by Niecey Roy
Three blocks from his house, where I’d planned to ambush him for an interview, he zipped past me, driving his red sports car convertible in the opposite direction. His passenger hadn’t been his wife, either, but a barely legal blonde with long hair flying in the wind.
I followed them across town to an ATM where Matthew withdrew a healthy wad of cash. The man lived in a mansion, had more than a few sports cars registered to his name, and had the liquid assets to impress his mistress. He didn’t appear to be suffering from gambling debt. From what I could tell, Matthew was an aging man clinging to a young woman in hopes of hanging on to his vanishing youth.
Lindsey was back at the office pulling his financials, and though I doubted we’d find anything, I still planned to dig through them with a fine-toothed comb.
During their ensuing shopping spree, there wasn’t much to note except sloppy kisses and groping sessions. They spent a good deal of time feeling each other up in a lingerie boutique while clerks pretended not to notice. The couple entered a dressing room, and I didn’t care to imagine what went on inside. After an hour, they emerged from the store with lots of pretty pink bags.
Their next stop was a member’s only club. Without the exclusive card for admittance, I couldn’t get in. Not even a hundred dollar bill could sway the bouncer. He peered down his nose at me as if I were the idiot of the day.
“Jackass,” I mumbled, and crossed the street back to the LM Security van I’d checked out that morning. When visiting a suspect, I didn’t like to drive my own vehicle.
I was in the driver’s seat of the van, typing notes into my computer tablet, when the AC unit made a click-click-thump noise. Then silence. I put my hand up to the vent—nothing.
“Son of a . . .”
It was ninety-two degrees outside, and I was parked in a black van under full sun. It took only two minutes for the inside of the van to turn into a microwave. I turned the engine on and rolled the driver’s and passenger’s windows down, but that didn’t provide any air circulation. It wasn’t breezy at all outside.
After an hour and a half of sweating bullets, I was miserable. Even stepping outside every now and then was no relief. It reminded me of a little hell called canoeing out in the middle of nowhere. At least that memory was also coupled with images of Chase’s smile and abs. That helped.
My phone rang while I daydreamed of a cold shower to wash off the sweat. My short sleeved blouse clung to my damp chest, and my bra was uncomfortably tight against my chest. My black shorts were glued to my butt, and my inner thighs were sweaty. This was not how I’d planned to spend my day.
“I’ve been calling you all day,” my mother complained into the phone when I answered.
I sighed. “Mother, you called me once this morning while I was driving, so I didn’t answer. And I’ve been on a case all day.”
“What kind of case? Is it dangerous?” She sounded worried.
“No, it’s not dangerous.” I sucked down the last bit of tea that I’d been nursing since the AC went out. The ice had melted long ago, and the cup no longer sweated.
“I think it’s time you join your dad’s company, Roxanna Leigh.”
“Mother, please. Let’s not have this conversation right now.” I was too hot, sticky, and miserable for the round-and-round with her.
“Your father and I think you’ve already wasted too much time working for your uncle.”
I would have sighed out loud, but my mouth was dry. “You know, it sounds like you and dad are talking an awful lot lately.”
“We’re your parents. We can talk about you all we want,” she huffed.
She’d completely missed the point. They were way too friendly lately, and that worried me. She was a mess after he left—had she forgotten? Because I hadn’t.
“No, you don’t need to talk about me all the time because I am an adult now, and I make my own money and pay my own bills, and I never ask you and dad for anything. So I don’t think my career should be a main source of topic for the two of you.” After a moment’s hesitation, and because I didn’t want to hurt her, I added, “And you shouldn’t be talking to him so much.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she snapped. Her feelings were hurt easily, and when she was hurt, she lashed out.
“It means I want you to be careful. He’s married, remember?”
“This is no way to talk to your mother,” she said, her accent thickening with her annoyance.
“All right, all right.” I decided it was best to change the subject. “I talked to Lucky. She is not pregnant and she’s not getting married.”
