by Mazzy King
Maybe it’s my shattered emotional state, or maybe it’s…something more. But my heart starts thundering in my chest at his touch, his words. His smell. His strength. He’s…so manly. So much more than I remember him being when we were kids, but he’s also still the same, soft-spoken, sweet guy.
I’ve dated a lot of hotshots in my life. In high school and college, they were hotshot athletes. After graduation and in the corporate world, they were hotshot accountants or financial advisors or some other impressive job title. But none of them saw me as anything more than arm candy, even though I’m educated and successful in my own right. None of them would have been there for me like Darby was last night. Like he was today. Like he is right now.
One hand wraps around my back, protectively resting against my shoulders. The other one continues its slow slide up and down. And even though this is the last moment where I should be feeling this way, I can’t help it.
He’s turning me on.
I rest my hand lightly on his chest, over his heart. It’s beating hard too.
I lift my gaze to his, finding his blue eyes smoldering as he gazes at me.
I trail my hand up his chest. My fingers graze the side of his neck before reaching higher to brush his jaw, his smooth cheek. His lips are plump and soft-looking. Have they always been that way? Why haven’t I noticed?
Why haven’t I tasted them before?
He doesn’t move as I push up on tiptoe. He towers over my five-foot-five frame, but not in a way that makes me feel intimidated. It makes me feel secure. Cared for. It makes me want to be closer to him.
His throat bobs as he swallows. “Harlowe,” he says hoarsely. “I…”
I pull back, blinking as the trance I’m in breaks. Did I just overstep in a huge way? Did I just make a huge fool of myself? He was only trying to comfort me, not make a move on me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, stepping out of his arms. “I—I don’t know what just happened. I guess I’m…” But there aren’t excuses. I violated his space.
“Harlowe,” he says again, stepping toward me, hand outstretched. He opens his mouth to speak, but a loud chirping noise echoes off the walls suddenly, making me jump. He sighs and digs his cell phone out of his pocket and answers the call, his eyes on me.
“Cisneros,” he says. “Yeah, Sarge. Yes. I’ll be right in.” He pockets the phone and scratches the back of his neck with one hand. “I’m sorry. I have to go. My boss wants to debrief about last night before the start of my shift.”
I nod, my eyes on the floor. “Of course. You’ve done more than enough.”
His footsteps tread lightly over the carpet, and then his fingers slide beneath my chin, tipping it up. His eyes are still smoldering. “I want to be clear about something. I want to kiss you, Harlowe. More than you could ever know.”
My breath catches in my chest.
“But it’s important to me that I’m not doing anything to take advantage of you when you’ve been through a lot.” He strokes my cheek with his thumb, one corner of his mouth curling up. “Besides, we could use a little time to get reacquainted, don’t you think?”
I huff a little laugh. “Geez. Make me sound like an evil temptress, why don’t you.” I swallow and smile. “I’d love to get reacquainted with you, Darby.”
“Good.” His hand slides away from my face, down my arm, and catches my hand. He lifts it to his lips and pecks the back of it. Before he turns to leave, he adds, “By the way, I find you extremely tempting.” He quirks a brow, shrugs, and smiles. “Let me know if you need anything, all right?”
I’m a little speechless, but I manage a nod.
When he’s gone, I drop down onto the sofa, hugging a cushion to my chest. Darby’s right, and his show of respect for me makes my heart swell. I can’t believe I almost kissed him…and at the same time, knowing he wants to kiss me thrills me.
Am I confused? Overwhelmed?
I call Nancy to check on her and see how her first day at home has gone. I’m surprised to hear my mother hasn’t done her “I told you so” routine. Both of my parents have been compassionate toward Nancy, and that makes me happy beyond measure to hear. I get the impression Nancy could use some time to herself, so I cut the call short.
No sooner have I set my phone down than it jingles with a text message. Darby. I scoop it up, but instead, it’s a name I want nothing to do with.
Bill: Our place is flooded?
