Both officers smiled at me as if that was the funniest thing they’d heard in a long time.
“All I’m saying is, Derek let me bunk at his apartment when I needed someplace to stay. I moved in, paid my rent, and it all worked out. We could lend you a hand, let you bunk at our loft for the rest of the night. We’ve got an extra room.”
“Uh, no. Thanks,” I said. There was no way I was going home with two strangers and spending the night at their place, cops or no cops.
“Well it’s either this or we can bunker up in our cozy cop car for the night and keep an eye on you from there,” Derek said, “Here, look us up on my phone, find the address, check to make sure we’re both on the force.”
I tapped the screen and searched for their employment information—both were active duty police officers with over five years’ experience. Brett had even won a commendation from the mayor for rescuing a kid from a hostage situation.
Would it be any worse staying with these cops in place of my stranded car in a new town?
It wasn’t like me to contemplate staying with two strangers, but my intuition was telling me these two were harmless. Given, I didn’t know a single person in this town, I’d be a fool to push away good company that had my safety in mind.
I located the address and went so far as to send it to Ainsley with a message saying, This is Lyn. Car trouble, stranded, going with two cops Jennings and Harding to this address. Call u tomorrow. Then I passed him the phone.
“There’s a lock on the inside of the bedroom door,” Brett said, “We’ll give you the key so you can feel more comfortable. Get a few hours of sleep and things will look better in the morning.”
“She has an internship at Envy,” Derek said.
“Fancy,” Brett replied, “Now will you get in the car?”
“I’m not crazy this, I won’t lie,” I said, “This was not the plan. All the electronics turned on me at once—the battery crapped out on my phone right before the dashboard lights faded out and the car died. I’m glad you stopped, and that the police in the area are vigilant and all that, I just don’t like needing help. That probably sounds childish.”
“Not at all. It’s much harder to accept help than it is to offer it,” Derek said.
“Is there anything I can load into the trunk for you? Suitcase?”
“I have a backpack with the essentials. I’ll lock up my suitcase and my boxes in the car until tomorrow, when hopefully I’ll find a place to rent so I can unload it all. And get my car repaired really cheaply,” I said.
I could tell it was killing Brett that I carried my own backpack, “I got it,” I said when he reached for it. He put his hands in his pockets, trailed after me to the squad car and opened the back door. Derek popped the hood on my car and peered in with his flashlight.
“Does he know anything about cars?” I asked Brett.
“He can drive one,” Brett said, “as far as I know, that’s about all.”
“Great,” I said, “Well, he looks pretty official with the Maglite and the look of concentration on his face.”
“Five bucks says he doesn’t know where the battery is,” Brett said, “I’ll go get him before he decides to try and repair something.”
I settled into the backseat of the police car, gave the cage separating me from the front seat an experimental rattle. I fastened my seat belt, reminding myself how lucky I was that the cops had stopped to help me and insisted on taking me somewhere safe. The officers returned, shut off the flashing lights, and we were on our way.
Derek drove, talking almost nonstop about can’t-miss things to do in the city. Brett was mostly quiet, attentive. He asked if I was warm enough, if I needed to stop anywhere to pick something up. He was considerate, while Derek was more outgoing. They joked around with each other like brothers or best friends, and the atmosphere inside the car was relaxed. I was comfortable with them after a few minutes, the way Derek tried to include me in the conversation and the way Brett was concerned that I was hungry.
They drove through for burgers, insisted on getting me something. I dug some ones out of my purse and paid my own way despite their protests. Soon I was chowing down on a bacon cheeseburger and sipping a Diet Coke in the back of a squad car.
“Do you always take the perps for a burger before they go to a holding cell?” I said.
“No,” Brett said, while Derek replied, “Only the misdemeanors. Felonies get tacos.”
I laughed, stuffed some fries in my mouth. I felt better, warm and fed, and knew that these were the good guys. When Derek parked the squad car by an old brick fire station, I shouldered my backpack and got out.
