“Jane! You can’t seriously be thinking of staying with him. You just said he’s been cheating on you your entire marriage—”
“—with lots of men,” Mom adds.
“Five,” I clarify. Dan made it clear that he wasn’t just out screwing around; he was always in “relationships”—not that it changes anything. Cheating is still cheating, regardless if it’s with a man or a woman.
“Five, ten, gay, straight, it doesn’t matter,” Julie picks up where she left off. “You can’t stay with a cheater. You have to leave.”
I sigh. “It’s not that simple—”
“How is that not simple? He cheated on you. He lied to you.”
I swallow hard, unnerved by the accusation in her tone.
“There are a lot of things to consider,” I go on. “Avery’s at a very vulnerable age. We have to think about what’s best for her. Plus, Dan’s job is a huge factor in all of this. If this gets out, it could be devastating to his career.”
“I’ll give you the Avery thing,” she concedes quickly. “But how would him getting divorced have any impact on his career? Doctors get divorced all the time. Hell, all of your friends are second and third wives—”
“It’s not so much about a divorce; it’s about him being gay—”
“So, doctors can’t be gay?”
Her rebuttals are starting to grate against my nerves.
I didn’t come here to be attacked. I came here to make sure you were okay. To reassure you that somehow I’d figure out a way to take care of Mom—and you!—like I always do!
“Yes, of course doctors can be gay,” I go on, jaw tightening in frustration. “But if he comes out now, it could create huge problems at work; it could have a serious impact on the entire hospital.”
She gasps while dramatically pressing a palm across her chest. “Wow, he really is the most important doctor in the world if his sex life can impact the future of the entire hospital.”
She stretches out the word entire over the span of a mile, which is precisely how far away from her I want to be right now.
UGH!
“You know what—never mind. There’s no way you could possibly get it.”
I push myself off the couch and storm across the room, desperate for some space.
“Why won’t I get it?” She stupidly follows up, shifting her position on the table so she’s facing me. “Because I’m not married?”
“Being married has nothing to do with it. It’s about being responsible; it’s about taking care of other people!” I snarl back at her, enraged by her obliviousness.
“Hey, I’m responsible!” She jumps to her feet. “I take care of Avery all the time—”
“You hang out with Avery. It’s not the same thing.”
“Well, I take care of Mom!”
I gasp, my eyes practically popping off my face. “Since when? Last time I checked, I was the one footing the bill around here.”
“Girls, come on.” Mom tries to intervene, but it’s too late. The resentment train has officially left the station.
Fire settles in Julie’s eyes and she says, “You know there’s a lot more to taking care of someone than just throwing money at them. I’m here with her all the time. I don’t just show up every few weeks—I’m here all the time! That’s more important than money.”
“Says the girl whose rent I just paid,” I snarl back at her.
Blood boiling, I snatch my bag off the table and head for the door. I need to get out of here before I say something I’ll regret, no matter how true it might be.
“You’re right, I’m not perfect,” Julie calls after me. “But at least I’m smart enough to know when to ask people for help. At least I love myself enough not to suffer in a bad situation.”
“Yeah, you’ve definitely mastered the art of taking handouts!”
I storm out of the building and into the parking lot, Julie’s parting words grinding against my skin like a bad rash.
“Not smart enough to ask for help?” I mutter. “Letting myself suffer? I’ll show you . . .”
I yank my phone out of my bag and send out an SOS to Chavez:
I NEED TO HIT SOMETHING. NOW.
CHAPTER 19
Despite the crisp autumn air, beads of sweat are trailing down my brow and along the hairline at the base of my neck. Breathless, I drop my bat to the asphalt, peel off my coat, and pull my hair back into a loose bun. I forgot what a workout this is.
“Water break?” Chavez hops down from the stack of wooden pallets where he’s been sitting and hands me a bottle of water. He wasn’t in the mood to bash cars today but was more than willing to supervise me while I did. Which is exactly what I’ve been doing for the last half hour, and damn if it wasn’t therapeutic. Julie’s selfish, misguided words are little more than a distant memory.
I’m too winded to thank him, so I just smile at the gesture, then take a long drink.
“Do I dare ask what motivated you to do that?” he jokes, pointing to the little pickup truck I just worked over. The tailgate—where I focused my attention—looks like it’s been through a war.
“Not what but who,” I pant. “My sister.”
He grimaces while sucking in a deep breath over his teeth. “Been there, done that. Sisters are tricky.”
“You got that right.”
Truth be told, Julie hasn’t been a tricky sister. For the most part we’ve always gotten along—when she doesn’t need me to save her, that is.
“What’d she do?” he asks.
“Oh, she was just being her usual codependent self,” I grouse over heavy breaths while swiping moisture back from my nose. “Why do anything for yourself when your big sister will swoop in and save the day?” I blow off the frustration with a shake of the head, then turn the tables on him. “What about your sister? What’s her deal?”
He sighs. “She turns everything into a competition.”
“How so?” I ask, then take another drink.
“Like if there’s anything she can do faster or better than me, she’s going to. Getting to the bus stop before me. Getting a higher GPA than me. Scoring higher on her driver’s test. Who took the fastest shower—”
“The fastest shower?” I bust in, chuckling.