An actual growl escapes my throat at that.
Me: First of all, it’s not OUR place. It’s mine. Second of all, how did you find out about that?
Bill: When are you going to stop playing these games? You made your point by “throwing” me out. Is your feminine pride satisfied yet? Can we get back to our normal life?
I’m sure you’ve heard the term “seeing red” before. Up until this moment, I always thought it was a figure of speech. It’s not.
Me: There is no WE. There hasn’t been a WE for several months now. Leave me alone, Bill.
I block his number as soon as I send the last text. It’s something I should have done when we first broke up.
My phone jingles with another text. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Darby: Just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you. I hope you’re settling in all right and feeling better.
My anger melts like an M&M in a hot palm.
Me: I’m doing great, especially now. Have a safe night at work.
Darby: Always.
4
Darby
Six days.
It’s been six days since Harlowe moved in next door, and I’ve never felt so out of my mind as I have since.
The kiss we almost shared in her apartment has haunted me ever since it happened. I know I did the right thing, but I also regret not capitalizing on the opportunity when it was in front of me, and I fucking hate regret. It lingers for years. Maybe it can linger for an entire lifetime. And it’s my own damn fault.
Because when Harlowe leaned up, grazed my cheek with her fingers, and made it perfectly clear what she wanted, I froze. I turned into that high school geek again, the guy who was never good enough for the beautiful girl next door. Every ounce of confidence I ever gained over the past years disappeared the moment she touched me.
I suggested getting to know each other better first. Still a good idea. But apparently in that instant I forgot we work on opposite schedules. I’m at work when she’s home in the evenings. She’s at work when I’m home during the days. I had two nights off somewhere over the past two days, but she wasn’t home. She texted me to let me know she’d be spending time with Nancy and her parents. In between that, she’s had to deal with the nightmare of insurance adjustors at her old place. She’s been busy.
And I’ve been…well, a coward, frankly.
Around ten thirty Friday night, I arrive back at the apartment and trudge upstairs. I had to attend court earlier today for a guy I wrote a speeding ticket for a few weeks ago, and rather than get paid overtime, I decided to knock off a couple hours early. The apartment hallway is, as always, quiet.
Just as I unlock the door, Harlowe’s door opens. I look up just as she pops her head out. “Hey,” I say quietly, confused. “What’re you doing up?”
“Waiting for you,” she says to my surprise. “Um…I cooked. Food, I mean.”
Is Harlowe Monroe…nervous? I hesitate in front of my door, a little bewildered. “You mean, for me?” She’s not the only one who’s nervous.
She thumbs over her shoulder into the apartment. “Are you hungry? I mean, it’s just chicken. But I made extra. I thought you might want some.”
Move your feet, you idiot. Her unspoken invitation is obvious, but for some reason, I feel like I’m intruding. “In—in there?”
She smiles. “I mean, I can wrap up a plate for you if you prefer, but since I’m right next door…”
“Yeah,” I say, stuffing my key back in my pocket. “Thank you. That’d be great.”
She holds
the door for me, scrutinizing me as I walk in. “You want to take all that stuff off? That big belt looks heavy. And I’m sure eating with a Kevlar vest under your shirt isn’t comfortable.”
“That’s all right,” I say, pausing next to her kitchen counter. A pot of something warms on the stove and a covered glass dish rotates in the quietly whirring microwave. It smells like heaven.
She pulls a plate from the cupboard, giving me a dry look. “Just take it off, Darby.”
I’m sure she didn’t mean for that to be a sexy comment, but certain parts of me don’t get that memo. Still, I gratefully set down the heavy tool belt, unbutton my patrol shirt, and unstrap my Velcro Kevlar vest. Underneath, I wear a white, ribbed tank top that clings to my body.
I don’t miss the sidelong, appreciative stare she throws me as I sit down on a stool at the long counter.
A moment later she places a plate with a glazed chicken breast, mashed potatoes, and roasted green beans in front of me. I saw into the chicken with the fork and knife she hands to me and almost moan from appreciation at my first bite.