“We’re on the third floor,” Brett said, “It’s a walk up.”
I followed them up the stairs and into a huge loft. The floors were painted concrete, the walls exposed brick. The kitchen was open to the living and dining area—stainless steel countertops and appliances, a huge TV with leather recliners facing it. A large canvas smeared with green and blue paint covered most of one wall, reminding me of the ocean. Derek dropped his bag and led me to a door.
“We keep our workout stuff in here. Try not to trip over the weights. Brett’s a slob with the kettle bells. Here’s the key.”
He slid a brass key off his key ring and handed it to me. I flipped on the light and dumped my backpack on the single bed. A resistance machine, a treadmill, and an assortment of kettle bells were strewn across the floor. Derek picked up several and put them in the corner, effortlessly carrying them. Although he was lean and wiry, he was evidently strong as well. His easy smile and his friendliness had put me at ease.
“Hey, I just wanted to say thank you. This was above and beyond the call of duty.”
“Not a problem. Towels are in the cabinet by the shower. You can have first go at the bathroom,” he said.
I plugged in my phone, dug the sweats out of my backpack and took a shower. I toweled my hair off as I went into the kitchen.
“Next,” I said, “and if I start picking up women with stories about my marathon times and my sexual conquests, blame the Axe body wash I used.” Brett smiled at me.
“I told Derek, but I wanted to tell you, too. Thanks. You’ve been very kind.”
“You’re welcome,” he said.
“Good night,” I said.
I texted Ainsley, Phone plugged in now. I’m ok, they’re not shady.
She replied immediately with, I want proof of life. Selfie or call now.
Laughing, I took three pictures of the room—the pile of workout junk, my backpack spilling out makeup and socks, and a picture of me with wet hair sticking my tongue out.
Now she could stop worrying, and I could go to sleep soundly.
Except, I spent the next thirty minutes in bed picturing Derek and Brett shirtless and working out in this very room. That thought alone had me flushed and kept me awake for a little while longer.
3
I got up early to make breakfast for the guys. I wanted to cook for them as a thank you for coming to my aid and giving me a place to stay. Their refrigerator was stocked, so I figured they liked to cook at home. I chopped spinach and sliced mushrooms and tomatoes, cracked eggs and ground fresh pepper. I made a hearty frittata that smelled amazing, with some herbs and a sprinkling of cheese. I was cutting up melon and tossing it with berries when Derek wandered in.
“Something smells amazing in here,” he said.
He was shirtless. I deliberately put down the paring knife so I wouldn’t accidentally chop off my finger because I was distracted by his pecs and biceps. His low-slung sweatpants showed off washboard abs and a narrow trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband at his hips. I swallowed hard.
“It’s the Axe body wash I borrowed,” I said.
“Strange. When Brett uses it, I’m not the least bit attracted to him,” Derek said, raising one eyebrow mischievously. I looked down, color flooding my cheeks.
“I think you smell the frittata. I wanted to make breakfast, tha
nk you boys for helping me out.”
“No thanks needed. We were both sworn to serve and protect.”
“Still, most people wouldn’t have stopped to see if I needed help, much less given me a ride and a place to stay. I appreciate it. And I’m sorry I acted weird about it. I’m not used to asking for help or needing it. I’m pretty—”
“And independent. Pretty and independent,” he said.
“Um, thanks. I was going to say pretty cautious. I don’t get in the car with strangers, whether they have a badge or not. Thank you for being understanding and—for being good people. There’s too many bad ones out there,” I said.
“You’re preaching to the choir on that one. I’m a cop. Nearly all I see are the bad ones, the ones who sell drugs and beat up their landlords and steal cars.”
“That sounds miserable.”
“Somebody has to protect the innocent,” he said, his mouth grim, “If what I do keeps one asshole from beating up his kids or getting behind the wheel when he’s drunk, it’s worth it.”
