Worth the Fall

by Caitie Quinn

  “What was that?” He angled his head at Jenna.

  “What?”

  “The breakdown.”

  Oh. I’d assumed he’d just gotten there.

  “She’s…” I didn’t think sharing how Jenna was feeling with anyone was a good idea. Especially Ben’s best friend. But, this group seemed really tight. I wasn’t used to the politics of close friends. Not since undergrad. And my group had been all women then.

  “She’s…” Max looked at me then glanced her way as he stole her seat. “She’s worried that Ben doesn’t want her to go to England even though he’s bought her an open-ended ticket she can use any time and done everything but ask her to marry him because he’s afraid that would just put too much pressure on her to do something she doesn’t want.”

  How was I supposed to respond to that?

  “Is that a question?”

  “No. I wouldn’t put you on the spot like that.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” That was actually really sweet.

  No. Not sweet. Officer Max was not sweet…sans kittens.

  “You know, they do that whole couple’s rule thing, but he hasn’t told her all that.”

  “Couple’s rule?”

  “You know. The no secrets thing.”

  “You mean they tell each other everything?” That meant anything one person figured out would go through the group twice as quickly.

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  Well, was that what he meant or not?

  “Why doesn’t he just tell her all this?”

  Max leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, dropping his ankle over his knee. “Are we a couple?”

  I tried to hide my panic.

  From the way he rolled his eyes at me, I was unsuccessful.

  Before I could blurt out a more polite version of, No!, Max shook his head and answered, “Then we don’t have the couple's rule thing and I can’t tell you.”

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to stare him down like he did to everyone else. Trying to get him to break.

  Instead, he laughed at me.

  “Tuesday, you’re adorable. Never give that up.”

  I gave up.

  Abby appeared in front of us, a to-go cup in her hand. “Max.”

  “Abigail.”

  “John wanted you to have your caffeine before you went all Berserker on him.”

  “Yes, I can see that you’d feel in danger of that.”

  Abby rolled her eyes like a pro, set the cup down, and wandered off.

  Max took a deep drink from the cup, his eyes dropping shut. “I love that kid.”

  “For real?”

  “Yup.”

  Who would have guessed it? Abby had a fan.

  I glanced down at my computer where the screen had gone black, wondering what time it was and how long Jenna would hang out at the counter. Didn’t Max have places to be? There was crime out there waiting to be fought.

  But, safe crime. The type where no one shoots at him.

  “No one shoots at you, right?”

  “You mean, on a regular basis?”

  Not the most comforting answer.

  I closed my eyes and pictured him and kittens.

  “What’s that?” Suspicion actually crept into his voice like it was a real thing that could creep places.

  “What?”

  “That smile you just got.” He set his cup down and turned to face me. “Are you hoping people shoot at me?”

  “No.” My voice shot over the café, ricocheting and bringing everyone’s gazes back to me. “Of course not. Why would I hope that?”

  “If I could figure out why you do the things you do, I’d probably win a Nobel.”

  “I’m not even going to reply to that.”

  He gave me a grin that said, you just did, and I forced myself not to reply to that.

  “What do you want to do tonight?” He asked as he pushed himself out of the chair.

  I glanced up from my chair at Max hovering, his to-go cup blocking a good look at him.

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah. The part of the day when the sun is no longer in the sky.”

  “Did we have plans for tonight?” I glance toward Jenna wondering if I’d done something to be on the outs. If I’d already run through my welcome and was no longer the rookie member of the group.

  “No. But I thought we could.”

  “Could what?”

  It wasn’t that I was an idiot, but I couldn’t follow his logic at this point.

  “Do something. I thought you and I could do something.”

  “So, instead of asking me if I want to do something you ask me what it is I want to do?”

  “I planned to skip most of this conversation.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Apparently I was wrong.”

  “You’re wrong more often than you think.”

  He shot me a grin, dropping the coffee cup low enough that he made sure I could see that dimple. I was onto him. At some point a woman must have told him it was deadly. “I’m okay with that.”

  “Really? You don’t seem like the type of guy who likes to be wrong.”

  “Actually, I just figured you were wrong about me being wrong, but I didn’t want to get even more sidetracked.”

  That sounded more like Max.

  “Right, so you’re wrong and I’m going to be the bigger person.” I gave him a smile and let him deal with that.

  “What am I wrong about?”

  Crud, I’d totally lost the thread of this conversation. It seemed to be pushing it to say everything. So, I fell back on an old reliable. “You know what you’re wrong about.”

  Max laughed, a deep, startled sound that seemed to rise up from his chest and surprise him.

  “Sure. Of course. So, tonight. What do you want to do?”

  “You mean like a date?”

  Max rolled his head, his gaze straying heavenward and I swear his lips moved, probably asking for patience or strength or understanding…but most likely for all of the above.

  “How about just two people who have already enjoyed dinner and a movie and a foreign film and a coffee and a game night—”

  “You enjoyed game night?”