“This tastes familiar,” I say, tilting my head. It’s a distant memory that’s tied to a much more vivid one. “Is this…that chicken your mom made for that fall cookout senior year?”
At the words “fall cookout,” Harlowe immediately blushes, and my blood surges. She remembers.
She remembers.
“Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat. “I had a craving for it.”
And when she says that, her eyes all dark and smoky, I get the feeling she’s not just referring to the chicken.
“It reminds me of a happy time in my life,” she goes on softly, resting her palms on the counter. “I used to make it with my mom. We haven’t cooked together in years, but…I’ve been thinking about the past a lot lately.”
I set down my fork. “And why’s that?”
“Because of…you.”
I stand up from my stool and walk around the counter toward her. Only an inch of space separates us.
“What about me?” I ask softly.
Harlowe lifts a shoulder, wrapping her arms around herself and letting her gaze drift. “I realized something today. I haven’t been happy in a long time.” She glances up at me. “I dated someone for a little over a year. We lived together. It ended badly a few months ago. My old place doesn’t feel like home to me anymore. To be honest, I’m not sure it ever did. But the past week I’ve lived here, next door to you…it brings back memories of a simpler time, I guess, when I was more carefree. It’s helped me forget the other crap weighing me down.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “Really. And, I want you to know something. Any man would be lucky to have you. He sounds like a fucking idiot.” Then I clear my throat. “Sorry. That’s none of my business.”
She just smiles at me. A real one that reaches her eyes. “No—thank you. That kinda made my day.”
I’m dying to know what idiot had this woman and then destroyed the relationship. I want to run a background check on him.
“What about you?” she asks lightly. “Any relationship tales of woe to throw into this big pot of pity soup I’ve got simmering?”
I chuckle. “Only my share. I’ve been single for a long time. The whole dating thing, it seems so exhausting to me. I’d much rather find that one and build a life with her.”
She watches me carefully. “Well, you have to date to find the one, don’t you?”
I meet her gaze steadily. “Sometimes. And sometimes you already know who she is. Have known for years.”
Harlowe sucks in her breath.
This time, it’s me who steps closer. Third time’s the charm.
I run the tips of my fingers along her jaw to tip her chin up. Her eyes flutter shut, lips parted, waiting.
A knock—or rather, a pounding—on the door makes us jump apart.
“Har? You in here?” The handle turns and the door swings open.
My heart plummets.
Some tall, well-dressed corporate type walks in like he owns the place, an irritated look on his face. The watch on his wrist twinkles. His squeaky leather shoes look designer, as does his tailored suit. Even at ten thirty, his hair is hardly disturbed.
“Baby,” he says, walking right up to Harlowe and taking her by the hands. “You really need to lock your door. Anyway, I need to talk to you.” He glances over at me, his gaze traveling over me as one eyebrow lifts in distaste. “Who the hell are you, and what’re you doing in my girlfriend’s temporary motel room?”
Girlfriend?
Harlowe’s eyes flash with rage. She opens her mouth, but the guy lifts a hand without even looking at her. “Can you leave? I need to talk to Har-Har for a minute. Alone.”
Har-Har?
She stares up at him as if in shock.
Suddenly, I’m that same kid between our houses that cool fall night. One moment, I was a man. Maybe I could’ve been her man. And the next second, as soon as her popular jock boyfriend showed up, I was back to my normal geeky self.
Not this time. Fuck this guy.
“Sure,” I say calmly. “Thanks for the food, Harlowe.” I step around them to pick up my belt and shirt and head for the door.
“Darby,” she calls.
“He can wait,” the guy says.
I step out and let the door shut behind me.
Well, fuck.
Maybe she’s working it out with her ex.
Maybe I’m a fucking idiot.
I stalk down the hall to my apartment, shove open the door, and slam it closed.
5
Harlowe
“What the hell are you doing here?” I snap at Bill, shoving him away. “What gives you the goddamn right? And how the hell did you know where to find me?”