My mother sniffed. “She’s gaining weight.”
If I lived in the same city with my mother and my aunt, I’d be stuffing my face with pepperoni pizza on a daily basis and gaining weight too. I kept that to myself. Instead, I said, “You and Aunt Maria need to give her a break.”
“If she gets fat she’ll never find a man to marry her.”
I held my breath and puffed my cheeks out chipmunk-style. After a few seconds, I exhaled. “Lucky is twenty-two years old. She doesn’t need to get married any time soon.”
“What about you? She told me you met someone. Why haven’t I heard about him?”
I had no idea what possessed Lucky to let that little tidbit of information slip. I bet it was because my mother and aunt ganged up on her about her own relationship status.
“His name is Chase and it’s not serious.” Not even close. Especially since I hadn’t heard from him in a week.
“Chase. That’s a nice name. Is he rich?” she asked.
I pressed my eyelids together. “Mother, he does just fine financially, but that’s not important because we aren’t even dating. We’re just . . .” What the hell were we? “Friends.”
Friends. The word sounded like disappointment on my lips.
“Well, what does he do for a living?”
“He’s a doctor.”
“Ooh, a doctor?” Her voice shook with excitement. “I’m going to call your dad.”
“Wait, no—”
She hung up.
The door to the club opened and out walked Matthew Garret and his girlfriend. I turned the key in the ignition. At the same moment I glanced out the window, Matthew looked up over the roof of his car—and right at me. Our gazes connected and for some reason, I ducked.
Shit, shit, shit. I shouldn’t have ducked. I knew better. My conversation with my mother had shaken me up.
I inched my head up so I could peek out the driver’s window. Matthew had driven his sports car away from the curb and into traffic. I popped up in my seat and shoved the shifter into drive.
He didn’t go home, but I didn’t expect him to. His wife might be there by now. From what Beverly told me, Matthew’s wife was a forty-five year old interior decorator who worked a lot from home.
He turned into the parking lot of an apartment complex. I slowed and parked two cars down from the turn into the apartment complex, then reached for my binoculars. It only took a moment to spot his bright red car in the midst of all the less expensive vehicles. His girlfriend jumped out, laughing, and threw herself into his arms. He carried all the shopping bags to her door, where their goodbye lasted longer than I cared to witness.
After a few stops—the gas station, a cigar shop, a florist—he finally went home. The dozen roses were for his wife. From what I’d witnessed, he was a jerk, but not a cat thief. He’d done nothing suspicious so far. It might be morally wrong to spend a ton of money on lingerie for his girlfriend, but it wasn’t a crime. Nothing about this case made sense.
By the time I switched vehicles at LM Security and returned home, I was hungry, in need of a shower, and irritated. Now that I’d ruled out aliens, all I had was a smudged shoe print, a neighbor who despised Beverly, and a man in his late fifties who was cheating on his wife. I had nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
After a shower, I stood in front of my open refrigerator—it was mostly empty inside
. My choices were celery sticks, yogurt, a half-gallon of skim milk, or two eggs. My stomach growled, which made me think of Chase.
I mean, what kind of guy asked a woman to dinner—said he wanted to feed her—and then didn’t? After that brief, steamy hot kiss on my porch, I was sure he’d come back for more. It’s all I’ve been thinking about! So how could he not be too?
He was into that kiss. And he’d definitely been into the first one in his exam room.
But he hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t sent a messenger pigeon . . .
Maybe he wasn’t interested? The kiss we’d shared suggested otherwise.
Perhaps my irritation was more self-centered and had less to do with him not calling me. My lips pursed in consideration.
Yes! Of course that’s what this is.
After every hot, sexy moment with him, I had amazing bursts of creativity. Like knocking back an energy shot. And then a couple of days later, those bursts would flicker out. The pages I sent to my agent blew her away. She called me after reading only a few of them, gushing about the change in my writing, the sensuality and chemistry between the characters. She wanted more.
