Our Star-Crossed Kiss

by Piper Rayne

  “You know seeing you naked gets me all hard, and now my big dick will be dangerously close to the oven while I cook your breakfast. Maybe you should solve this problem before you lose your favorite lollipop.”

  She peeks out of the bathroom. “Is this you asking me for a blow job?”

  For some reason, her words trigger a memory of what Brock said that day.

  “Hey,” I call. “Where did you learn to give such a great blow job?”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Why are you asking?”

  “Just curious.”

  She tilts her head because I can’t get anything by her. She might know me better than I do myself.

  “That fight with Brock, he said something.” I shrug.

  She walks out of the bathroom without her robe, sauntering over to me. Her finger runs down my chest until she cups my groin. “What do you think?”

  “I like to think you learned by watching porn or something. You’re a smart girl. I’m hoping you watched a tutorial.”

  She laughs and bites her lip. “I can assure you I never went down on Brock Floyd. Does that make it better?”

  “Really?”

  She raises her eyebrows and I know it’s because I’m questioning her.

  “Never mind.” I grab her hips and hoist her onto the counter, wiggling between her thighs.

  “This is very unsanitary,” she says.

  “I’ll clean it after.” I bend down, bringing her legs over my shoulders so I can show her my own oral skills. “Breakfast of champions.”

  “Good thing we make our own hours,” she says.

  And I am thankful to no longer be doing boudoir shoots, concentrating on architecture photography and showing them at exhibits Ursula keeps allowing me to have. Plus, I’ve had a few other people reach out. I was suspicious when someone asked me about a photo of Evan. It wasn’t for sale, just on my Instagram feed. I’m pretty sure it was Nick Klein.

  A pounding so loud you’d think it was the Incredible Hulk’s hand banging on our door sounds.

  “What the fuck?” I say, ready to ignore and feast on my girl.

  “Answer it,” she says.

  I groan, dislodging her legs from my shoulders. “If this is some ding-dong ditch, they’re going to see my fist.”

  She slides off the counter and runs to the bathroom for her robe. Another bang.

  “Open up, Andrews!” It’s Jax.

  Once Evan’s amazing body is hidden, I open the door. Jax is in his boxers, his tattoos on full display.

  I glance over my shoulder at Evan. “Close your eyes.”

  She shoos me away and comes to my side.

  “Fuck, you’re never gonna believe this. Get over to Dylan’s now!” He runs back down the hall.

  We were fortunate to get the apartment across from Ethan and Blanca, next to Dylan and Rian. I was skeptical at first because of times like this when I could be eating Evan out but instead we’re all rushing to Dylan and Rian’s apartment for God knows what. But Evan seems to enjoy it. The girls have wine nights where they watch new Netflix shows. She fits in perfectly with all of them, and I think it’s something she needed in her life—honest and true friendships.

  Blanca stumbles out of her apartment, her eyes blinking while Ethan looks as though he’s been up for hours.

  “Seriously, is there a fire?” Blanca asks Evan and hooks her arm through hers.

  “I have no idea,” Evan says. “I was getting ready for work.”

  I glance back and Evan smiles at me. I won’t make a joke. I’ll let that stay between us.

  Dylan and Jax are out on the balcony overlooking Ink Envy and Sweet Infusion on the other side of the street. My stomach drops, hoping something didn’t happen to the building overnight. I see the reflection of blue and red lights on the windows of the condo building above the small businesses.

  Ethan’s phone rings. He answers and hands the phone to Blanca.

  “What happened?” Blanca sounds as if she’s had five bottles of wine. “It’s so early, what?”

  Jesus. I walk out to the balcony and look at what Jax and Dylan are so interested in. Rian is on the curb, watching from outside Sweet Infusion since she does start work before the sun comes up.

  “Shut up!” Blanca suddenly sounds perfectly awake and alert. “No way.”

  “What am I missing?” Evan says, coming alongside me. “Knox is arresting someone? Isn’t that kind of his job?” Evan cops an attitude with Jax.

  I put my arm around her and smile although the situation isn’t funny. I’m kind of proud of my girl’s sarcasm.

  “He’s arresting Leilani,” Jax clarifies.

  “Who’s that?” Evan asks.

  “The girl who fucked him up in the head,” I say.

  “What could’ve happened?” Blanca leans forward to get a better view.

  Dylan turns her way. “Rian said she saw Knox pull his car over to the curb and was just going to go say hi when…”

  He doesn’t fill in the rest because Knox must feel all our eyes on him. He looks up with a handcuffed Leilani, holding her arm and escorting her to the back of his police car.

  “Do you think he had to frisk her? That had to be uncomfortable,” I remark.

  Jax laughs next to me.

  “Fuck, just as he was getting back to his normal self,” Dylan says.

  We watch Knox put his hand on her head and lower her into the back of his squad car. He doesn’t look up again as he rounds the back of the car and climbs into the driver’s seat. We all watch him drive away.

  Nothing good can come from Leilani coming back into Knox’s life.

  “So should we plan a welcome back party for Leilani?”

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  HOLY SMOKES! Lelani’s back!?!

  The real question that NEEDS to be asked is…

  Who does Knox want a do-over with?

