by Brynn Hale
“I think you should buy me one.”
“And why’s that?”
“For defending your honor.”
“Against him?” She nods to the two men walking away. “He was less than half your size.”
“So you’re saying size matters to you?”
In two swift moves, I’m up against the brick, face first, my arm twisted behind my back. She presses her chest into my spine. “Seems maybe I would’ve been the one defending you.” Her teeth graze my ear. “And Cray, size doesn’t matter, it’s how you use what you have to get the job done.”
I’ve never been more turned on in my fucking life.
“Look who lost their professional veneer when they changed their clothes.”
She releases my arm. “I can unwind and get away from the badge when I want to.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I lift her bag and grab her hand. She doesn’t shake out of the hold. I walk her to her car to drop off her bag, before walking her into Graffiti Street Bar about a block and a half away.
A Christmas tree lights a corner over by the pool table, adorned with tags for gifts that patrons will buy for the local less fortunate kids. I’d already given Hemi and Zale’s wife some money to do with as they thought would benefit the community best.
There are two seats at the bar. I pull one out for her.
“Such a gentleman.”
I lean into her. “I can be.”
My buddy and bar owner, Zale throws a towel over his shoulder. “Hey, Cray.”
I still don’t know her first name, it’s like it didn’t matter. Not in that I didn’t want to know, but I liked calling her “officer.” My crotch pulses remembering being shoved up against the wall.
“Zale, this is Ms. Wade.” Doesn’t matter, many police officers don’t want to be known by their title while off duty. It brings suspicion and I don’t blame them.
“Naomi, hey,” he says with a smile. “How are you? The girls?”
He knows her? I feel a little left out…and jealous. But her name. Shit. I can’t help but think it. Naomi—“I Moan” backwards. I wonder if it’s true.
“I’m good, Zale. Water, please.”
“Cray, your regular?” Zale asks.
I give a quick nod, taking in the myriad of hand cut snowflakes that I know Zale’s step-kids made for the bar. He has all of them displayed proudly.
He pours a pint of their darkest beer. I throw a twenty on the counter and Zale ignores it.
“You two know each other?” I ask as he walks off.
“We’ve had a few interactions lately, business stuff.”
That’s news to me and I’m in here about three nights a week.
“You don’t drink?” I motion my beer to her water.
“Not when I don’t know what’s actually happening,” she says with a raised eyebrow.
“Fair enough. So, when you’re not making Kildare a safer place, what do you like to do, Naomi?”
I swear I see a slight shiver when I say her name, but Zale’s known for having the AC on in the dead of winter. It’s not cold out, but it’s definitely been cool lately. And being days away from Christmas, it should be, but growing up in Texas it almost never was.
She makes a smiley face in the condensation on her glass of water. “I go hiking at Lost Creek Falls and the White Domes Loop. I read. I go to the shooting range. I take Krav Maga classes. And I attend my younger daughter’s basketball games.”
“Cool. What’s your favorite restaurant here in Kildare?”
“If I’m on duty it’s the Big Plate Café hands down. They’re quick and if we get a call, they have a to-go container waiting to throw our food into, complete with condiments and silverware so we don’t go hungry. But otherwise, Tres Salsas for Mexican, Rico’s for Italian, Liza’s for happy hour and small plates, and Golden Crust for pizza.”
“I heard that!” Zale calls out.
“Sorry!” She leans forward to see him. “I’ve never had your pizza, can’t speak to it either way.”
Those are no-fuss choices. All are walk-in and either sit down or take it to go kind of places. Not that I expected anything different, but I thought she might throw a fancier place in there.
“Good choices. But I agree with Zale, your pizza choice is a step above that ‘Caesar Caesar’ guy’s. And don’t get me wrong, I order that for the shop all the time, so there’s a pizza for every occasion and taste, but Golden Crust doesn’t compare to Graffiti Street.”
“How about you, Cray?” Her grey-brown eyes, darker near the iris, flash long coffee lashes.
“Meat and potatoes kind of guy, so Spurs for steaks, Evan’s for hamburger’s, and Graffiti Street Bar for pizza.”
Zale chuckles as he walks by. “Good choice. Speaking of, you two want anything to eat?”
I put in an order for a meat-lovers and the special pizza, something with figs and cheese from a goat. I always give the special a try, but this sounds definitely different. I’ve liked some and given others to the woman who lives on the corner. Charlotte always seems grateful for everything and it makes me think about my situation. Being grateful for what I have. Plenty have less, and many have more. And some lose everything in the blink of an eye. I know.
If there’s anything my time in the military taught me, it’s that being grateful for just breathing, is no way to live. It takes away the joy. I try to be grateful every day for something and right now, I know what that something is.
Her fucking perfume.
The sensual notes balanced by floral, maybe an herbal flower, like lavender, are killing me. I’m having a hard time concentrating on anything else and it’s going to be stuck in my head for a long time.
“What do you like to do when you’re not being an artist?” she asks.
“I have a couple motorcycles, like to take a long rides. I travel a little.”
“Into Vegas?”
“Hell, no. I’ve been to Vegas once. One time in the three years I’ve lived in Kildare. How about you?”