I didn’t know if it was the pressure, or if it was all the distractions in my life, but the pages I’d written over the last two days were flat. They lacked sizzle.
Maybe it’s because there’s been no passion in my life. At all.
With the sudden appearance of Chase in my life, it was so easy to see that now.
For too long, there’d been no steamy, stolen kisses in the dark. No intense, blood blazing make out sessions while pressed up against a door. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Ever. With my ex-boyfriend, there’d been no moments of heat when we lost ourselves in each other’s gazes and then succumbed to our passions in, say, an exam room, or on a porch in the soaking rain.
There hadn’t been anything sexually exciting in my life for a really long time. Too long.
Until Chase. No wonder I couldn’t get him off of my mind. He represented everything I ached for. As a writer—as a woman—I should embrace the passion Chase awoke inside me. It’s my artistic right. An obligation to my craft.
The idea of it was absurd. I just met the guy. But he was addictive. Every time I took a moment to breathe, paused to think, closed my eyes, or took a bite of anything sweet, Chase’s face popped into my mind—a forbidden dessert. I worked really hard. Didn’t I deserve dessert?
Did it matter if the dessert was my best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend? By denying myself Chase’s sexiness, wasn’t I making a bigger deal out of things than I needed to? Wasn’t I the one complicating things?
Damn it, I was an adult! If I wanted dessert, I could have it. I was no good at denying myself anything.
When had a man ever made me feel like this before? Never, that’s when. He was an educated, gorgeous man with a smile that made me stupid-giddy—that was my business, and I should be able to act on it. I mean, a relationship was only as complicated as one made it. I was the queen of simplifying things, and Dr. Walker made me tingly all over and reawakened my hibernating sexy inside.
This girl has needs, damn it. And the only person I wanted to fill them was Chase. Being around him gave me the oomph I hadn’t realized I was missing.
I’d spent the last few years of my life in a safe, friends-with-benefits relationship with a man even more emotionally unattached than me. There’d been no sizzle with my ex-boyfriend. In fact, I’d never let myself enjoy the sizzle in any relationship. Maybe I’d convinced myself sizzle meant reckless. And though I might be spontaneous in other aspects of my life, I’d never allowed myself to be when it came to the men I dated. It was always background checks and searching for flaws before I’d even agree to a first date.
I wanted to give in to the spark. Chase didn’t seem worried about how things might play out, so why should it matter to me? The man set every nerve ending in my body to a warm fizzle, and I wanted to know just how hot that fizzle could burn. If his bedroom eyes and lingering kisses also sparked my creativity, well, that was just a bonus. And, for the sake of my writing, I needed those kisses.
It was time to get back in the saddle. So what if I didn’t want a serious relationship? That didn’t mean I needed to become a nun. I was the only twenty-three-year-old I knew who wasn’t having sexy-time. I wanted something. I missed having something.
I leaned against the counter, my eyes glued to my cell phone. This was unacceptable. If he wouldn’t call me, I’d call him. I snatched up my phone.
The receptionist at the clinic transferred me to Chase’s extension. I opened my mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—unsure how to start the message.
Finally, I said, “Oh. Hey, Chase. This is Roxanna. I was wondering if . . . Well, I thought you wanted to go to dinner, so I figured I should call and see when. But if you—”
The phone beeped again, cutting me off. I had run out of time.
I stared at the phone in my hand, contemplating whether I should call back and try again. But I didn’t want to sound desperate. I set the phone down.
“Lame, lame, lame.” I grabbed my purse and headed out the door. The only thing that would make me feel better was Mexican food.
My phone rang while I locked the front door. I didn’t recognize the number. I dropped the keys into my purse and answered, “Hello?”
“Hi.” Chase’s voice caught me off guard, and I missed the last porch step.
“Oh shit!” I cried out. I threw my arms out and stumbled off the cement walk. My bare foot ended up in a Hosta plant and my flip flop landed in the mulch. “Shit, shit, shit!”
