by PJ Lincoln
How could she have been so wrong?
A couple of minutes elapsed before two Cocoa Beach officers arrived. Matt took his knee off of Eddie’s back and allowed him to rise off the floor, but with his wrists still tightly in his grip. One of the officers cuffed Eddie and Matt reached into his back pocket.
He flashed a badge to the officer and suddenly, it all made sense to Regan. The crew cut. The aura of safety that drifted off Matt in waves. His even demeanor in the fight. He was a cop, and apparently, a good one.
Regan moved closer to Matt. He was describing the incident to the officer, who took notes on a small pad. The officer finished interviewing Matt and closed his notepad. Seconds later, Eddie was led away.
Regan’s defenses dropped. Pain started rushing in from various parts of her body and she trembled. She would not, however, allow herself to cry.
"Do you have someone you can call?” Matt asked, turning to her.
She shook her head no. "Just my roommate and she's working."
"Where do you live?"
Regan hesitated for a moment. She normally relied on her instincts. They had served her well over the years, at least until Eddie. Should she tell him? Hadn't he just rescued her from who knows what?
"A block up from here."
"I can walk you or call you a cab?"
Regan reached for his right hand. It was thick and strong. She looked at his eyes again. "Walk me."
Many of the Marlin's patrons were still glaring at them. Holding an ice pack to the side of his face, Ray came up to them and asked Regan if she was okay.
She nodded. "Yeah. I’m so sorry about this. Are you alright?”
“I’m from Jersey, honey,” Ray said. “Camden. Course I’m alright. That rich bastard’s gonna pay. Knocked my filling out. I’ll sue him and his daddy.”
He turned his attention to Matt and extended his hand. The two men shook. "Come back tomorrow. Dinner and drinks on me."
"Not necessary," Matt said.
"I insist."
Matt smiled. "Okay, then."
Ray looked at Regan. "You, too, hun. You'll never have to worry about that bastard bothering you here again. You're safe."
She didn't reply, but pulled on Matt's hand for them to leave. He nodded at Ray and they left Marlin's.
Out on Ocean Beach Boulevard, Regan noticed that some of the heat of the day had waned. With just a few clouds accenting the sky, it would be a gorgeous sunset, something she felt she needed.
To her own surprise, she didn't let Matt's hand go as they crossed the street. He hadn't said a word. It was if he sensed her desire for peace. The moment didn't feel awkward despite all that had just happened.
In less than ten minutes they were in front of her sun-colored, three-story apartment building. Palm trees dotted the landscape, but didn't obscure the ocean view. It was so different than the elm and maple trees that lined the street of her suburban Chicago home where her aunt and uncle had raised her.
"This is it?" Matt asked.
"Yeah," Regan said. She released his hand.
"Can I walk you to your door?"
She nodded at Matt and they made their way up to the third floor and her door.
"Thank you," Regan said.
"Glad I was there to help," he said.
The statement made her think of the obvious. Why had he been at the Marlin? Was it a coincidence or had he followed her? She felt a split second of fear and then looked at his face. His right eye was bruised and getting puffy. She reached up and touched it with her left hand.
"He caught you pretty good," Regan said.
"I've taken worse," Matt said.
"Better get some ice on it."
"I'm fine, really. Are you? Is there anything I can get for you? Something to eat? A coffee?"
Her fear vanished. She considered his words for a beat. "No, just your phone number."
Matt looked surprised.
"We're going to take Ray up on his offer tomorrow night," Regan said. "You're going to call me and I'm going to tell you what time to pick me up."
CHAPTER FOUR
Getting Ready
The brief scuffle had done little to raise Matt's blood pressure. Regan asking for his phone number? Different story. He hadn't been on a date within anyone but Jen in seven years. How was he supposed to act? What were they going to do after dinner?
