The Do-Over (The Rooftop Crew Book 5)

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The Do-Over (The Rooftop Crew Book 5) Page 4

by Piper Rayne


  “And you don’t?” I crack open the bottle and sip the cool water. The oven beeps and he puts the pizza inside.

  “Believe in love?” He huffs. “I’m not saying my friends aren’t in love. They probably are, and they look happy and shit. Don’t get me wrong. But… I don’t know. Maybe it’s not for me. I can’t even conceive of someone depending on me, let alone trusting someone enough to open up my chest and let my heart fall out. As if they could heal all the cuts and scrapes I’ve collected over the years…” He shakes his head. “I guess I have a hard time buying it, is all.” He looks me over again. “You look like you like rom-coms and shit.”

  I sit on the recliner, propping one leg up. This is the weirdest exchange I’ve ever had with a guy. At the same time, I’m fascinated. “I do like rom-coms, but I also like thrillers and a little sci-fi.”

  “But you believe in true love and shit?”

  “Um… yeah, I guess. Doesn’t every girl believe there’s someone out there for her?”

  “I can name you one for sure who doesn’t. Visit me down at Ink Envy and I’ll introduce you.” He chuckles and slides onto the stool by the breakfast bar.

  “I think it comes down to people being scared of getting hurt. Love makes you vulnerable. It forces you to open the gate to that space where you hide your true self, allowing the other person to see the real you and to judge what they see. Sometimes people don’t take that seriously and you get hurt. I think the gate gets heavier every time you trust someone, and they fail you.”

  He nods then pretends to swipe a tear. “Damn, girl, I just asked if you like rom-coms.”

  I throw my water cap at him and he catches it, laughing as he hops off the stool.

  “Can you please put on some pants?”

  He looks down at himself as though he forgot he wasn’t wearing anything but boxers. He seems the type who’s comfortable in his own body. “I’d thought maybe we could screw so we could both fall asleep after, but I can tell you’re here for Knox.”

  He disappears into his room before I can explain how dead wrong he is. He returns wearing a pair of gray sweatpants as the buzzer of the oven goes off.

  “Knox had his shot and he chose Leilani.” I don’t know why I say it.

  Jax glances at me and our eyes catch. His silent question and my nod. It’s more information than I intended to give the guy, but hey, why not lay out all the cards? I’ll never see him again after tonight.

  “Fuck!” He pulls his hand back from the oven and sucks on his finger.

  I scramble up and usher him to the faucet, where I turn on the cold water and shove his hand underneath. Once he’s situated, I get the pizza out of the oven, then turn it off.

  “Shocked you, did I?”

  “You kinda look like her now that you mention Leilani. You’re not…”

  “Sisters?” I laugh, and he nods. “No. We’re both Polynesian though, and our hair is basically the same. Our families are friends. We were neighbors growing up.”

  He turns off the faucet then sucks on his finger again. “Are you in contact with her? Because I’m not really—”

  “No, her friends got me kicked out of my apartment. I bailed her out after she was arrested, only for her to disappear on me. Knox found me under an overpass tonight and he offered to let me spend the night here.”

  His body language changes. “Well, shit. That sucks.”

  I nod and search the drawers for a pizza cutter to keep myself busy before I break down over the situation I find myself in.

  He shrugs. “Stay here as long as you want. Knox and I cover the rent just fine.”

  “You’re crazy. I’m leaving before Knox gets home tomorrow.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Tell me more about when Knox had a chance with you.”

  “Why?”

  He opens the cabinet where paper plates are, and I grab two. Thankfully he says nothing about my earlier disclaimer that I wasn’t hungry.

  “Because I have insomnia from not getting laid because of some crappy bet I’m in and you should have sympathy for me. Plus, I made you a pizza. And overall, I’m a cool guy. I’ll even throw in a tattoo.”

  I laugh, and it stops him from spewing more bullshit. “Fine. Let’s at least get comfortable, and I’m throwing out a disclaimer right now—I do not want Knox Whelan, okay?”

