by Freya Barker
We’re on to our second drink when Sophie’s attention shifts to me. “Tell m-me truthfully, how are you doing?”
“Good. Like I said before: the hospital is fantastic, the people are great, and I love my work. I really enjoy being able to see the actual impact of the work I’ve done in the lab for so many years.”
Sophie puts her hand on my arm. “I’m glad for you, but that’s not what I m-meant, and you know it.”
I know exactly what she meant to ask; it’s just that I’m not sure how to answer it. Am I doing okay? I’ve buried my nose in work because I love it, but if I’m honest with myself, I’ve also been hiding from life. Even in San Antonio, most of my social life revolved around my small select group of friends. When Sophie met Roman, I watched as she started broadening her horizons and actively living. Maybe that was a catalyst for me. Maybe I came here looking for an opportunity to see what more was out there for me. You can’t sit around waiting for life to land in your lap. I know that, but I haven’t done much about it.
“I’m not sure. I like it here; it’s not that. Remember when you were in school and the prospect of starting a new year, with new teachers and friends would be as exciting as it was terrifying? This is like that. As much as I think I could love it here, I’m also afraid of leaving the safety of the life I knew behind. What if I like it better here?”
“What if you do?” Sophie bounces back at me. “What if you can turn that job you love s-so m-much into s-something permanent, and you end up s-settling here?”
“But I’d miss you guys.”
She gives my arm a squeeze. “I’m here now. I’m s-sure the other girls will be coming up for a visit s-sometime s-soon as well. There’s nothing keeping you from flying down for a weekend, every now and then. And besides that, who knows where I’ll be next year. Or Quinn, or Tory? Wasn’t it you who told m-me to go for it, who pushed m-me to s-step out of m-my comfort zone? Time to practice what you preach.”
“Shit, girl. You’re not pulling punches, are you? It’s not that easy. For one, I’m a lot older than you guys are.”
Sophie leans over the table and gets in my face. “Bullshit.”
Hearing one of my own go-to retorts flung back at me, from sweet little Sophie’s mouth, has me snort out a laugh. Before you know it, we’re both bent over the table, giggling with tears running down our face.
“Whoa,” Chief interrupts, walking up to the table. “How much did you guys have while my back was turned?”
The laughter sticks in my throat when I hear someone clear their throat from behind Chief’s back. It sounds oddly familiar.
“By the way, guess who decided to pop in after all.” He steps aside to reveal his friend. “Girls, I’d like you to meet Keith Blackfoot.”
Chapter 6
Keith
I have to admit, it gave me no small rush of satisfaction seeing the stunned blush on Autumn’s face.
I could only see the top half of her over the table, but by the looks of it, she had put some effort into her appearance. A light touch of makeup on her lips and behind those red-rimmed glasses, her flowy top showing a hint of enticing cleavage, and the mop of hair tamed with a healthy luster.
She barely manages to nod primly when I slide onto the bench beside her, making sure my leg is pressing the length of hers. Fuck, I shouldn’t enjoy taunting her so much, but I do. Leaning in, I whisper only for her to hear, “Glad to see you wore your hair down for me.”
I can feel her reaction in the stiffening of her body beside me, and grin.
“Hardly,” she bites off between clenched teeth.
“Do you two know each other?” Sophie, Roman’s pretty girlfriend, asks, her face a mask of confusion as her eyes flit between her friend and me.
“No.”
“Yes,” I say, at the same time. This causes more confusion from Sophie, but Chief squints his eyes when he looks at me.
“So that’s why you changed your mind on a dime,” he concludes with a grin.
Now it’s Autumn who looks confused. “How so?”
“Like you, our friend here didn’t feel much for the setup he could smell a mile away,” Chief answers her before shooting a telling look at Sophie, who pretends to study her nails. “Until I mentioned your name.”
“Drinks anyone?” The waitress provides a welcome distraction from my turn on the hot seat.
