tables to where Roz sat, drinking with Hannah, heads pressed together conspiratorially—and alternately thrown back in fits of laughter.
Patrick placed his hand on the back of Roz’s chair. Catching a whiff of her soft scent, an immediate flutter of butterflies stirred in his stomach. “Hey, it’s been a long time.”
She looked up at him over her shoulder with those shining dark eyes. Why did he dig that assessing glance of hers so much? Her full lips quirked up in a half smile, but her face was void of any recognition. That stung. Though, maybe he was just that much more handsome these days?
“Patrick Roman.” He stuck out his hand for her to shake. She didn’t. She glanced at the chair next to her, and Patrick just knew to take a seat. He did.
“It’s nice to meet you, Patrick.” She slid him an unopened beer. “She doesn’t need another.” She nodded at a very happy, very flushed-looking Hannah. “Her Uber is on their way.”
“Hey, Patrick.” Hannah wiggled her fingers in a wave.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“You two know each other?” Roz motioned between them with her beer bottle.
Patrick threw his hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
Hannah gave a riotous laugh. “Of course we do. You know Patrick. Ope!” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her buzzing phone. “My ride is here guys. Buenas noches, bitches.” Hannah wobbled when she stood and then giggled about it.
“Is she good?” Patrick laughed.
“Do you need me to walk you out front?” Roz called after her and then turned to Patrick with, “We were supposed to go out after this. She can’t hang like she used to.”
Hannah gave a wave but didn’t bother turning around as she let herself out the gate that led to the front yard.
“Text me tomorrow. Let’s compare hangovers.” Hannah was long gone and didn’t answer back. Roz sighed, turning back to Patrick. He beamed at her. She brushed her thick hair over her shoulder. He caught that subtle scent of hers again. He curled his fingers into his jeans, itching to dive into those thick curls. His heart lurched when he caught the dawning of recognition pass across her face. “Patrick, Chase’s friend, Patrick—right?”
“You certainly know how to humble a man.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No. That is my official title—middle name actually—Patrick Chase’s-friend Roman.”
Roz chewed on the inside of her lip, looking as if she bit back a laugh. God, did he want to hear that laugh…and sink into those lips.
“Is the band your whole thing? Or do you have a day job?”
“I wish it was my whole thing.” Patrick made a face. “Are you telling me I need a day job?”
Humor danced in her eyes but all she gave him was a, “Just curious.”
“Those who can’t become rock god sex symbols teach apparently.” Patrick lifted his broad shoulders. No big thing.
“You’re funny.” She cracked a smile, but hadn’t granted him a laugh yet. He needed one, had to weasel one out of her. It was driving him nuts.
“I heard you’re a cop.”
“Detective, actually,” she corrected.
“Are you packing heat right now?” Patrick eyed her outfit and wondered where she could be hiding it. Those jeans fit her like sin.
Roz tipped her head back and let out a playful noise of frustration. “Seriously, everyone always asks that.”
“And the answer…?” Patrick leaned in.
Roz leaned in too but still crooked her finger. He came closer. She glanced around conspiratorially. He sensed she was kidding, but she was very serious about it. He liked a woman who could take a joke seriously. “The answer is almost always yes.”
His mind raced with possibilities. His lips twitched with a grin at the thought of patting her down to find it. “Don’t take this the wrong way but…it’s kind of hot.”
Roz cocked an eyebrow. “The gun?”
“No. Knowing you could totally kick my ass…without the gun even.”
There it was. It started as a small hesitant smile and blossomed into a laugh that softened every feature of her face.
“Do you dance, Chase’s friend?” She coiled a springy curl around her finger. It was distracting. She had pretty hands, soft-looking—not the ones he expected a cop to have.
“I’ve been known to bust a move from time to time.” Patrick twisted the top off the beer and then took his first swig.
“This is my jam.” Roz pointed a finger in the air and closed her eyes through the first refrain of Warrant’s “Cherry Pie.”
“Noo shit?” Patrick took another long swallow. This was his playlist, so he felt pretty good about that being her song.
Roz took a drink herself. She shook her head as she swallowed, peeling the label with her thumb nail. He knew what she was getting at but was too amused watching her play coy to give her a break. “Do you want to dance?”
Patrick shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure.” When she stood and headed toward the dance floor, he did a little victory air-drum solo.
She turned around and curled her finger at him—c’mere. Patrick downed the rest of his beer and then followed her onto the dance floor. They weren’t the only two on it. Most of the people left were either still dancing or playing cards. The other dancers were plastered all over each other. Patrick was just fitting in when he grabbed Roz by the hand, spun her out, and pulled her back toward him.
Her laugh reverberated through her back against his chest. She granted him a full, wide smile over her shoulder. “Smooth.”
Patrick fit his hands against her hips. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
She swayed against him, moving her hips in time with the beat. Her thighs were tucked against his, her perfect round ass rubbing against him—teasing and taunting him out of his damn mind.
This was the best song
. The greatest song. He loved this song. Whatever song it was. This was his new favorite.
“You really don’t remember me?” Patrick asked near her ear.
Roz spun around to face him, quirking just one eyebrow sternly. “You want to ruin this by talking?”
Patrick grinned but shut up, pulling her back into the dance. He pushed and pulled her around the dance floor, keeping her real close. By the time the song neared a close he had worked up a little bit of a sweat, his heartrate was through the roof, and he wasn’t sure if it had been from the exertion or her close proximity. With the final bars of the song ringing in the air, and because Patrick was a go-big-or-go-home kind of guy, he dipped her.
Her long curtain of black curls nearly swept the floor. She clutched on to his shoulders until he righted them again.
“You’re good at this.” Color had risen high in Roz’s cheeks. He liked how it looked on her—how he looked on her.
“There are a few things I’m good at.” The song had ended. His break was up and he had to start helping tear down.
“I got to get back to it. Thanks for the dance, Rozalyn Abrams.” Patrick held on to her hand as he walked away, until the distance was too great, and he had to let go.
“Hey!”
Patrick turned around to catch her brush her thick hair from her face and smile almost bashfully at him.
“You aren’t going to ask for my number?”
Yes! “You want to give me your number?”
Roz bit her lip. “Only if you want it.”
Patrick crossed the expanse between them holding out his hand. “Let me see your phone.”
She unlocked her screen, pulled up her add contact screen, and handed it to Patrick. He typed in his contact information and then sent himself a text message before handing it back.
On the walk back to his band, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent her a text back. I certainly fucking did—his answer to her last statement.
Glad I asked then winky-face emoji beeped in almost immediately.