  “Whatever. I’m hoping the story is boring as fuck and I fall asleep.”

  And that’s when I talk about a night I’m ashamed to admit I’ve thought of often since it happened, while Knox probably doesn’t even remember it at all.

  Chapter Six

  Knox

  I slide into the squad car where Patrice is jamming to Salt-N-Pepa. Just when I think she’s not paying attention, she squawks our radio outside of the car at two skateboarding kids who should be in bed.

  “Aren’t your mommas looking for you?” she yells through the radio.

  One of the kids glances back and scurries around the corner, but the other one stops riding and taunts us with his steady glare.

  “Man, kids have balls they didn’t have when I was growing up,” she says to me.

  The kid eventually follows his friend. Usually I might’ve gotten out of the squad car and talked with him, but the whole debacle of having Leilani’s friend in my apartment right now is messing with my mind. Two days ago, my life was good. Not great, but stress-free at least.

  “So…” Patrice drags on the O and I know she’s gonna want me to rehash this story all over again. “The waitress makes a reappearance, huh? Plot twist.”

  “Let’s talk about Nate. What’s he up to? Still looking to move you two to New York City?”

  She laughs and drives down the road. “You’re not getting off that easy, Whelan.”

  “You can’t make me talk.”

  “I could hold a gun to your head.”

  My head flies her way and she laughs so hard I fear we’re going to drive off the road. “Kidding. Of course.”

  I nod, but I’m not so sure. “Has anyone told you, you should’ve gone to school for psychology? Put some people on a couch and torment them?”

  “Only you and Nate.”

  “Must be because you torture us the most.”

  She glances over and nods, a huge-ass smile on her face. “So what’ll you do now that the waitress is back in town and Leilani’s likely gonna have a warrant out for her arrest?”

  I stare out the window into the darkness of Cliffton Heights. Leilani having a warrant out if she skips bail is my biggest problem. I feel bad for Kamea, but I’ll never hear the end of Leilani’s arrest from the guys at the station. Not to mention, I want the promotion to detective. Ex-girlfriend has a warrant issued after I arrested her? Not a good look.

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  Patrice says nothing for a few seconds, and I hope she’s deciding a change of topic is necessary.

  “I think a do-over is a good plan.”

  Should’ve guessed Patrice wouldn’t take my cue about when she should leave shit alone.

  “A do-over?”

  “Yeah. I mean, the other day you had that look in your eye when you were talking about the waitress, and now, she’s here, in your apartment. She could be naked right now in your bed.”

  “She’s sleeping in Seth’s old bed.”

  She huffs. “Get the point I’m making. Rarely do people get second chances. Maybe this is yours.”

  “First of all, I’m not gonna date anyone associated with Leilani, and second of all, I’m sure she just wants to get her money and go back to her life.”

  Patrice hums. That’s my cue that she’s annoyed or thinks she’s right. Then again, Patrice always thinks she’s right.

  “Stop humming and let’s finish this shift.”

  We get off duty in about two hours, and it’s been slow other than Kamea thinking she was brave enough to sleep under an overpass. Patrice is right though—all I can think about is the night I first met Kamea and Leilani. That pull I f
elt to Kamea until Jimmy said she was more like the girl next door rather than a good time for the night. I’m ashamed now that a quick fuck was all I was looking for back then. I can’t help but second-guess my decision that night, especially since Leilani weaving herself in and out of my life has screwed me over.

  When our shift is almost done, Patrice and I walk into the station to file paperwork on a DUI we pulled over, and on my desk, I find a box with a black ribbon tied around it.

  “A gift?” Patrice asks, sitting down and booting up her computer.

  “Probably not a good one.”

  I untie the ribbon and open the box to find a save-the-date card printed on regular paper. There’s a copy of Leilani’s mug shot along with a picture of me in my uniform above words in big black bold lettering—Metal bars can’t even keep these two apart. Come witness them vow their undying love at Cliffton Heights Police Station. BYOBM – Bring Your Own Bail Money. Cash only. Thank you.