The next half hour or so, Chief, Sophie, and I talk, while Autumn tosses back her Guinness. They describe their trip to Roswell, I answer questions about my job and the arson case, and Sophie describes in hilarious detail their visit to the zip line. I occasionally glance beside me, where Autumn silently broods—throwing daggers at her friend—who doesn’t seem in the least bothered.
“S-she rose to the challenge, though,” Sophie concludes, with a smile at her friend. “Even if it was s-screaming at the top of her lungs.”
“Oh, look,” Autumn says, eager to change the subject as she points to the other end of the pub. “Darts. Let’s play.” She shoves at me to get out of her way, and I get up to give her room.
She looks a little unstable, like she’s already half in the bag, and I have to grab her arm to steady her. She surprises me by grabbing my hand and pulling me to where a couple of older guys are throwing darts.
I never had a chance to check out her bottom half, but I’m looking now. With her ass encased in tight jeans, I get my first real glimpse at the body she’s been hiding under men’s clothes. It’s fucking spectacular. Narrow waist but substantial lush curves round out a ripe hourglass figure. I was already attracted to her, but a good look at her bounty has my cock stand up in salute.
The two men—a couple of former firefighters I happen to know—get their own eyeful as we approach, and I can’t stop the inadvertent growl in my throat when I see their appreciation of the view. I curb my impulse to drag Autumn straight out of the pub. With introductions out of the way, along with a little negotiation—a couple of beers from the bar—the dartboard is ours. I never noticed Roman and Sophie followed us until they sit down on a couple of stools at this end of the bar, matching amused looks on their face.
“Have you played before?” I ask Autumn. She throws me a smartass look, before squaring her shoulders and hitting the triple twenty with her first dart. Single twenty with her second and another triple with her last. She walks to the board to collect her darts in a surprisingly straight line.
I have a feeling I’ve been had. The woman is clearly a shark. Not only that, but my so-called friend sitting at the bar doesn’t even try to contain his fun at my expense. He knew.
“You playing?” I offer him my darts, but he raises his hands defensively.
“Fuck no. She tricked me into letting her emasculate me once, I’m not giving her another shot.”
“Thanks,” I grumble. “Some friend you are.” That comment leads to more hilarity from the peanut gallery. “Okay.” I turn to a grinning Autumn. “Challenge accepted—but let’s make it interesting, shall we?”
“What do you propose?” she asks, an eyebrow raised.
“Remember that dinner you owe me? Best of five. I win—I choose the time and place. You win; I pay and let you pick when and where.”
“Done,” she answers right away.
Before she clues in this is a win-win bet for me, I take my turn. Triple five, twenty, and triple twenty. By the time I turn back, she’s done the math and is squinting her eyes at me.
“Did you just trick me into going out with you?”
“Hey…” I shrug innocently. “Wasn’t me who dragged you into this, Red. That was all you.”
I can’t quite distinguish her disgruntled mutterings, but they clearly provide more entertainment for our friends.
By the time we’ve played a couple of rounds—Autumn took the first two, but to her chagrin I won the third—Sophie and Roman get up.
“We’re heading out. Sophie’s tired and we want to get on the road early,” Chief announces.
�
�Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” Autumn apologizes. “I’ve been a horrible friend. Let me just get—” She drops her darts on the bar and looks around for her purse.
“S-stay. You’re having fun. We’re just going to pack up and go to bed. You can’t leave Keith hanging halfway through a bet.”
Chief tries to hide a grin and catches my eye. “Good luck,” he mouths. I have no doubt my keen attention on Autumn has not escaped his notice.
“But…” One last feeble objection from Autumn, but it falls on deaf ears, she’s already being hugged by them both.
“If we don’t s-see you in the m-morning—”
“I’ll be up,” she interrupts Sophie.
“Stay in touch.” Chief grabs my hand. “And call me if there’s any way I can help.”
I know he’s referring to the arson case and I nod my gratitude. My mind has not shut down since he suggested the possibility those fires were started by someone looking for some limelight. A first responder. It almost sickens me to think of it, but it’s not that far-fetched. I researched: the numbers were fucking disturbing.