He levels me with a hard look and says, “She used to sit outside the bathroom with a stopwatch and time me.”
“You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head earnestly. “She did it every night for like two months straight. It drove me freaking crazy.”
“Because she was faster than you?”
“No, because I love to take showers. I can stand there for like an hour, just letting all the hot water pour over me”—he shrugs over an adorable grin—“but knowing she was out there ruined them for me for a really long time.”
A naughty visual of him in the shower suddenly takes root in my mind, forcing me to raise the bottle for another drink before my flush gives me away.
“The thing is, I don’t care if she beats me at any of this stuff,” he goes on, oblivious to my train of thought. “I never have. But now that I’m older, I’ve learned to turn it around, so at least it’s fun for me.”
A devilish smirk I’ve not seen before settles in on his face.
My eyes narrow. “That sounds like trouble.”
“Oh, it is. Now, whenever I get the chance, I come up with these stupid competitions just to get her wound up about beating me. In fact, the last time I did it was here.” He motions to our surroundings. “I told her that I could find five Toyota hubcaps faster than she could. She tore this place apart.” He chuckles at the memory. “She spent a solid hour looking for them, which made Jessie so mad. You know how he is about staying in your designated area.”
I laugh and nod because I do know. Just like the first time we came here and were told to stick to the far-right corner of the lot, Jessie made it very clear that tonight we are to stay in the near-left corner. This explains why he was so wary of me when Chavez brought me
here the first time. Way back when I thought he was a ladies’ man.
He rolls his eyes. “She ended up collecting seven of them.”
“And how many did you find?”
He grins. “None. I didn’t even look.”
“You’re a jerk, you know that?”
“Yeah, so she’s told me a time or two.” He locks me in his amused gaze for a long, pulse-pounding beat before he changes gears, saying, “So, it was nice to see you yesterday.”
My stomach flips as an image of him in that well-fitted suit suddenly replaces my frustrating train of thought. Grinning, I raise the bottle up and take another drink before I say, “Yeah, that was definitely nice.”
“Had you been to the diner before?”
I shake my head.
“Did you try something?”
“Yeah, I had a piece of cobbler.” Or three, by the time I left. But details don’t matter.
“What kind?”
I grin. His curiosity is endearing and, I suspect, motivated by his own baking prowess.
“Peach.”
“What’d you think?”
The lilt in his voice assures me I’m right. He’s feeling self-conscious about his blackberry mess. Fighting the urge to giggle, I shrug and, as casually as possible, say, “I’ve had better.”
“Really?” he asks hopefully.
“Oh yeah. Very recently, as a matter of fact.”
He considers my response briefly before his eyes narrow and he shakes his head, saying, “You’re a horrible liar.”
I burst out laughing. “I’m sorry. Your pie was good, but that was just . . . I mean—”
“I know,” he groans. “Everybody at the station is hooked on it. I’m in there at least three times a week, almost always for the banana cream pie. It’s so good.” His eyes grow wide, and he steps a bit closer, now gesticulating with his hands as he describes the pie. “She drizzles caramel and chocolate on top of the whipped cream and then adds on these big chunks of sea salt. I swear, it’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
“Well, I guess I know what I’m getting next time,” I say, amused by his enthusiasm.
“You know, I wanted to come over and say hi, but I was short on time,” he goes on while wandering even closer, his dark eyes sparkling at me beneath the sinking sun. “I had to testify in court yesterday for this case I’ve been working.” The sexy image reappears, bringing with it a flush to my cheeks. I drop my head. “What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“There you go, lying to me again.” He takes another step closer and tugs on my sweater sleeve, demanding my attention. I raise my head and feel my blush deepen beneath his curious grin. “What aren’t you saying?”
There’s a painfully flirtatious response tickling the tip of my tongue, eager to be heard but nervous to come out just the same. “Nothing. I just . . . I thought you looked really nice, that’s all.”
He wiggles his brows. “You had no idea Detective Sexy Pants could pull off a suit, did you?”
I gasp and quickly slap my hands over my mouth. “I actually called you that, didn’t I?” I sputter through my veil of fingers. “I wasn’t sure, but—”
“Oh yeah, you did,” he taunts. “You called me that and a lot of things that night. And you did some things too.”
Even though we’ve never discussed it, it’s obvious he’s alluding to the sloppy kiss I planted on him the night he arrested me. The kiss I’ve thought about more than once over the last few weeks. The kiss I can’t help but think would have been amazing had I not been stoned. I shift beneath a sudden rush of heat that stirs in my lady parts.
Uh-oh.
I quickly raise the bottle and take another drink while I scour my brain for a segue into safer, less stimulating territory.
“You know, it’s actually a good thing you didn’t have time to come over,” I go on. “One of my friends thought you were there to arrest her. She probably would’ve had a heart attack if you’d come and talked to us.”
“Arrest her? For what?”
I give my hand a flippant wave. “Oh, it’s a long, boring story.”
The glint in his eye suggests he knows I’m lying to him, again (it’s what I do, after all. I’m a big, fat liar!), but thankfully he doesn’t pursue the issue. Instead he says, “It looked like you guys were having a pretty intense conversation. Was everything okay?”