  I tear it up and shove it in the garbage.

  DuPont walks by like he wasn’t the mastermind behind it, but his smirk is so deep, it gives him away.

  “You really need to kick his ass. You’re double his size.” Patrice types away on the computer.

  “That will just add to my problems.”

  I’ve dealt with guys like DuPont and Milliken my entire life. They were the pricks making fun of me in elementary school for being “stupid.” I kicked their asses in junior high after I grew six inches in height and three in width one summer. But I don’t do that shit now. Not unless someone is hurting the ones I love.

  “Whelan, get in here,” Captain Donnelly calls from his office.

  Patrice eyes me across the desk. “I got this.”

  I stand and head across the room to the captain’s office. He’s a stout man with a beer belly. Although he’d never be able to pass the physical test anymore, he doesn’t have to. He’s earned his stripes, and I’ve always enjoyed working under him.

  “Shut the door,” he says.

  I do, and he points at the chair across from his desk. As I lower into the chair, I see the same box that was on my desk open on his. Fuck me. The other night when I brought Leilani in, all the captain did was shoot me a glare. I should’ve known he wouldn’t let it slide.

  “So.” He links his hands over his strained belly and leans back in his chair. “Have anything you want to tell me?”

  “That’s bullshit. You know DuPont was responsible for it.”

  He holds up his hand to stop me and picks up another piece of paper from his desk. “This is your recommendation letter for the detective position. It’s time, and I don’t want something or someone to interfere in this again.”

  Yeah, you guessed it—Cap isn’t really a fan of Leilani.

  “I won’t. The fact she’s even back has nothing to do with me. I’ve washed my hands of her.”

  He nods. “And she didn’t reach out after she was released? At least I saw that you didn’t bail her out.”

  “No, her friend did.”

  He cocks one eyebrow. Yeah, if I was as detached as I’m saying, I wouldn’t know that fact. He’s right.

  “I swear I’m not with her or even talking to her at all.”

  He lays the sheet of paper on the desk, leaning forward to intimidate me. Sweat forms at the base of my neck.

  As if he’s a human polygraph machine, he nods. “Then you won’t mind finding someone else to bring to Louie’s retirement party?”

  I blink a couple of times. “What?”

  “Show the big guys you’ve moved on. Remember when Leilani tried to hula dance at the Christmas party only to fall down on top of a table? People have long memories. The higher-ups even longer. You need to clear your name of her, and the best way to do that is to show you’ve moved on. I’m not saying you have to get married or even find a steady girlfriend. Just show people you’re willing to let another woman into your life.”

  “So you’re asking me to rent a date or something?”

  He chuckles. “Don’t you young people have that swipe right thing going on? Just find a date. You’re a good-looking guy. I’m sure it can’t be that hard.”

  I’m not opposed to bringing a woman to Louie’s retirement party. Hell, I could ask one of the girls to come with me. With her sweet and innocent demeanor, Rian would be perfect. But there’s still that damn part of me that hates being told what to do. I want to dig my feet in the ground and say I’m not gonna bring a date because you can’t judge my ability to do a job on something irrelevant like that. I’m the most qualified candidate, so who cares who I’m dating?

  “I’ll find someone,” I hear myself say, and the stubborn side of me kicks me in the ass for caving so easily.

  He smiles. “See, that’s why I’ve always liked you. You’re a team player. Believe me, once they see you got a new girl, Leilani will be old news and the detective position will be yours.”

  I nod, unable to speak.

  As I exit his office a few minutes later, I pull out my cell phone, knowing Rian is up and at the bakery.

  Me: Hey, can you come with me to a retirement party and pretend to be my girlfriend?

  Rian: Sure. When is it?

  I sit at my desk, and Patrice hands me papers to sign and waits for me to tell her what happened.

  “When is Louie’s retirement party?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Next Friday. Why?”

  I shake my head.

  Me: Next Friday.

  Rian: Oh sorry. All the girls are going into the city to see Blanca’s dress.