A gentle hug from Sophie drags me from my thoughts. “S-she’s good people, and s-so are you,” she whispers, before her man drags her out the door. I have a feeling packing is not all that’s on Chief’s itinerary.
“This is just wrong,” Autumn announces the moment the door closes, and snatches up her purse. “They’re my guests, I can’t let them—” I hold her back by the arm when she threatens to stalk out the door after them.
“Red, I think you’re missing the point. They want some time alone.”
It takes a second for my words to sink in, but when they do, she tosses her bag on the bar and snatches up her darts. “In that case, best of seven,” she deadpans.
Autumn wins game four, but I take five and six, mostly because by that time she’s lost some of her edge. But even under the effects of Guinness, she still manages to take me down in game seven.
“Well, that was fun,” she announces, coming back from the washroom while I quickly pay the tab. “But if you pay my tab one more time, we’re going to have problems.” I grin when she tries to wag an admonishing finger in my face, which seems enough to throw her off balance.
“Come on. I’ll take you home.”
“But has it been enough time for them to—”
“It’s been two hours,” I remind her.
“Chief likes to take his time.”
I’m pretty sure that’s information I could’ve done without. Still, I mumble, “Good to know,” making her snicker as she leans into me, her hand on my chest. Now I know for sure she’s more than a little tipsy. Autumn’s laugh is raspy, rich, and sexy as all get out, but combined with her body plastered against me, and her hand drawing circles on my chest, the woman is downright lethal. “Let’s go, Cinderella. Best get you home before midnight.”
I purposely leave my car at the bar. The night air is nice and crisp, and I’m pretty sure a walk will do both of us good. That, and maybe I’ll be less tempted to put my hands all over those curves that have been teasing me all fucking night. I’m mostly successful, just with her arm tucked in mine, until she stumbles and I steady her, wrapping an arm around her waist.
“Where did you learn to play darts like that?” I ask, trying for some conversation to draw attention from the hand I leave resting on her hip. It moves enticingly every step she takes.
“I was in a league in college. It was either that or some sport requiring athletic ability, of which I have none, to get me out of my dorm room a few times a week. I was rapidly becoming the scary resident hermit. It was a way to socialize. Something I’ve never been particularly talented at either.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I squeeze her hip as we turn onto a narrow path leading to a beige brick, two-story house. “You seem to do pretty well. And from where I sit, the only thing scary is how fucking sexy you are.”
She stumbles on the first of the three steps leading up to a porch with two front doors. I barely manage to hook my arm around her middle to prevent her from going down.
“Don’t say stuff like that when I’m trying to concentrate on walking,” she snaps, making me grin.
She turns in my hold, her green eyes shooting fire behind those glasses, and suddenly I don’t find anything funny. She’s standing on the first step, her head almost level with mine. It’s like all the air disappears, along with rational thought, leaving us standing in a vacuum. All I can see is her face in the diffused glow of the porch light. She feels it too, her eyes blinking and her soft lips parting. It’s an invitation my body recognizes before my brain registers, and my mouth is already taking hers when I realize what is happening.
Fuck.
Her taste is spicy like her attitude, and her hunger matches mine as fingers weave into the long hair brushing the collar of my shirt. The sharp sting of her fingers twisting elicits a growl from the back of my throat. I pull her closer, her breasts flattened against my chest, and my hand kneads the plump swell of her ass. I pull back when she whimpers, afraid I may have hurt her. One look at her flushed face and darkening eyes tells me she’s far from hurting. This time it’s her who reaches for me with her mouth, while her hands pull me down by my hair. I’m this fucking close to laying her down on the steps when the sound of a squeaking porch door stops me in the nick of time.
“Autumn? Is that you?”
A stooped older gentleman in pajamas steps out on the porch, as Autumn pulls from my hold and swings around.
“It’s me, Mr. Bartnik.” She takes the last few steps and puts an arm around his hunched shoulders. “I’m just getting home. You should go back to bed. It’s late.”
