by Tessa Bailey
He’s quiet so long, I’m not sure he’s going to respond. “Thanks for the offer, but they’re probably transferring him to a different facility tomorrow.”
“Okay. Just keep it in mind.” I can almost hear the time ticking on this phone call. The longer we talk, the more intimate it becomes, and Greer doesn’t think he wants that. Not the emotional kind of intimacy, anyway. I’m banking on the opposite, though, so I search for a way to keep him on the line longer. “Um. I’ve been thinking about something you said during our ride along.” I wet my lips. “How will rubber gloves and nose plugs help me get stamps for my collection next time?”
He clears his throat. “Did I . . . say that?”
My cop-in-training sense tingles. “You know you did.”
There’s some shuffling of paperwork, followed by a sigh. “A woman got the last booklet, okay? I offered her cash and she wouldn’t take it.”
Feathers begin to whip around in my stomach, just imagining the lieutenant bartering for something I wanted. Being desperate enough to do it. “H-how much cash?”
“Not relevant.”
A laugh puffs out of my mouth. “Spoken like someone who isn’t existing on toast and leftover pizza.”
“Is that all you eat?” A beat passes where I can almost feel his annoyed frown. Those whipping feathers blast into overdrive at the possibility he’s concerned about the balance of my meals. “No . . . candy bars ever slip in there?”
“Sometimes.” My eyes narrow when he gives a heavy exhale. “You’re purposely trying to change the subject. How did you get the stamps if she didn’t want your money?”
Is that the sound of his jaw grinding? “Do you have any idea what kind of upkeep it takes to own nine cats, Danika?”
“No.”
“You don’t want to.”
I lie down on the floor and mimic making a snow angel on the hard wood. If he could see me, he would think I’m a lunatic, but there’s no way to contain the champagne fizz popping off inside my belly, my chest. “You changed her litter boxes in exchange for the stamps. You actually did that.”
“I’m late for a briefing.”
“Liar.” I turn my head and laugh into my shoulder before bringing the receiver to my mouth again. There’s a blurry quality to my vision as I look up at the ceiling and try to picture him at his desk, all commanding and sharp in his uniform. “Thank you.”
He grunts. Twice. “You have training in the morning. You better get some sleep.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” Take the leap. If he’s willing to scoop poop for stamps, I’m not imagining what’s between us. “Listen. It’s my mother’s birthday tomorrow night. At their place. You know, where you had the chicken? Charlie and everyone are coming.” Nothing. He gives me nothing. I die. “Don’t give me an answer, okay? Just take the knowledge and do with it what you will.”
“I’m on shift tomorrow night.”
Disappointment weighs me down, but I manage to sound casual. “Okay.” I swallow. “Good night, Greer.”
His deep exhale wraps around me. “Good night, Danika.”
I haven’t had cause to get dressed up in a while, unless you count my foiled date. My mother never says out loud that she hates my yoga pants, but it’s kind of a dead giveaway when she purses her lips and behaves like she’s in excruciating pain when I show up in them. Thinking about the red dress hanging in my old bedroom closet, I smile to myself. She’s going to hate the yoga pants even more after this, but it’ll be worth it.
As soon as we were dismissed from the academy late this afternoon, I hit the ground running. I’d already been stocking up on decorations, so I hauled those, along with my change of clothes, across town. While my father occupies my mother with a movie, I set up the apartment and run to the store upwards of seven times, bringing back snacks, soda, beer and a hoagie taller than myself.
After tying the final balloon to the back of a dining room chair, I step back and survey my handiwork. Not bad. Beer is icing in the double sinks, more in the fridge. There’s a snack bowl on every available surface, and there are almost enough balloons to carry the building away. Kind of like Up without the painful, heart-wrenching death. A quick check of the clock tells me guests will start arriving in half an hour, followed by my parents in approximately an hour, so I can’t delay making myself presentable anymore.