I took a gingerly step off the smashed plant and swore again at the damage. I had an intimate relationship with the plants in my yard, as I’d planted most of them myself, including the Hosta I’d just assaulted.
“Damn it,” I mumbled as I bent to retrieve my flip flop.
“Roxanna?” Chase’s voice was distant.
Pressing the phone against my ear again, I slipped my shoe on with the other. “Chase. Hey. How’s it going?”
“Good. Is everything okay?” He sounded concerned.
“I just took out a Hosta plant. No big deal.”
He laughed. “Beating up on plants now.”
“Well, you know me . . .” I sat down on my porch steps.
“I do know you, which is why I feel bad for the plant.”
“Hhhaaa, funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was being serious,” he teased. “So, how are you?”
“I’m good.” I slipped my flip-flop back onto my foot. “Well, besides the fact I’m starving. I haven’t eaten a thing in a week. I was waiting for you to take me to dinner.”
He laughed. “You haven’t eaten in a week? I feel awful.”
“You should feel awful.” And then, because it sounded like I’d been stressing over it, I said, “I haven’t been worried or anything, just figured you didn’t like food.”
“I assure you, I love food. And I didn’t change my mind about enjoying it with you.” His words made me press my lips together, but the smile couldn’t be quashed. He said, “I have a good excuse why I haven’t called you.”
“Mm-hmm.” I wiggled my toes, my teal blue nail polish flashing at me. “Sure you do.”
“I help at a small clinic in Omaha every year with vaccinations for homeless and children of low income families. It’s part of an outreach initiative.”
I shook my head in wonder. “Wow, that’s amazing. Gen never mentioned it.”
“So,” he said, drawing out the word. “You’ve been asking about me?”
“What? No.” And then I grinned. “Maybe a little.”
“Good.”
“Good? That’s it?”
“No. Let’s talk dinner,” he said. “What are you doing right now?”
“Right now I am on my way to my car.” I stood. “I already have dinner plans.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed, which thrilled me.
> “Tacos. I’m having a craving. Do you want to join me?”
“I’d love to. But since this is your invitation, this doesn’t count as our dinner date. When I take you to dinner, I’ll choose the restaurant, and I’ll pick you up. That way I can take you home.”
How could I argue with that? With a smile, I said, “Okay, then.”
“Where am I meeting you for tacos?”
“On the corner of 10th, a block from O Street. You won’t miss it. There’s a big ass sombrero in the window.
“Keep an eye out for the big ass sombrero.” He chuckled. “Got it.”
“Wait, you’ve never been to Tacos del Niño before?”
“This is the first.”
“It’s the Mexican food joint in town. You haven’t lived until you eat this guy’s tacos.”
He laughed. “Are you saying my life will finally have purpose after I eat these tacos?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” I smiled, my body warm with the idea of being near him again. “See you there, Dr. Walker.”
Chapter Eighteen
I parked on the less congested street around the corner from Tacos del Niño, and when I turned at the end of the block, I spotted Chase right away. He stood near a table on the patio, cordoned off from the sidewalk. There was a moment before he noticed me, and I slowed my pace to take in the sight of him in a pair of tan slacks and a light blue button up. He had his hands in his pockets while he gazed up at the big sombrero above the door of the restaurant.
On the drive over, I’d been talking myself down from the anticipated flutter. Sure, he was hot. Sure, he was charming. But Chase Walker was just a man. Yet when our gazes connected, the familiar sensation of being knocked in the stomach took hold as the corners of his lips tugged up into a smile. My mind said, This one.
His gaze made a slow sweep from my head to my toes. I didn’t fight the butterflies; they went haywire when he pulled me into his arms in a warm hug. He surrounded me, and even though everything about him was firm, I sank into his embrace, into his warmth and the smell of his cologne. It was my newest favorite scent, I decided.