A thousand questions had rolled around in his head all night. It made for fitful sleep, not that it seemed to matter. Matt felt like his iPhone on a full charge: ready for action. He tried to shake some of the excess energy with a round of early morning exercise.
No weights. Just push-ups and sit-ups. Despite a thin layer of flab around his mid-section, Matt was able to grunt out one hundred fifty sit-ups in a pair of sets. He did push-ups in groups of fifty. On his fifth set, he collapsed onto the floor and laughed.
"You're an idiot, Fischer," he said out loud as he rolled over onto his back and continued laughing. "What a dumbass you are. She's sure to notice your pumped up pecs and suddenly toned abs."
His hotel room television blared. An early morning newscaster seemed to share his laugh, but was really just making a lame attempt at a segue to the weather report. High of 83 with lows in the upper sixties. It reminded Matt of a late August summer day back home in Michigan.
He used the side of his queen-sized bed to help pull himself off the floor. He ambled to the bathroom and stared at his body for a moment, not liking what he saw. He looked more like 38 instead of twenty eight. Being a patrol cop was taking its toll, he thought.
Matt left the bathroom and pulled his suitcase from a nearby closet. He hadn't bothered to unpack. Tossing it onto his bed, he rifled through its contents: shorts, tanks, a few t-shirts and tighty-whities. Nothing approaching appropriate evening attire for a date.
Did it matter? He'd be gone in less than forty eight hours and Regan would still be at Cocoa Beach. He laughed again.
You haven't felt anything for anyone in more than a year and now you spring to life for an unavailable woman? Knock yourself out loser.
He could, and probably should, decline her invitation. Why put himself out there for this? Matt flopped next to the suitcase and rubbed his eyes. He grabbed a fluffy pillow and put it over his face. Maybe he should just smother himself and be done with it?
Wade had encouraged him to "go for it" in a brief conversation on his way back to the hotel from Regan's the night before. He actually used the words "proud" and "stud." Of course, Wade had also said that his "boy was going to get some. The chicks love a knight in shining armor. Guaranteed nookie."
The chiding would never end if he nixed the date. Despite his flow of negative thoughts and the threat of nuclear meltdown from his bud, Matt knew he wanted to see her again. Bottom line.
THE LAST TIME MATT SHOPPED FOR CLOTHES, George W. Bush was closing out his first term as president. A knot tightened in Matt's stomach when he walked through the doors of Macy's at a Merritt Square Mall. He instantly felt out of place, like an explorer stepping foot on some uncharted island.
What to wear had never been much of an issue. Freshly pressed uniforms took care of his work life and Jen handled the rest. The few things he did pick for himself were generally confined to sweats and an occasional sports-themed item. He had every variation of Michigan State University apparel imaginable.
He wandered into the men's shop and browsed some Perry Ellis and Tommy Hilfiger suits. The store was holding a three-day sale and most of the suits had been marked down nearly in half.
Are you going on a job interview, or a date?
Matt chuckled at the thought. He looked around trying to scan for more casual ware. Just as he was exiting the men's shop, a voice stopped him from behind.
"Can I help you find something, sir?"
Matt turned and a salesman extended his hand. "Hugh" appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was trim and dressed in a plaid, light grey suit with a pink dress shirt and dotted tie. His hair was thick and h
eld in place by some kind of slick gel. Hugh was everything Matt was not.
But the pretty boy had a firm hand shake, something Matt always looked for. He instinctively didn't trust guys that gave a politician's handshake or a purposely limp one. It also didn't seem to bother Hugh that Matt was dressed in a t-shirt and faded jean shorts, which told him that he was either hungry for any kind of sale or didn't put on aires.
"Well, 'Hugh,' I'm going on my first date in a very long time, and I have absolutely no idea what to wear."
"What are you doing on this date?"
"Dinner at a little place on Cocoa Beach and then, not sure what else."
"So, casual dining then?"
"Yeah, but --"
"You want to impress her," Hugh said, smiling. His teeth were, of course, perfectly straight and as white as ivory.