  Me: All of you guys?

  Rian: Afraid so.

  I shut off my phone and sigh. Hell, this sucks.

  “What did Cap say?” Patrice asks when I don’t volunteer the information.

  “Pull out your phone. I need a date for Louie’s retirement party.”

  Her eyes light up. “My pleasure. Let me look through my Facebook friends list.”

  As her thumbs scroll down her screen, she pauses and looks at me. Her face bears that same expression it did when she thought someone should make s’mores using donuts. Trouble.

  “What?”

  “The waitress. She’s cute and innocent looking. God knows she won’t hula dance on the table.”

  I groan at the reminder of that night. The embarrassment of the situation as I walked Leilani out. The judging eyes on the back of my head. “I’m looking for something that doesn’t complicate the situation further.”

  Patrice nods and buries her head in her phone again.

  As we’re walking out of the station later, Patrice says, “Sorry, I guess I thought I had more single friends. Turns out I don’t.” She shrugs.

  “Thanks anyway.” I’m not convinced she actually tried.

  Nate honks his horn, interrupting us.

  Patrice lingers by me instead of rushing over to her husband. “We’re going to get some test results from our fertility doctor.” She glances back at the station. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

  “I won’t.”

  She beams and practically skips like a schoolgirl over to Nate. He raises his hand in a hello, and I do the same.

  I can’t help but feel as though everyone’s life is moving forward and mine is stalled in neutral.

  Fifteen minutes later, I insert the key into my apartment door, not sure what I’m about to find on the other side—but I can tell you, it isn’t Kamea asleep with a shirtless Jax on the couch. That definitely wasn’t on my radar.

  Chapter Seven

  Kamea

  A loud sound startles me awake and I jolt, my head hitting Jax’s jaw.

  “Motherfucker!” He quickly stands and grabs his chin. “Is your head made of steel?”

  I rub my head and sit up straighter on the couch, realizing the sound must have been the door slamming. Knox stands just inside the apartment, looking at the two of us as though he’s about to set fire to the place. It reads a lot like jealousy, but I have to be misreading that.


  “Sorry, I’m not the one who slammed the door,” I tell Jax.

  Jax follows my vision to Knox. “What the fuck, man?”

  “It slipped. I didn’t think you two would be up already.”

  Jax cracks his neck. I can’t deny he’s attractive. He’s got the bad boy vibe going on, with the tattoos and the cocky attitude that could make the most devoted church lady reveal her kinky side. But the fact that my cheek was apparently on his bare chest doesn’t even excite me. Mostly because it’s his roommate that’s on my mind. But I can admire hot-blooded male perfection even if I don’t want him.

  Jax says, “Maybe shoot me a text next time you let a stranger stay in our apartment.”

  “I don’t get texts every time you bring a stranger in. You know how many times I’ve been walked in on in the bathroom or shower?” Knox puts his bag on the kitchen chair and grabs orange juice from the fridge.

  “Not in weeks.” Jax heads to the bathroom. Again, he doesn’t shut the door.

  “Shut the door, dickwad, there’s company,” Knox yells.

  “You mean he doesn’t shut it when you’re here either?” I ask, sliding onto a breakfast stool.

  Knox grabs another cup and pours me orange juice without even asking me if I wanted some. “All the fucking time. He’s got some weird issue, and since I might know his dick more than my own, I don’t really care.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  He chuckles before turning to the fridge and pulling out eggs. “I’ve known the guy forever. You know, locker room and stuff.” He shrugs.

  The toilet flushes and the water runs, signaling Jax is at least washing his hands again.

  Knox washes his own hands then cracks some eggs into a bowl. “Do you like omelets?”

  Jax walks by Knox, pulls coffee out of the freezer, and puts it in the coffeemaker. I watch in awe as they maneuver around like an actual couple, weaving and pausing around one another. Knox fills the pot of water and hands it back to Jax, who then takes the egg carton and puts it back in the fridge while grabbing cut-up veggies for Knox.

 

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