She leads the man back to his front door under a wave of disgruntled protests, which she appears to ignore. When he’s safely inside, she turns back to me, but stays at the top of the steps, looking a little uneasy.
“I’m…that was…”
In two steps, I’m at her level and take her face in my hands, pressing a hard kiss against her mumbling lips. “You’d better get inside too,” I whisper. “And I believe the word you were looking for was fucking incredible.”
“That’s two words,” she corrects me, when I let go of her and head back down the steps.
“Smartass,” I throw over my shoulder, not stopping. All I hear is her snort behind me.
I’m still grinning when I reach my truck and get behind the wheel.
Chapter 7
Autumn
The second time I wake up it’s because Gizmo is taking up residence on my face.
The first time was to say a head-throbbing goodbye to a grinning Sophie and Roman, who left at the butt-crack of dawn. Assholes. They derived way too much pleasure from my pain. It being a Saturday, and me with nowhere to be, I crawled straight back into bed the moment their SUV pulled away from the curb.
The two ibuprofen and glass of water I swallowed down earlier provide a modicum of relief, as I blink my eyes open and shoo Gizmo away. Seems every single one of my cats found their way onto my bed, only temporarily on board with sleeping the day away. The moment they notice I’m awake, I’m regaled with a concert of complaints, varying from Ziggy’s hoarse little mewls to Jack’s loud yowls for attention. Food is what they’re after, and given my alarm clock reads eleven fifteen, I suppose breakfast is a little late in coming.
I stumble out of bed, do what I need to do in the bathroom, and dressed in my favorite uniform—yoga pants and men’s T-shirt—try not to trip over cats on my way downstairs. The animals quieted with their mouths full of tuna paté, I get coffee going. I’m not one for the convenient machines that take barely seconds to brew. My coffee needs some time on the stove. An old-fashioned stove-top percolator, filled with fresh coffee grinds and water in the reservoir, needs at least ten minutes to bubble before it even gets close to my desired taste. To kill time, I grab my phone from my purse, only to find three missed messages.
Sophie: Just wanted to thank you again. Had such a gr
eat time.
XOX
Also, get laid. He’s hot.
My eyes roll in my head and although tempted, I’m not going to respond to that. I don’t want to encourage her.
Unknown: You won. Pick a place.
Without the aid of caffeine in the morning, my mood is questionable at best. Add hungover, and you’d best be cautious in your approach. Ordering me around via text is not a good idea. I don’t care how hot you are, or how fantastic you can kiss.
Unknown: Shit. That didn’t come out right.
Ya think?
Apparently he cut his losses, since there’s nothing after that. A smart man knows when to keep his mouth shut. I’m not going to respond to those messages either. Not now. Instead, I save his contact information before setting the phone on the counter facedown, and go see about my coffee.
Armed with my travel mug, I head up to get the laundry. One of my least favorite chores. Luckily, Sophie apparently already stripped their bed and stuffed their sheets in the washer. I quickly gather up my bedding and toss it on top of my laundry basket, perch the whole thing on my hip, and walk back down the stairs.
I’m halfway down when a loud bang on my door startles me, causing my precarious hold on the basket to slip and my laundry goes flying the rest of the way. Well, shit.
Fuming by the time I get to the front door, I’m ready to tell off the persistent Jehovah’s Witness folks who seem to think it’s a good idea to knock on my door every weekend since I moved here.
“I told you already, I’m not interest—” I fire off, as I’m opening the door, only to find Keith on my step.
“That kiss last night tells a different story,” he returns dryly, rendering me momentarily mute. “I see my timing needs work.” His eyes slide over my shoulder to the pile of laundry at the bottom of the stairs.
“What are you doing here? You scared the crap out of me.” Always better to go on the attack when you feel at a disadvantage. I most definitely feel at the short end of this stick, wearing slop clothes, sporting hungover hair and face, and my dirty laundry all over the damn floor.