“Careful, I might start to think you’re noble,” I teased.
“I’m not. I’m just a man trying to do the right thing. That shouldn’t be a big deal. It should be what’s expected. Men doing what we’re supposed to—protect the weak, stand up for what’s right.”
“That’s pretty revolutionary,” I said, “Next thing you’ll be saying that everyone should pay their bills and take responsibility for their actions.”
“Exactly. People might start to think I’m crazy. I mean, I pick up strange girls by the side of the road.” He grinned, and I was pretty sure my heart flipped over.
“I’m not strange. I’m just an intern with car trouble. I was really lucky you stopped.”
“No,” he said forcefully, “every car that passed you should have stopped. That’s what’s wrong with people—no one wants to help. Everyone just wants to pass judgment instead of serving one another.”
“Most people don’t want to get involved with somebody else’s problems. All I’m saying is that I’m glad you and Brett aren’t like that. You looked out for me. I won’t forget that.”
“Are you like the Godfather or something? Because if you’re looking to return the favor, there’s a desk sergeant down at the precinct who’s always making me redo paperwork. You could have him rubbed out for me.”
I gaped at him.
Derek laughed, “You should see your face! I was kidding. Thanks for breakfast. I’m going out for a run.”
As he went to change clothes, Brett came out, much less wide awake than Derek had been. He nodded to me, scooped food onto his plate and shoveled it in without speaking.
“Listen I really appreciate what you guys did for me last night. I’m going to call a tow truck and get that sorted out this morning, maybe find a paying job and a place to live. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
He practically grunted, “You’re fine,” around a mouthful of frittata. He took his empty plate to the sink and, with a mumble, disappeared into his bedroom again. I wondered if my presence in the guest room was keeping him from his workout or if he just wasn’t a morning person. Or if he didn’t like me as much as Derek did. I admitted to myself at least that I was very attracted to them both—Derek with his flirting, his outgoing nature, and Brett who had been so considerate but was shier, more standoffish. As I got dressed, I found myself sitting on the bed, not looking up a towing service, but thinking of the way Derek’s rock hard chest and abs had looked—the fact that, despite the small town good girl that I was, I wanted to lick caramel sauce off of him. I stifled a laugh, imagining the look on his face if I asked to do just that. Like if I bought a jar of caramel topping and said, “Hey, if you’re not busy later, can I lick this off of your naked body?” I shook my head. The combination of car trouble and not getting the room I’d planned on renting had apparently made me crazy. Because that wasn’t the kind of thing I went around thinking about.
4
I pulled myself together, made some calls and looked at online job boards. In no time, I hopped a bus downtown and interviewed for a waitress position. I could work there in the evenings, leaving my days free for the internship at Envy. Cinders was an up and coming gastropub that seemed to do a brisk business. I’d be waiting tables in a tiny green tee and black pants with a little black apron, hustling artisanal burgers and fresh kale chips to the hipster diners, bringing loaded pasta nachos to the bar. It was work I could handle and a schedule I was almost sure I could manage. The start time was really close to when I finished at Envy, and it would be a push to change clothes and make it in time. I’d just have to focus and be efficient.
I dropped by the Envy offices—a glamorous chrome-and-white open plan affair with splashy black and red abstract art on the walls and impossibly sophisticated, beautiful women of every race and age at the standing desks, the coffee machine, the elevators. I was a little starstruck, but I managed to find HR and let the rep know I was in town and would report the following day on schedule.
Miriam, the HR rep I’d been talking with, stretched to her full height of probably six feet, and with a toss of her long, tiny braids, insisted on giving me the tour a day early. She showed me where the layout for the next issue was being assembled, the computer bay where the graphic design team created the illustrations and stock photos for fill-in. By the time I’d been introduced to Liz Markham, the features editor, I was ready to squeal and beg for her autograph. The whole publication was every bit as smart and polished and sexy as I’d imagined.