Minutes later, I’m wrestling with the zipper of the dress a little and trying not to think what Greer’s reaction would be seeing me in it. He’s on shift so he isn’t going to. I was probably jumping into the deep end inviting him in the first place, but I don’t like the idea of him spending so much time alone after being shot. Sure, he has his book club, but I’m not sure a bunch of hard-nosed cops discussing murder mysteries is much of a break from daily police work. He needs friends.
I can be his friend and still want to see him without pants on, right?
I barely have a chance to fix my hair in a loose twist and sling on my heels before the downstairs buzzer starts to ring. Over the next little while, people begin to pile into the apartment. Women from my mother’s church, their husbands, a few neighbors that have been living in the Kitchen since I can remember. Charlie arrives with an arm around Ever, Jack bringing up the rear with a blushing Katie. No wonder, since I’m pretty sure his tongue is in her ear.
Ever’s whistle turns heads in the apartment. “Girl, you clean up nice.”
That gets Jack’s attention, and I know—I know—before he opens his mouth that my childhood best friend and Manhattan native will find a way to rib me. It’s what we do. “What happened, D? Did you lose a bet?” Smiling, he reaches out and ruffles my hair, earning his hand a smack. “It’s about time someone loses one besides me.”
He’s referring to the sucker’s bet he lost to me, the terms of which landed him in the police academy. That’s right. I play dirty pool and regret nothing. “I don’t think it was a loss,” I say, tilting my head at Katie.
“Hell, no.” Jack pulls his girlfriend closer, laying a kiss on her forehead. “Biggest win of my life.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, fluttering my eyelashes. Turning to Charlie and Ever, I notice Charlie is more quiet than usual. He’s always full of energy, looking for some way to be useful, but his expression is subdued. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” His tight smile is clearly meant to reassure. “You probably heard my asshole brother went and got himself shot yesterday.”
Okay, so it’s safe to say no one knows I was there. If Greer had some reason not to mention it to Charlie, I’m not going to create tension between them by spilling the beans. Plus, Greer did me a solid by not telling anyone I was present during the almost-robbery at the yogurt shop or about the probation. Which is good, because both situations would have led to a lot of uncomfortable questions. Like, Are you insane? And, What does your probation entail?
Oh nothing, just wild monkey sex.
“I heard something about it, yeah.” Ever and I trade a solemn look. “He’s going to be fine, though, right? Look at it this way, statistically he’s more likely to be pecked to death by peacocks than to be shot again. Maybe it was a good thing.”
Ever nods. “I take the word of anyone who uses ‘statistically’ in a sentence.”
Charlie finally laughs and seems to relax. “Somehow that actually made me feel better.”
“You might feel even better if you go see him.” The suggestion is out there before I can stop it. Who am I to tell Charlie how to interact with his brother? It’s none of my business, except Greer confided in me about getting burned out. If Charlie knew, he would probably make ten times the effort to be around Greer. So while I can’t tell Charlie his brother isn’t in a great place, surely a gentle nudge is acceptable? “He probably never takes a break, but he’d be forced to stop working if you did a flyby.”
“Yeah.” Charlie narrows perceptive eyes at me, clueing me in that I’m not as smooth as I think I am. “I might just do that.”
&
nbsp; Wanting to escape my roommate’s scrutiny, I rub my hands together. “So . . . what can I get you guys to drink?”
As soon as I get one person their refill, another glass is empty until time begins to blur together. By the time my parents are supposed to arrive, the church ladies are tipsy, Robbie has commandeered the easy chair as his DJ booth—which is basically just him and his iPhone—and my feet are already starting to regret the heels. Thanks to the neighbor I position at the window as lookout, I manage to quiet everyone down enough to surprise my mother when she comes through the door. And I can see the woman totally knew about the party, even though she throws herself back against the wall and gasps dramatically.
Someone get Hollywood on the line.
“And my daughter, in a dress.” She kisses her fingers. “Best gift of all.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I say, handing her a glass of wine.