  He grinned, a wicked surprise of a grin I hadn’t expected from him. “Yes.”

  I waited for him to elaborate, but that seemed to be a lost cause.

  “So, tonight is just to hang out?”

  “We’ll hang out.”

  We stared at each others, both of us with narrowed gazes trying to read the other.

  “Fine. I’d like to hear some live music.”

  “Really?” Now Max was the surprised one.

  “Yes. I think I’d like it.”

  It was on The List I was informally making in my head of things single girls in the city did when not being distracted by a controlling boyfriend.

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Just nothing heavy-metal-ish.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “I’ll meet you on your stoop.”

  “How about I meet you on your stoop?”

  “How about I decide where I meet you and text you tomorrow.”

  “For tonight?”

  I gave him my The Look.

  “Fine.” Max downed the rest of his coffee, tossed the cup in the recycle bin, and pulled his little cop hat on. “Eight o’clock on my stoop.”

  Win!

  “Stay out of trouble, Tuesday.”

  And off he went.

  Jenna, conveniently was done with whatever she was doing at the counter and wandered over just then.

  “Did he call you Tuesday?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  I left my house absurdly early to walk the three-quarters block to Max’s stoop. I had a completely rational fear that if I left on time he’d be standing at my door waiting for me.

  He couldn’t be trusted.

  On the downside, between my making sure this wasn’t a date and not asking him where we were going, I had n
o idea what to wear. My bedroom could now pass for a scene out of Law & Order. In cop lingo, it looked like it had been tossed.

  I definitely needed to ask Max if cops really talked like that.

  After trying on everything I owned more than once, I settled on skinny jeans, my most comfortable black heels, and a little black top that could go either way depending on location and accessories.

  I’d never worn this outfit before. I checked myself out in the mirror a bit surprised. The skinny jeans were just nice enough to be saved for a night out and the top I’d only worn under little jackets at work.

  More proof I was getting my life on the right track.

  Also, if I was going to be honest, I looked super cute. Either that or I’d gone blind in exchange for a pretty decent ego boost.

  Which meant that maybe I should change again. If I looked too cute then that might go against the whole not-a-date message.

  But, Max agreed it wasn’t a date. I think. Or he just agreed that he knew I didn’t think it was a date. But, that would mean it’s not a date. Something can’t be a date if both people don’t agree, right?

  Crud. I should change.

  Except, it was ten of eight and Max was probably plotting to beat me to my stoop before I could get to his.

  I was going to have to head out in date clothes.

  It was a risk I was willing to take.

  I grabbed a light jacket and rushed down the stairs. Or, I rushed down two stairs, realized that rushing in non-work heels was almost impossible, pictured myself lying broken at the bottom of the first flight with Max shaking his head at me, and slowed down.

  Glancing at the time on my phone, I considered sliding down the banister, but vetoed that as well.

  At the front door, I glanced through the glass panes half-expecting him to be there.

  When he wasn’t, I fought off the tiny bit of disappointment I felt. I’d thought he’d be there. That’s all. I wanted to be able to give him the not-a-date talk one more time and figured if he ignored my request that would give me an excuse.

  An excuse to what? I’m not sure.

  Instead, as I walked down the street, I could see him leaning against the banister at the bottom of his stoop, playing on his phone. He wore jeans that were just fitted enough to look good with a white button down shirt tucked in, the sleeves rolled up over his forearms.

  I studied his outfit trying to figure out if he was wearing date clothes. He looked really good, but I didn’t think that was the clothing’s fault.

  As if he had some type of radar, he glanced up and stood as I made my way to him, the clicking of my heels the only giveaway someone was approaching. I tried not to blush as his gaze slid over me taking in my little shirt, fitted jeans, and peekaboo patent leather shoes. When he smiled that cocky smile I knew he thought these were date clothes.

  Darn it.

  “These aren’t date clothes.”

  “Of course not.”

  I waited for the punch line, but when he didn’t say anything else I had to bite my tongue from saying, No really. They aren’t.

  “You look very nice,” was what he said instead.

  “So do you.”

  “Thank you. I did something special with my hair.”

  I glanced up at his close cut hair, the top just long enough to not look military, trying to figure out what exactly that was.

  “Tuesday, I’m kidding.”

  He took the last step down to the sidewalk and glanced at my shoes.

  “How comfortable are those?”

  “Very.”

  “So, if I said we were going to walk down to the waterfront and back tonight, you’d be okay?”

  “Actually, yes. They’re Franco Sarto.”

  “Whatever that means.” He motioned for me to turn back the way I’d come and fell in next to me.

  I glanced at my apartment as we went by realizing he hadn’t pushed to pick me up even though it was the right direction. He’d understood it was important to me and didn’t push.

  “Thank you.” I didn’t even know I was going to say it until it was out of my mouth.

  “For what?”

  I studied the cracks in the sidewalk, making sure my heel didn’t get caught in one…or my gaze in his. “For getting me out of the house tonight.”