“I looked over some of your samples myself. The article you wrote about the campus availability of birth control was quite good, Lynette. I look forward to bringing you onto the team,” Liz Markham said to me. I wanted to clutch my chest in thrilled shock—Liz Markham knew who I was and had read one of my articles. Read it and LIKED it!
“Thank you,” I stammered.
“If you’d like to come a bit early tomorrow, we have a weekly staff meeting at eight on Thursdays. You’d be welcome to join us,” she said graciously. I couldn’t believe it! I was going to get to sit in on a staff meeting at Envy with one of the most award-winning features editors in the business—a woman known for her hard-hitting style, her insistence on vetted sources and verifiable studies, her refusal to settle for fluff about which celebrity was dating whom. She had the brain of an investigative journalist and the heart of a designer—the perfect blend of smarts and style. She was my idol. I had hoped I’d get to meet her during my internship. I never dreamed she’d speak to me directly or invite me to meetings. I was so excited I wasn’t sure I could keep from squealing and jumping up and down. Only the knowledge that I would look like a complete idiot kept me from indulging.
I thanked Miriam like she’d just given me an extra kidney or something. I squeezed her hand until she said “ow” as politely as possible and took it away. I messaged Ainsley that I had gotten to meet Liz Markham. She would appreciate the significance of that.
I visited several possible rentals—at least two of which looked like they should have crime scene tape around them. Seriously. One had blood spattered on the ceiling, obviously blood, which the landlord insisted was ‘probably some kinda spaghetti sauce that exploded’ nowhere near the kitchen. I’d paid the towing service, and my car was at a mechanic who promised to look at it as soon as he could, while saying something terrifying about how much an alternator would cost. By the time I returned to the loft, impressed again by how beautiful and secure the converted firehouse was after facing the reality of available rentals, I was reluctant to fork over the money for a few nights in a cheap motel and look for a rental on Sunday—my day off from the restaurant. I knew I had to get some sleep for my first day at Envy and the staff meeting where I couldn’t wait to watch, learn, and take notes. I was greedy—I wished I could stay at the loft again.
I climbed the stairs, knocked at the door. Brett let me in. I was bursting with excitement about the internship, about getting a job at the f
irst place I applied, but I felt a little shy with him. I would have told Derek everything at once, but Brett was more subdued and I took my cue from him, not acting bubbly as I felt.
“How was your day?” he said, “Derek will be back soon. He went to pick up something to eat.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, tell him I said thanks again and bye, okay?”
I went to get my backpack from the spare room, feeling disappointed I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to them both together. Thinking already that I’d miss seeing them, that I’d imagined telling them about my invite to the staff meeting, maybe toasting with bottles of beer in celebration. It was a silly, sitcom dream, to have a supportive friend group excited about my success, ready to joke and laugh with me.
“Wait. Please stay until he gets back. We’d like to talk to you.”
“I—” I was about to make a smart-ass comment about if they meant to question me in their official police capacity. I wanted to snap at him because I felt discouraged and sad about my apartment hunt and about leaving the loft and the guys. But I reminded myself how kind they’d been, how wonderful and sweet. So I bit back my rude retort, shifted my weight, “If you think I should hang around for a few minutes, I will.”
I set my backpack by the door, perched on the rolled arm of one of the recliners.
“You could sit down. Tell me how your day was,” he said diffidently.
“I’m sure you have enough on your mind,” I said, “I’m fine. I’ll wait.”
“You can talk to me. I know Derek is—let’s say more popular with the ladies than I am. But I’d like to know how it went at the mechanic. Do they know what’s wrong?”
“The guy said it sounds like the alternator.”
“Can he find you a rebuilt part to replace it with?”
“I don’t know. He mentioned the cost for a new alternator and the installation. After that I may have blacked out in shock.”
“It might be a good idea to ask about a rebuilt option to save money. It’s not a new car. There’s no reason to waste money on a new part when a used one will work,” he said.
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