“I went in there for Eve’s art show in October, but I try to stay to Kildare as much as possible. I see how gambling can really take a person’s love of life away.”
“Don’t tell that to the one hundred-sixty billion dollar-plus industry.”
“Imagine what people could do, if they kept that money?”
“Right?” I lift my glass and she clinks hers to it. “I don’t blame people for wanting an outlet for their frustrations and stress, but come on, there are much better ways.”
“Like?” she asks and her eyes hold to my lips.
“Hiking, Naomi. Lots of sweaty hiking.”
Naomi
I know what I said. I said I wasn’t going to do this, but then I realized something—
and it’s not about Cray. It’s about those two guys from outside of Graffiti Street Tattoo. They’re bad news and I think I know what the headline is.
There’s been a rash of women—and a few men—getting roofied along this run of bars, including Graffiti Street Bar. Hence why I’ve had to talk to Zale lately. Evo Room, Rolly’s Good Time, and Westend Girls, all hit in the last two weeks. The last being the strip club that those guys were talking about. I have a feeling I’ve encountered the suspects and I just need to talk to the guys on duty with my information. I’m considering slipping away when the pizza arrives.
“Ladies first.” He points.
I grab the biggest piece of the meat-lovers pizza.
“Nicely done.” He acknowledges.
It’s been a long time since I had pizza. I try to keep my diet clean, not that pizza can’t be just as good or bad for you as anything else, but I stick more to a protein and veggies diet. Similar to Cray’s, but probably fewer potatoes and more salads. I’ve had to lose some weight in the last few years to even qualify to be an officer. It was a sacrifice I did without a blink. I love food, but I love making the streets of Kildare safe even more.
I lift a piece of the spec
ialty pizza, eyeing it up suspiciously. When a cheese doesn’t melt, it’s not right.
“The cheese?” he asks.
“Yeah, why doesn’t it melt?”
He cracks up and leans so close that if I move an inch, our lips will touch. “I think it’s the way of the goat. Evolutionarily speaking they’ve had a hard life and were one of the first animals domesticated. They’re probably still pissed off about that.”
I lift the piece of pizza and he opens his mouth. I swallow as I feed the pointed end of the small triangle into his mouth. He bites down, those pearly whites digging into the chewy crust. A small amount of fig spread stays on his upper lip.
“You have…” I stare at it.
“What?”
I lean forward and lightly kiss the piece of fig off his lip. His skin so baby soft. I crave to go back for a longer touch. The fig releases a honey-like flavor with a subtle hint of berry—the big ones, like blackberry and dark raspberries--and the texture is little chewy, but it’s delicious.
But what the fuck did I just do?
He finishes chewing the bite slowly. “That was unexpected.”
You can say that again.
I sit back and take a bite of the pizza. The flavors explode in my mouth when combined together with the goat cheese and the yeasty crust.
The rest of the night is light and easy. He’s a great conversationalist and so intelligent that I’m intimidated. I thought it would be for his size, but it’s not. He’s a gentle giant, and there’s also something innocent about him. He’s broken in a way that’s deep and part of me wonders if he’s too far gone.
Not to mention I can imagine that I’m old enough to be his mother. Not joking.
“Can I ask how old you are?” I say as I pull a twenty out of my purse and he scowls, but I still place it on the bill and he matches it. The bartender’s going to get a nice tip tonight.
“You go first.” He wipes the remnants of the last piece of meat-lovers pizza from his mouth. I would go toe-to-toe with him that the fig was better.
“Probably old enough to be your mother.”
He snickers. “I doubt that.”
“How old do you think I am?”
He sits back, crossing his arms. “You have a daughter graduating college and one in high school.”
“Yes.”
“But I get the feeling that there’s more to the story there.”
There was. He wasn’t wrong. But it wasn’t something that I told a man on a date, but thus far he’d pulled down so many of my defenses.
I shake my head. “That’s something for discussion while you’re laying—”
“What?” Zale’s jaw hardens as he skids to a stop with a martini glass in one hand a shaker in the other.
I roll my eyes at him. “Laying his artwork down on me.”
Cray gives his friend a long glare. His arm wraps around the top of my stool. “Okay, I’ll make time for you, if you make time for me, Naomi Wade.”
“What time?”
“Tomorrow morning seven o’clock.”
I lay my hand on his thigh. The muscles firming under my touch. “Make it six-thirty.”
“Okay, but you bring the coffee.”
“Tea.”
His face crinkles. “If you say so.” His hand slips onto my back and his large fingers crawl up my spine. I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation. With one pull, my bun falls and the mid-shoulder strands unfurl like a ball of string being played with by a cat. “You have beautiful hair, Naomi.”
I have to get the conch back. That bun holds some power that I never expected. I pull the strands over my shoulder and I hold out my hand for the pin. He sets it in my palm.
I whisper. “You’ll never pull this out again and I’ll never call you by your real name—Theodore John Creager.”
His face voids of any emotion. I’m almost sorry for doing it, but he didn’t ask, and my hair is mine. But I’m not sure why that name is no longer his.
“Deal, babe. And I think you’re thirty-six, not even close to being old enough to be my mother.”