  “Mmm-hm.”

  I was just going to pretend he believed me.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, since it obviously wasn’t the waterfront which was the opposite direction.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  I was about to tell him I didn’t like surprises, but then realized I wasn’t sure that was true. I didn’t like surprises at work. I certainly didn’t like surprise breakups that left me homeless. But maybe normal surprises were okay.

  “Okay.”

  “Really?” Now he sounded surprised.

  “I think so.”

  I walked on, considering I had so much to learn about myself. It was an almost frightening idea. It was like being a freshman in college all over again, but everyone else already had asked themselves these simple little questions.

  I was a freshman at life.

  Two blocks past my apartment, Max turned down a side street and crossed us out of our neighborhood toward one of the colleges. The beautiful oak trees stopped lining the road and the quaint lights turned into normal streetlights. After another two blocks, he motioned toward a building with a sign in Spanish.

  “We’re here.” He pulled open the door for me, and heat and spices and music rushed over me like he’d opened a portal to another world. “I hope you like to salsa.”

  Salsa? I had a sick, sad feeling he wasn’t talking about chips.

  Inside the door, the bouncer stamped Max’s hand and asked to see my ID. I pulled it out of the tiny wallet I’d stuck in my back pocket and waited while he stamped a blue star on my hand.

  Max glanced over the heads of the girls standing in our way before he took my hand and pulled me through the crowd to the far end of the room. The music was quieter in the corner, but he still needed to speak up to be heard.

  As we neared, a short man with two earrings in each ear spotted us and opened his arms as if he was going to hug Max. He came forward, his gaze dropping to where Max’s hand was wrapped around mine.

  “Maximo! You’re here to dance with your lady.”

  His lady?

  “Jorgie, this is my friend, Kasey.” He beat me to the punch. “We’re just here for the music tonight.”

  “No, no, no. You must dance. Everyone who comes in must enjoy the music on the floor. I will get you special song played later. Something easy to move to, si? Your lady has hips to move I see, no?”

  Max glanced down at my hips, his lips quirked up on one side. Luckily he realized there was no right answer to that question.

  “Just to listen. Julian Delgado is playing tonight, right?”

  “Si, si. You never sit when they play. You’ll be out there.” Jorgie winked at me and headed toward the bar, pointing one of the waitresses our way.

  “What would you like to drink?”

  “You don’t—”

  “I know. I don’t have to buy. But, here’s the deal. Tonight is on me. If you want to do something some other time, I’ll let you take me out. But there’s a difference between being independent and being a pain in the ass to be around. Now,” he threw his arm around the back of my chair and leaned in, “stop being the difficult person to be around. What do you want to drink?”

  I knew what he was saying. I hated that person, the one who made everything difficult. I guess finding the line between independence and pest was going to be harder than I thought. I was already trying to figure out where I’d want to take Max out when I realized he’d just tricked me into another night out. Maybe I’d treat him to an afternoon volunteering at a homeless shelter.

  Of course, he probably already did that.

  “Quit over-thinking, Tuesday. It’s just a drink.”

  “Right.�
�� I glanced around at the atmosphere and the dancers and the light-wood bar on the far side of the room. “Sangria. This seems like a Sangria night.”

  “Is this another test or do you like Sangria?”

  “I’ve had it before.” Once. In undergrad. In Mexico. I’m sure it was totally going to be the same.

  Max waved the waitress over and ordered a Corona and Sangria before leaning back in.

  “Latón de Delgado is a favorite. You’re going to love them.” He grinned, that darn dimple peeking out. “They have lots of flavor.”

  I don’t think I’d ever heard a band with flavor. It made me think of those scratch and sniff stickers from when I was a kid. Was there such a thing as listen and lick?

  Okay, that just sounded gross.

  On the stage, a group of men in black suits began setting up. Up front, a couple led a group of about fifteen people in what looked like a basic lesson. I watched, wondering if I should be up there learning. Was this something I’d enjoy? Had I been missing out on this?

  “Do you want to go take the class?”

  I turned my head, expecting Max to be over in his chair, but somehow he’d moved closer. Right next to me. I’d already been rethinking the dance lesson when I remembered I was completely uncoordinated and Max had already seen that in action…and my nearly naked butt in the process.

  I glanced back toward where guys led the women across their bodies and into what looked like a very smooth turn. I imagined myself trying to walk past a guy that closely without falling over his foot, raising my arm past his face without breaking his nose, and walking under his arm without sticking my face in his armpit. “Um, maybe…not.”

  “Come on, Tuesday.” He leaned in further, speaking right into my ear. “You’re not afraid, are you? I won’t let you do anything embarrassing.”

  I was trying to decide if that was better or worse than taking the lesson alone. Before I could come up with a snappy comeback—which with my luck would have happened next week—the music switched off and a man on the stage tapped the mic.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We’re Latón de Delgado.” And with that, he nodded once and the music came on live and loud. The floor was packed before the first line ended.