"I think I can help you out. We're definitely in the wrong area..."
"Matt."
They walked to a section filled with casual shirts, shorts and pants. Hugh sized his client from head to toe and the gears in his head appeared to be working overtime. He put his right hand up to his chin in a thinker's pose and finally spoke after an uncomfortable pause.
"This is a first date?"
"Just met her, yes," Matt said.
"How old is she?"
"Early twenties, I'd say."
Hugh tapped his index finger against his lips. "Okay, okay. Is she a student?"
"I'm not sure. I met her at a restaurant. She's a waitress."
Hugh broke his thinker's pose and shot his hands into his pockets. "I think what we should go for is upscale casual. Since you're a little older than her, she's going to expect you to be established."
"I don't want to look stuffy," Matt said. "That's not me."
"I agree and I think we can pull it off without a problem."
Hugh led him to a large display of brightly colored shorts of all makes and sizes. He searched through a stack and pulled out a pair of white, flat front Nauticas.
"Thirty six inch waste?"
"I should be a thirty four," Matt said.
Hugh smiled. "A little too much beer?"
Matt nodded. "And Five Guys burgers. So, yeah, thirty six is comfortable. Those look like golfer shorts. I'm not quite ready for the tour."
After a few more misses, Hugh found a pair of khaki-colored cargo shorts and Matt nodded his approval. He motioned the salesman toward a nearby display of folded polo shirts.
"I think you want to avoid those," Hugh said. "With your size, a polo's going to cling and might make you look a bit intimidating. We've got some button ups that will go well with the cargos."
"You're the pro," Matt said. "Lead on."
They walked past a cash register and Hugh gave a nod to a colleague. Before he could say anything, Matt spotted a rack of plaid, short sleeve shirts.
"I like these, except they look a little wrinkled."
"They're made that way. It's cotton-polly pucker. A really, really good choice. What color do you like?"
Matt raised his voice several octaves. "Why, this green one goes with my eyes, don't you think?"
"A sense of humor. She will like that. How about this 'Forever Blue?'
"Tucked in or out?"
"Definitely out," Hugh said. "If you tuck it in, she'll think you're uptight, like a cop or something."
"I am a cop," Matt said. He feigned a scowl.
"Right. Got it. How about we ring you up, sir?"
CHAPTER FIVE
The Date
At precisely 7:00 p.m., Matt knocked on Regan's apartment door. Before she could answer, he gave himself the once-over and decided he looked halfway decent for a cop pretending to be a civilian on a date.
Taking himself out of work mode had been a problem since he joined the Novi Police Department nearly a decade ago. Jen had helped. Her social butterfly ways had them frequently attending parties where Matt was forced to talk about something other than service duty weapons and interrogation techniques.
Since the breakup, he'd taken every extra shift he could, and not for the money. Matt found the busier he stayed, the less he thought about Jen, and that was a very good thing. Now, not only was he nervous about being on his first date in years, social anxiety was literally making him sweat. What would they talk about? How could he avoid sounding drier than the sand on Cocoa Beach?
He knocked a second time and stuck his hands in his pockets. His heart was in full thud when Regan answered the door. Looking at her, the air left his body.
The neckline of her dress plunged low enough to reveal ample cleavage. Made of a soft looking material, the dress featured spaghetti straps, a bold aqua print set on a soft red background, and was cut just above her knees in the front and draped to her calves in the back. The colors perfectly accentuated her tanned skin and dark brown hair. Regan was a knockout, he decided.
Words pinged around his mind, but all that came out was, "hi."
"Come in," she said. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."
Matt stepped onto a tiled foyer and glanced around the apartment, which he noted was good-sized and oozed femininity in its decoration. He noticed a sliding glass door adjacent to the living area and could see the ocean off in not too far distance. His attention turned to a young black woman walking his way.
"Emily White," she said, extending her hand. "I've heard a lot about you, Matthew."