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  SNEAK PEEK at CHAPTER ONE!!

  Knox

  “How come female police officers don’t get all the googly eyes you men do?” Patrice takes her sandwich from the pick-up counter and glances to a table full of women checking me out.

  I don’t have nearly the same ego as my friends, but I can’t deny that I’m a good-looking guy. I also have twenty-twenty vision and I can see all the wedding rings on those women’s fingers as they sip their coffees.

  It doesn’t take police training to figure out that they’re all at this all-night sandwich shop because of the crying woman in the middle. She hasn’t glanced in my direction once.

  “It’s the whole fantasy thing. They imagine me using my cuffs on them while I worship their bodies.”

  We find a two-person table by the windows and sit down, quieting our radios to the bare minimum so as not to disrupt the other patrons but loud enough that we’ll hear a call come in.

  “I don’t think they’re thinking anything like that when it comes to Ben,” she deadpans, her eyes portraying that look of “you’re insane.” It’s one I’ve become familiar with over the last three years she’s been my partner.

  “Leave Ben out of this.”

  She opens her sandwich. “Ben needs to get off desk duty and run a mile or two.”

  Ben was hurt a year and a half ago and just never got off desk duty again. It’s a running joke at the station. One of many.

  I straighten the paper from my sandwich and pick up half of my Rueben.

  “I should have gotten the Rueben,” Patrice says, nibbling on her turkey club.

  “Then get the Rueben tomorrow.” I bite into my sandwich, ignoring her stares of longing.

  She lifts the top of her bun off. “Ugh, they put mayonnaise on it. Didn’t you hear me say no mayonnaise?” She moves to get up from the table.r />
  I sigh and push my sandwich toward her.

  “You’re the best partner a girl could have.” Patrice smiles wide and bites into my Rueben.

  I grab the corner of the paper her sandwich is on and lift the bread, seeing no mayonnaise. She laughs then chokes on her sandwich, quickly grabbing her drink.

  “That’s some insta-karma right there.” I point at her.

  Switching sandwiches isn’t really a big deal. She’s my partner. She’s got my back whether we’re dealing with a busted window or a bank robbery. Not that our small town of Cliffton Heights sees a lot of bank robberies. Over the years I’ve debated changing gears and heading into New York City where there’s more crime but then I’d have to leave my friends. And when you grow up in a shitty neighborhood where your friends are the ones you depend on, you view them as family. Dylan and Jax were foster kids and hung out so much at my house they’re like brothers.

  Hopefully with the detective position opening up next week after Louie retires, I’ll see some bigger cases. I passed up the promotion two years ago when I was dating Leilani because she’s not exactly police officer wife material. And I cared more for her than I did my job at the time. But like my mom always said, looking in the rearview mirror never did anyone any good. I have to stop thinking about the time wasted and take my shot now.

  Our radios squawk on our shoulders and Patrice’s hand raises to answer the call.

  I pick up Patrice’s original sandwich and toss it in the trash. She carefully folds the paper over the Rueben and shoves it back into the bag for later.

  Great, she’s going to eat in the car again. I hate it when people eat in the car and she knows it. Half the reason I took her sandwich is because by the time we waited for a new sandwich she’d have no choice but to eat it in the car.

  She smiles at me lifting her bag in the air like a taunt.

  “What’s the call?” I ask, waving to the shop owner before opening the door for her and exiting the small deli. The table full of woman all giggle like thirteen-year-olds watching us leave.

  “Looking for someone.” She opens up her door and I get into the driver’s seat.

  In the years we’ve been partners, we’ve come to agreeable terms. One of those being we share the driving even though, and don’t tell her, I’m the better driver. I won’t even mention the time she rear-ended an armored truck we were supposed to be guarding. She’d just tell you about the time I hit a pothole going so fast the tire flew off.

  Mildred’s voice, our sixty-five-year-old dispatcher, comes through our radios. “Suspects shot paintballs at male and female as they left Cliffton Heights Country Club. Victims believe it to be an attack on the female’s fur coat, but they hit the male in his groin. He’s being transported to hospital. Suspects descriptions are two males in their late twenties. Not any more to go on than that. And a female in her twenties with long dark hair in a ponytail, believed to be Hispanic.” I drive us in the direction of the country club and we slowly drive through the streets of Cliffton Heights searching for the suspects.

  Six hours later, we’ve pulled over a few cars, responded to a domestic abuse call, and kicked kids out of the riverfront area who should’ve been home in bed. We stroll around our assigned area still on the lookout for the suspects of the paintball incident but no luck. At this point, they’re probably long gone, on the highway back to New York City. Rumors around the district are that it was the Floyds who got shot with the paintballs. The Floyds are the wealthiest people in our city and tend to have their name with top billing at every fundraiser. Another set of partners took their statement at the hospital and besides having a swollen set of peaches on him, he’ll be fine in a few days.

  “So? Gone on any dates lately?”

  I groan that Patrice has chosen to bring up this topic now. She’s happily married and ever since she said I do she thinks it’s her part-time job to play matchmaker, though she says her friends are off limits.

  “No.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re still fucking girls and not asking for phone numbers afterward?”