Thirty-nine. Forty next week, Cray. And maybe, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I am old enough.
Four
Naomi
Cray was a good boy and just waved me off after opening my car door and watching me get in. I call one of the detectives on my way home.
“Daniels, I think I have a lead on the Graffiti Street Bar case.”
“Okay…don’t make me wait, Wade.”
“You remember that petite guy with an attitude like a weasel that Brandy and Rollins arrested at the beginning of the year? The one who had the Rohypnol on him and then he dropped off the face of the earth?”
“Benny Johnson?”
“Yeah, that’s his last name. Benny’s back and he’s drugging women. I guarantee it.”
“Okay. I believe you. You’ve never had a bad instinct yet.”
“He’s making his grounds Graffiti Street. And he’s got help this time—the other guy was wearing a long black trench, dark hair, and dark eyes.”
“I’ll look into it. I’ll let you know what happens. Have a good night, Wade.”
“Oh, and Daniels, have a unit take Charlotte to her apartment. She’s camped out on the corner of Graffiti and Fifth. I’m afraid what Benny and his sidekick might do to her.”
Charlotte has an apartment paid for by a local donor, but she feels safer on the streets. She likes the hard surface under her. She told me it reminded her of being back in Afghanistan and making the earth her bed. And she could run if something happened. Her agoraphobia is a clear sign of PTSD, but she has to want help to really accept the help.
“I doubt she’ll stay, but I’ll get a unit on it. Thanks, Wade.”
“Have a quiet night.” It was my normal send off.
“Here’s hoping.”
I woke up before my five a.m. alarm. It was like I was looking forward to seeing Cray, but I almost cancelled just thinking about that fact. I didn’t have his number. I had Zale’s and probably could get Cray’s, but that would open more questions. Zale wanted to see his friend happy, I had no doubts about that, but I wasn’t sure that I was the one to make him happy. I could barely make myself happy some days.
I shower and shave, even though I did my due diligence and knew he’d shave me again, if needed. But that makes me bring out the heavy guns and ensure that I got everything off. Everywhere. My pussy looks twenty-years younger than I am. I’ve never gone bare before, and looking in the mirror, I don’t hate it. In fact, I like it.
I make two breakfast burritos for each of us and two cups of my favorite blend of black tea with a splash of hazelnut creamer. If he doesn’t like it, The Beanery is right next door to his place, he can get his coffee and not be a baby about it.
I grab Eve’s art piece off the fireplace mantle. I don’t even know why these houses have fireplaces; not like I ever use it in Nevada.
I’m standing outside of the tattoo shop when he rolls up in his lifted truck. The exhaust definitely not legal, but sometimes you just have to look the other way.
“Nice truck,” I say.
“Was gonna bring the Ducati, but if it’s even thinking of raining. I’m a no go when it comes to riding.”
“Smart.”
He opens the door, lifts the artwork careful, as Eve would herself, not by the top but evenly by the sides. He keeps the open sign turned off.
And then I see it.
“You’re coming in on your day off?” I grab his arm. “Cray, we don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, we do, Naomi. I’m giving you what you want. You deserve it.”
I don’t know what exactly he means by that, but I set the food and drink down on a ledge to take off my coat.
“I’m over in this bay.” He motions, lifting a picture of a Nevada sunset off the wall and placing Eve’s piece onto the secure hanger. Stepping back, he eyes it up and straightens it perfectly.
I set the tea and burri
tos in front of him on a shelf. “For us.”
“You do know that this is going to take a couple of days, right?”
“Oh…” I didn’t. “Do you have time for that?”
“I’ll make time.”
He sits down and starts drawing on a pad, making almost a curve for curve and line for line rendition of the artwork. I lean back against the wall. He reaches for the tea and takes as sip.
“That’s good.”
I’m beaming, but I don’t care. “It’s got a touch of hazelnut creamer.”
“Huh. Nice.”
He continues and gets up to take in the composition from a different angle. “It’s gonna be a challenge, but I’ll do my best, Naomi.”
“How painful is this going to be?”
He puts down the sketchpad. “Ever been snapped by a rubber band by a friend or sibling?”
“Hundreds of times.”
“It’s like that over and over until finally your body puts up some block of the pain. Some people actual experience a high from the released endorphins. And sometimes people experience a release of emotions. Especially if they’re getting something that’s very personal to them. It can be cathartic, and for some people it can be life changing.”
“Is that one of the reasons you do it?”
He raises and lowers his shoulders. “I don’t remember why I do it anymore. I just do it. But I try to make sure that every client enjoys the experience and I do my best.”
That makes me a little sad. He needs to know his why so he can have fulfillment.
He stands back and eyes me up. “The last question…where are you getting this work of art?”
That is a good question. I need to protect my job, so it can’t be like on my neck or chest. It has to be hidden.
“I don’t know. What do you think? Can’t be out in the open.”
“It’s going to have to be large to get detail. I’d like to enlarge this sketch by at least thirty-percent.”
“Wow.”
“But if you don’t want to—”
“No, I trust you, Cray.” I lean over the chair and stare at the drawing. “Where do you think the best place to put it is?”