Jack wastes no time spinning my mother into a laughing dance, and the party gets back into the flow, although as more people arrive, I can see we’re going to be short on supplies. I could probably send Charlie or Jack down to the bodega to get ice and another couple six-packs, but they’re having such a good time. Plus Jack buying alcohol, even if he doesn’t plan on drinking, doesn’t sit right. So I decide to go grab it myself and be back before any of the chip bowls need to be refilled.
Palming my wallet, I open the front door—
And run into the brick wall that is Greer.
Chapter 19
Greer
Danika bounces off me, and I rush to grip her elbows, to keep her from going splat. I start to lecture her on being more careful, but then I see see her.
And damn. I wasn’t expecting a dress. It’s . . . red. Wait, what is her hair doing?
Good things. Great, actually. It’s kind of loose on the sides, but still pulled away from her face. A piece of it is caught on her glossy bottom lip. Wait, there’s lipstick involved here, too?
What have I walked into?
The softness of her skin distracts me from how different she looks, but only for a few seconds, because she straightens, and I’m back to gaping like a fucking jackass.
I flash back to academy orientation when she strolled in wearing sneakers, a T-shirt and jeans, her hair doing that flippy ponytail thing. She’d turned heads dressed like that. I’d been forced to refer to my notes when giving my standard new recruit speech, because she’d sat right in the front row with her big, brown eyes. I like that girl. The tough one who walks the walk. I’m not sure how I feel yet about this whole red dress business, except for one concrete fact.
If there are single men at this party, I’m going to escort them out. In handcuffs, if necessary. Am I being completely irrational? Yes. Not to mention selfish, considering I’m never going to be relationship material for Danika.
“I brought back your mother’s Tupperware,” I push past my tightening throat. “And the edge of your bra is showing.”
Danika looks at me like I’m soft in the head. “So fix it.”
Touch her in that dress? “I shouldn’t have to. It should be underneath your clothes.”
She does a two-finger press to her temple. “Let’s start over, okay?”
“Great idea,” I return, equally irritated. And out of place. And a little desperate to have this girl to myself—right now—when I know I shouldn’t. “Take the Tupperware, please. It took me ten minutes to get the stupid top on, and I never want to look at it again.”
“Tough day?” she asks, her eyes warming with amusement.
“Yeah,” I answer honestly.
Her smile dims and she takes the Tupperware. A little frown forms between her brows when she feels the weight, but I try to appear busy checking my phone while she lifts the clear plastic and looks inside. “Is that a brownie?” She lowers the container. “A frosted one?”
“It’s for your mother.” People are starting to notice me standing out in the hallway, my brother being one of them, followed by Jack and the girls. Which leads to a fucking parade of raised eyebrows. Ignoring them, I do a quick scan of the room, but it doesn’t yield any men of a marriageable age. Though I can’t see the whole place where I’m standing. Is this why I came here? To make sure no one else can have her, including myself? “I can’t stay.”
Danika shakes her head, but she’s still looking at the brownie. “You’re staying.”
“I’m on shift.”
“Leave if you get a call.” Her brown eyes hit me with the impact of a meteor. “Please?”
My stomach grows heavy. Has she ever spoken that word to me? Hearing it from her mouth makes me hot and anxious. It glues my feet to the floor and keeps me from leaving, simply because she asked me to stay. “Last time I asked you please, your answer was no.”
The darkening of her cheeks tells me she knows what I’m talking about. “I’ll change it to yes if you give this brownie to my mother yourself.”
“That seems a little personal.”
“So is the kiss I plan to let you take,” she whispers.
Jesus. How have I managed not to drag her out of the apartment like King Kong on steroids yet? Let you take. She’s speaking in our language. The kind we create more of every time we’re together. “You drive a hard bargain,” I say, moving closer, until she’s forced to step to the side. As soon as I’ve moved from the dark hallway into the light, the craziest thing happens.
Someone is actually happy to see me.
Danika’s mother comes swooping in like a perfumed bird, soaring through the guests with her wings out. “Lieutenant Burns, you came to my birthday!”