“I was worried about you!” he exclaims. “And when I told your mom you hadn’t been taking my calls for a few days, she was only too happy to tell me where you were staying so I could come check on you.”
I close my eyes for a beat, gripping my forehead. My mother. Goddammit! “Listen, Bill, I haven’t been taking your calls because I fucking blocked your number. And that does not mean you get to show up where I live!”
He sighs. “Are we still doing this?”
“No!” I yell. “We’re not doing anything. That ended over three fucking months ago!”
Bill steps toward me and reaches out to grasp my wrists. “Listen, Har, you made your point, okay? I get it, I’m a dick and I need to work on some shit. Just knock it off already.” He tugs me closer and his voice softens. “Forget that other place. The pipe bursting was a blessing in disguise, anyway. It’s time we got a house. Got married. Have some kids.” He smiles. “See? I’m ready to give you everything you want.” His hands tighten on me.
“You’re hurting me!” I jerk my wrists from his hands so hard my skin burns. Then I shove his chest. “Bill, get out!”
But he doesn’t. He just stands there, gaping at me. “No. I’m not leaving this shitty apartment without you. What kind of dump is this, anyway? You can afford better. You deserve better. Let me give it to you, Harlowe. How many times do we have to do this back-and-forth bullshit? You know as well as I do that in a few more days, you would have been calling me, begging me to come over and spend the night. Why? Because you need me. And you want me. Stop playing ga—”
I know it’s wrong to hit another person. I know that’s a line you should never cross. But he’s had it coming for so long, and every single word out of his mouth takes my rage to another level.
I smack him across the face as hard as I can. “Bill, get the fuck out!”
He stares at me in shock. Then he glowers at me. “You fucking bitch.” His fists clench at his sides, and he takes one step toward me.
Before he can take another, someone pounds on my door. Hard.
“Police. Open the door.”
“Look at that,” Bill snaps at me. “Your fucking hysterical, bitchy screaming made someone call the cops on us.” He str
ides for the door, already arranging his face into a slick, calm expression. He opens the door. “You again?”
Darby points over Bill’s shoulder. “Back up, please.”
Bill draws his head back. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said back up,” Darby says softly. “You’re crowding me. And you need to back up.”
I stare at Darby, my mouth hanging open.
“I heard screaming,” Darby continues, stepping farther inside once Bill’s taken a couple steps back. He pins me with his gaze. “Are you all right?”
I swallow. “I want this man gone.”
“Harlowe,” Bill hisses. “Knock it the fuck off.”
“All right, let’s go.” Darby waves Bill toward the door.
“You’re off-duty,” Bill says nastily. “You can’t make me do shit.”
Darby lifts his shoulder. “If I see a crime being committed in front of my eyes, I’m bound by the oath I took to intervene. This is me intervening. You need to leave.”
His tone is totally flat and calm, and he doesn’t bat an eye as he stares Bill down.
“What crime?” Bill demands.
“Trespassing,” Darby replies. “This woman said she doesn’t want you here. This is her home. That makes you a trespasser. Now you can walk out of here, or you can take a ride to the station in handcuffs. It’s up to you.”
A shiver rolls over my skin—and it’s not at all an unpleasant one.
“Yeah?” Bill challenges. He points to his face, where my red handprint is still visible and giving way to a small, dark bruise. “Then I’m going to press charges on her for assault.”
“Being that I live next door and the walls in this shitty dump are paper-thin, I overheard the entire conversation,” Darby says, an edge finally creeping into his voice. “She asked you repeatedly to leave, and you didn’t comply. She stated you were hurting her. Therefore, I have every reason to believe what she did was an act of self-defense.” He rests a hand on the butt of the Taser on his belt. It looks like a gun at a quick glance, but I know his service weapon rests on his right hip. “Don’t make me have to deploy my Taser, sir. Turn around and walk out. If you ever come back here, you will be arrested.”