I think back on yesterday’s time at the diner and smile. “Yeah. Everything was great—”
A gust of wind suddenly kicks up, prompting me to gasp as a blanket of shivers erupts across my body, the beads of sweat stinging like icicles against my skin.
“Here, let’s get this back on you before you freeze.” He quickly grabs my coat off the ground and drapes it over my shoulders from behind me, his fingers grazing my neck along the way. A tremor ripples through my limbs, forcing me to inhale a deep breath through my nose while my eyelashes flutter wildly.
Good god, what was that?
“Better?” he asks, his warm breath tickling my ear.
“Y-yeah. Yes.”
So much better.
I slowly glance over my shoulder to look at him. Our eyes lock for a split second before my gaze instinctively travels down to his lips. His plump, slick lips.
At least I love myself enough not to suffer—
Julie’s annoying words niggle at my brain like an unreachable itch, jostling something buried deep down inside me to awaken with a jolt. BAM! The feral heat I felt a moment ago returns with volcanic force, erupting against all the nerves in my body.
I inhale a shuddery breath, my attention zeroing in on that mouth. That beautiful, sexy mouth.
Oh, the things he could do with that . . .
My own mouth starts to water.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice unfamiliarly husky.
“You’re welcome.”
A desperate breath hitches in my lungs at the way his mouth moves as he forms the words. The intoxicating purse of his lips when he says you’re. The way the tip of his tongue peeks out from behind his teeth when he hits the L in welcome.
You’re welcome.
You’re welcome!
God, yes, you’re welcome!
Desperation steals my surroundings, muting the cold air and the stench of gasoline. All that’s left is me.
And my aching loins.
And those lips.
Those fucking lips.
And the voracious need to claim them as my own—
I lunge at him, throwing my arms around his neck and planting my mouth squarely on his. My body bucks at the impact, the sudden explosion of soft, supple heat as intense as I imagined.
YES!
He responds in kind, wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me against his chest. Despite the layers of fabric between us, I feel his heart racing against mine, and I detect a smile lingering on his lips, but the sentiment is lost on me.
More.
I need more!
Moving with foreign urgency, I drag my hands down the length of his back and up under the hem of his shirt while my tongue frantically explores the nuances of his mouth. So hot. So wet. So good. He lets out a delicious little moan as my fingers dive under the waistband of his jeans, seeking out the tender skin of his lower back—
Oh god!
His tongue glides across my teeth, prompting a glorious ache to rumble through me.
Yes!
More.
Give me more!
Moaning at the sensation, I burrow my hands down deeper, sinking my nails into the fleshy, muscular meat of his upper thighs. His body quakes beneath my touch, stoking the needful fire inside me to burn brighter—more intensely.
Yes.
You want me!
YOU WANT ME!
And I want this—
SO BAD.
Desperation mounting, I work my way back around his waist, my fingers wantonly following the trail of soft hair that runs from his belly button down beneath his jeans
. I fumble with the button, eager to reach the zipper—
“We can’t do this here,” he groans, his body assuring me it’s not an easy statement to make.
“Then take me somewhere,” I growl back.
“I don’t live that far—”
“Yes!” I cry out. “Anywhere!”
Frenzied anticipation carries us as we race, hand in hand, through the impound lot, navigating our way around the battered cars and stacks of tires, before finally blowing by the check-in shed and into the parking lot.
We get to my car, but before I have a chance to open the driver’s door, he presses me against the passenger door and starts kissing me again, antagonizing the animal inside me to roar to life.
I NEED THIS.
I DESERVE THIS.
IT’S MY TURN.
NO SUFFERING HERE!
I throw my arms around his neck and pull him closer, digging my fingers into the warm skin of his nape.
He moans again. That ache-inducing sound that sends another surge of desperation to rise inside me.
“I need you now,” I grunt over feverish breaths.
“I know. But not here,” he groans. “Just . . . follow me.”
He untangles himself from my hands and hustles to his car while I climb inside mine.
Disoriented, I blink hard as I settle into the seat, then quickly slam the keys into the ignition and turn on the engine. Chavez does the same in his truck. He waves at me through the window, a delicious grin working his jaw, then quickly backs out of the space. I throw the car in reverse, catching a glimpse of my messy hair and smudgy, swollen lips in the rearview along the way.
“Dammit, girl,” I mutter pridefully, gluttonously. “There’s no suffering here tonight.”
It’s not quite dusk, so there’s still plenty of traffic on the roads, but I manage to ride Chavez’s bumper without difficulty. Despite the tint on his truck’s windows, I can see him glancing back at me in his mirrors to make sure I’m still in place: a subtle gesture that keeps my cravings burning hot.
He wants me so bad.
Shifting against my seat, I force my attention onto his taillights in an effort to maintain at least some focus on the road—such a different motivation from the last time I followed a man in his car. That fateful night when I pursued Dan out to the Bone Yard and witnessed firsthand his selfishness, how he so easily conceded to his cravings without consideration for how they might affect the people around him. How they could shatter the lives of the people who cared about him—
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