“Yes.”
Before I can avoid it, I’m being hugged. Across the room, Charlie’s eyeballs almost pop out of his skull, and if he doesn’t stop staring, I might speed the process along. Everyone is looking at me wondering who the hell called the police, but apart from my brother, no one is making a huge deal out of me being hugged in public. Which lets me consider how I feel knowing I made a good impression on Danika’s parents.
Good. Dangerously good.
Behind me, Danika is discreet about placing the Tupperware in my grip, but just like her daughter, this woman sees everything. She eases back and eyes the container with her hands clasped beneath her chin until I give it over. “I brought you a brownie.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you.” I grimace as she pries off the impossible lid, takes a big whiff of the baked good, then reseals it with zero effort. “Come right in. What do you like to drink? Danika will take care of you.”
Yes, she mentioned that. “Milk, please. I’m on duty.”
Danika shakes her head at my choice, but skates off to fill my order, her mother in tow. I almost storm after them when I see Danika’s dress doesn’t have a goddamn back, but manage to hold myself in check, because there are still no bachelors skulking around. I’ll have to check the bathroom and the fire escape when I get a chance.
Charlie, Jack, Ever and Katie approach like a foursome of marionettes. I picture them coming from a huddle, my brother as quarterback. Look casual. Ready? Break. And then they all do the exact opposite. It doesn’t escape my notice that Jack doesn’t look thrilled to see me. “Hey,” starts Charlie, a cup of soda pressed to his bottom lip. “So, uh . . . when did you meet Danika’s mother?”
“Yeah, you guys seem pretty chummy,” Jack adds. “Meeting someone’s mother isn’t something you do unless you have honorable intentions, though.”
Bolts tighten on either side of my neck. “Until a few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have known an honorable intention if it bit you on the ass, Garrett.”
Katie doesn’t like what I have to say. “That’s a load of bollocks. He was always very honorable with me. Except those few times.” She purses her lips. “And a few times after that . . .”
“Let’s not have a fight in the middle of the party,” Ever murmurs, her smile tight. “I have it on good authority that church folks make the best eavesdroppers.”
It’s on the tip
of my tongue to alert Jack to the fact that he isn’t telling me something I don’t already know. I berated myself on the way to the party for being too weak to stay away from Danika when there’s nothing I can offer her but sex. My lack of honorable intentions has been at the forefront of my damn mind since Wednesday night. I’m well aware I’m behaving like a bastard, and it stings even more because I should be setting a better example for my recruits. For my brother.
My gaze seeks out the only girl who’s ever succeeded in making me break the rules—
And after about twenty seconds, I really do not like what I’m seeing.
She’s hobbling around in those heels, for chrissakes. My milk is in one hand, but she can’t make it two feet in my direction before someone asks for a refill, or inquires about the cake or secures a favor for later in the week. For the first time since I arrived, I notice the balloons. There are a million colors, all tied in strategic spots. Out of the way, but still visible. There’s a banner with her mother’s name on it, streamers flowing out from either side. Chinese lanterns of various sizes are tacked to the ceiling, candles are bunched on several surfaces. “Who helped her with the party?” I bark the question at the foursome. “Did you guys help her do any of this?”
“No . . .” Jack looks around, as if he’s just noticed the decorations, too. Slowly, everyone’s gazes light on the beer icing in the sink, the food, the rearranged furniture. “She was gone by the time we got home. I would’ve helped if she’d asked.”
“Me, too,” Ever says. “She couldn’t have done all this alone, right?”
Nobody has an answer, but I already have one. My stomach is starting to hurt watching her run the show, all nods and taking mental notes. How often does she do this? Constantly? Last time I was here, she’d just finished fixing the leaky sink and dropping off a prescription. Her cousin calls her about an impending robbery and she hops into a cab, no questions asked. She carries the world—her world—on her shoulders, and somehow I love that about her and hate it at the same time. Explain that one, Dr. Phil.