  I turn slowly down a dark alley.

  “Why are you so concerned about my love life? Other than the fact that you’re in marital bliss and seem to think everyone wants what you have.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, which if you know Patrice is unusual, so I arm myself with a few comebacks.

  “You’re too good of a guy to just be the douchebag who disappoints women all the time.”

  “Did you just call me a good guy?” Rarely do I receive compliments from Patrice. We have one of those relationships where telling one another what a dumbass the other is being is our way of showing love.

  “You know what I mean.”

  I shrug. “Maybe I’m still getting over her.”

  She blows out an annoyed breath, not having to ask who her is. “Give me a break. She’s a felon.”

  “A few protest arrests, doesn’t make you a felon.” And there I go sticking up for the woman who broke my heart like it was a twig—with no care for its fragility and no backward glance. Still, I’m over Leilani now. But I don’t want a relationship, and if I say I’m over her, Patrice will make it her personal mission to set me up.

  I slow down as we near my apartment. My buddy’s shop, Ink Envy and his girl’s bake shop, Sweet Infusion are right here. Rian is usually already baking at this godforsaken hour, but it’s the dark-haired girl walking down the street who grabs my attention. I know the cadence of that walk, and I definitely know that ass.

  What the hell is she doing back here?

  Patrice looks over at me when I stop the car and then follows my line of sight. “Fits the description of the female suspect, right?”

  I hold my hand up, put the car into park and quietly shut my door. “Leilani,” I say into the cool morning air. She’s in jeans and a sweatshirt. Patrice is wrong, she can’t be one of the suspects. But then on her right jean leg I spot paint and the more my eyes scour her clothes, I spot the cast of spray on her clothes.

  “Knox.” Her voice is as sweet as candy as she saunters over to me, her hips swaying, her eyes eating me up like she’s going to welcome me with a kiss after she bolted from town. “It’s been so long.”

  “Since you left me, you mean?”

  A door chime rings behind me and although I don’t bother looking, I know it’s Rian.

  “I came back to see you. I was going to ring the buzzer, but I didn’t want to wake you.” She breaks the distance between us, and I quickly grab her wrist to stop her before she touches me.

  “Where were you earlier?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I told you. I was here, waiting for you.”

  I’ve been around this block twenty times tonight. This is the first time I’ve seen her.

  “Were you painting?”

  The truth lies in her eyes. Or should I say the lies. It’s the same look I’d get when I’d ask her about moving in together.

  “You need to come down to the station.”

  Red and blue lights reflect off the glass of the storefront and I glance over my shoulder to see Patrice shrugging.

  “You can’t arrest me. You have no proof.” She squirms to get out of my hold. I’m sure her assumption is that I’d let her go because in her mind, I’m still stupidly in love with her. I can’t deny there’s still a soft spot there, but I no longer pine over her like a sappy schmuck.

  “The paint on your clothes is proof enough.” I grab my handcuffs and secure them on her wrists.

  “What are you gonna do? Take me up to your apartment with these cuffs on? Just like the old days, huh?”

  “No.” I try not to let the visual she’s so eager to produce in my mind come to fruition.

  I turn her around toward the cruiser and Leilani balks. “Seriously, the lights? Why not put your siren on too?” At least she finally realizes this is serious.

  Patrice isn’t even trying to bite down her smile as I walk Leilani back to the squad car
, open the door, and press my hand on her head to lower her in. “Hello Leilani,” she says.

  “Patrice.”

  As I round the back of the car, I catch sight of all my friends on the balcony. I’m assuming Rian must’ve alerted them. My gaze falls to Rian on the sidewalk outside her shop with her hand covering her mouth and a look of sorrow in her eyes.

  I hate that damn look.

  “Go back inside, Rian,” I say and climb into the driver’s side.

  Just to be a dick, I turn on the sirens, but it’s me who’ll suffer for this. Move on over Ben, I’m the new joke at the station now.

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  Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings

  Seth and Evan’s story was our first attempt at the star-crossed lovers trope. As most of you long time Piper Rayne readers know, we try to think of new tropes we’ve yet to write in order to challenge ourselves and keep things fresh. Of course, we have our ole’ faithful’s like enemies-to-lovers (we really can’t get enough of this one). So it was awesome when we wrote this story because we could have that hatred and pent-up sexual energy brewing between them in the beginning, but then allow their friendship to rekindle, shifting us into friends-to-lovers, and ultimately settling on star-crossed lovers as the story progressed. It was such a nice story flow and once we figured out the logistics it was so enjoyable to write.

  * * *

  That said, this storyline didn’t come easy for us and we went through so many iterations of Seth and Evan’s story. Some hit the page and some didn’t. Rayne thought she had a gold mine of an idea (that Evan would be pregnant with Brock’s baby and Seth would raise the baby as his own. Nice in theory but that wasn’t the story for Seth and Evan). Sometimes you only realize that once you start writing and so the first five thousand words had to be scrapped. Which meant an emergency meeting was in store. Although we like to tell you guys we have it all plotted and figured out, the cliffhanger at the end of The Rival Roomies put us a little bit in the corner that we had to find our way out of.