He smiled and thought she was nearly as beautiful as Regan. "It's a pleasure. You two have been roommates for awhile?"
Emily giggled and glanced playfully at Regan. "Yeah. We're sisters, or can't you tell?"
Matt slightly flushed. He stared at Emily and then at Regan. "Absolutely. The resemblance is uncanny."
Emily took a step forward, leaned on one foot and put Matt in a bear hug. "Do not mess with my girl," she whispered into his ear. "I'll kick your ass, cop or no cop." Emily released her grip and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"Trying to steal my date?" Regan said in a mocking tone. "I'll slap you into next week, girl."
Emily took several steps backwards and raised her arms with hands making a stopping gesture. "Just trying to make Matthew feel at home, sis." She winked, turned and retreated to her bedroom.
Regan grabbed her purse from a small table in the foyer. "Shall we?"
"We shall," Matt said.
The evening was warm, a little too humid for his taste. He could feel beads of sweat on his forehead as they made their way down Ocean Street heading toward the restaurant. Matt wondered if he should try to hold her hand, or if it would be more respectful if he kept his own hands in his pockets. He decided on the latter, but was surprised when Regan tucked her arm around his and let her head rest on his shoulder as they crossed the street from the apartment.
"I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you did yesterday," she said. "I'm not sure what would've happened if you hand't stepped in."
Matt shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I'm old-fashioned," he said. "You don't treat a woman like that, at least not in my book."
"I like your book."
Not another word passed between them on the rest of the walk. Matt held the door to Marlin's open for Regan and the restaurant's owner, Ray, greeted them as soon as they walked into the dinning area. He patted Matt on the shoulder as if he was a long-lost friend.
"Got you a primo spot set up the deck," he said. "Follow me."
REGAN GRABBED MATT’S HAND as they made their way onto the deck. She wondered if she was being too aggressive with him, although he hadn't pulled away when she took his arm or now when she interlocked her fingers with his.
Her boldness surprised herself a little. It just felt right, though, she couldn't deny it. Being with this man she scarcely knew felt like a natural, and comfortable in a way she had never been with Eddie Levan.
Ray, she knew, had taken a liking to her the first time she walked into the restaurant. Though many of the girls from the Sandbar hung out at the Marlin, he said she reminded
him of his daughter. Ray never let her pay for her drinks and always discounted her meals. On her meager earnings at the bar, it was a great help.
He had prepared a table complete with linen and finer flatware than everyday patrons received. Ray went so far as to place their table away from the crowd in a spot that overlooked Cocoa Beach without any obstructions in its view. By the looks of it, Regan thought, the coming sunset would be spectacular. A breeze had kicked up in the past few minutes and was shooing away the heat and humidity that had marked the day.
Matt helped her into her seat and then sat directly across from her. Wow, he really was old-school. He looked a little tense and she thought something a little stronger than a Corona might help loosen him up a bit.
"Ray makes the world's best Long Island Iced Tea," Regan said, smiling at her date.
Matt returned her smile. "I haven't had one of those since college."
She held up two fingers at Ray.
"Coming right up, darlin'," he said.
Her gaze returned to Matt. He was wearing a short sleeved, medium blue seer-sucker style button up shirt. His biceps stretched the fabric of the sleeves and she could see the rise in his chest and thought he looked powerful, like he could bench press a tank. His crew cut was growing on her, too, and the stark contrast between Eddie's long locks wasn't lost on her.
Matt was a man that meant business. She wondered if he'd see right through her, see that she was drifting without a clear-cut direction in front of her. Why would this man who so obviously had it together want with an underemployed waitress?
"How long have you been a cop?" Regan asked.
"Going on seven years."
"Why?"
Matt smiled. "Why did I become a cop?"
Regan nodded. "Were you in the military or something?"
"No. My grandfather was an officer in Detroit for thirty four years. I admired him very much."