by Louise, Tia
The windows are down, and the breeze whips away the funky paint smell. At least we both smell like paint. “I thought you might be hungry after.”
“You are something else, Chad Tucker.” She slants an eye at me, and my body responds.
I swear, this woman. She’s got me hungry for more than food. Our eyes meet, and hers flutter away. Her cheeks flush pink, and I clear my throat, returning to her statement.
“Something good?”
“Surprising. You found something in Oceanside I’ve never done.”
“It was technically outside the city limits.”
“Still…” She gives me another side-glance. “You were kind of a badass out there.”
That makes me smile for real. “You were kind of a badass yourself. That’s quite an aim for somebody who’s never played before.”
“I’ve used a gun.”
I’m surprised. “You have?”
“Uncle Bob’s taken me deer hunting. I never shot anything, but he taught me how to aim.”
It’s an interesting story, and one I don’t expect based on my limited experience with her. “I didn’t think you got along with your uncle.”
She exhales a laugh and looks out the window. “We get along okay. He just wants me to be a straight-laced Sunday school teacher. It doesn’t interest me.”
We’re at my place, and I park the truck. Her eyes return to mine, but now a brow is arched. “I figured since we’re covered in paint, we might as well go to my place.” Her hesitation makes me pause. “We can go somewhere else if you’re uncomfortable—”
“No, it’s okay. You are a cop. And where else would we go?”
“Carry the food?” I take the paint-covered towels off the seat. “I should have mentioned bringing a change of clothes.”
While I unlock the door, we both slip off our shoes at the bottom of the staircase leading up to my warehouse apartment. “You can leave them there.”
She follows me up the narrow flight of stairs. “This is nice.”
It’s a big, open space with exposed brick lining the exterior walls. It’s industrial and very male, with a brushed metal bar dividing the kitchen from the living room, where an enormous flatscreen TV hangs over a gas fireplace.
“Thanks.” I cross to the washroom located behind the refrigerator. “The rent’s unbelievably cheap. Robbie restored it, but he couldn’t get any renters.”
“Why not?” Turning to look at the whole space, her confused gaze lands on mine.
“Who wants to live over the sheriff’s office?”
“The sheriff’s deputy?” She drops the bag on the bar, and I walk back, giving her a nod.
“Right. And nobody else.”
That makes her laugh. It’s a bright, melodic sound I haven’t heard much up to tonight. She’s always scowling when I’m around.
Taking down the plates, I level my eyes on her. “So what’s the deal, Tabby? Why have you spent the last year treating me like the enemy?”
Her jaw drops. “I haven’t been doing that.”
I pull out the foot-long, paper wrapped sandwiches. They smell like heaven. “You’ve been doing exactly that.”
She clears her throat and shifts from one foot to the other. “I’ve been really busy that’s all.”
She turns and walks across the living room to the built-in bookcase beside the television. I’m not looking to kill the mood. As much as I want an answer to my question, I’m mostly teasing.
“Want that beer now?” It’s offered as a truce.
She looks over her shoulder. “Got anything stronger?”
The braid is out of her hair, and in the small spotlights, I see she has caramel highlights in the front. Even with paint spattered on her cheek, she’s really beautiful. Maybe the paint adds to it. All I know is for a second, my brain decides not to work.
“Chad?” Her voice snaps me out of it.
“Right. Um… I’ve got whiskey and tequila.”
“Tequila it is.” She turns to the bookcase again, and I give her cute backside a once-over before going to the refrigerator and taking down the gold bottle.
“Want to mix it with something?”
“Look at you!” She crosses the space between us carrying a picture frame.
Stepping toward her, I stop when she’s beside me, small in her bare feet. She’s holding my graduation photo from military college.
I give it a glance, and exhale a short laugh. “That was a while ago.”
“Did you serve?”
“Four years.”
Her slim brows pull together, and she glances up at me again. “Why?”
Placing the bottle on the bar, I take out a can of sprite and some orange juice. “Pretty early in the night for that conversation.”
“So it wasn’t just for love of our country?”
“There might have been other reasons.”
“Okay, we can table that.” She climbs onto one of the wooden stools across the counter from me and puts the picture aside. “What are you making?”
“Modified tequila sunrise.” I have ice in tumblers, which I fill half way with soda before adding a few fingers of tequila and topping off with orange juice. “See what you think.”
Green eyes meet mine, and her smile is genuine. “It’s good!”
“Don’t sound so surprised. Hungry?” I slide her plate toward her and lean against the bar where my plate remains.
“I can’t eat all of this.” She lifts half a poboy and inspects the side. “Chicken salad. My favorite. How did you know?”
For a second I consider taking credit. Nah. “André made them for us. I told him we’d need something quick and easy.”
“He knows me so well.”
I’d like to know her so well. “So you grew up here?”
She nods, chewing a minute before answering. “Born and raised. What about you? Where were you before all of this?” She twirls a finger in a circle over the bar.
“My family is in Charleston.”
“Is that where you graduated high school?” She’s rocking on the stool, and I take another sip of my drink.
“Yep.”
“Football player?”
“Yep.”
She puts her sandwich down and picks up her glass. “Let me guess… Star quarterback, captain of the football team. Straight-A student, graduated college with honors.”
Straightening, I cross my arms over my chest. “Guilty as charged.”
Her eyes flicker to my biceps then to my eyes again. Yeah, I did it on purpose.
“Such a good boy.” Her tone is softer, and she takes another sip. “What brought you to Oceanside Village?”
I walk around the bar and pull out the stool beside her. It’s close enough that our knees touch, but not so close to be crowded. “I like the beach. I finished my tour of duty, and I wanted peace and quiet, something small.”
“If by peace, quiet, and small you mean boring, backward, and closed-minded, you’ve come to the right place.”
I only laugh. The tequila is warm in my blood, and I like being close to her. “I haven’t found it to be that way.”
“Give it a little more time.” She trades the glass for her sandwich and takes a small bite. My eyes travel from her slim shoulders up her neck to her full lips.
“My turn. Let me guess… Preacher’s kid, wild child, drove all the boys crazy—”
“Hold it right there.” She drops the sandwich and holds up a finger, laughing. “Preacher’s niece, and just because I don’t like Uncle Bob’s shouty sermons, I’m not as wild as you think.”
“You’re not a wild child?” Disbelief is in my voice, and I reach out and trace my finger down the line of the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. It’s an infinity symbol with the word Believe in one curve.
“Get with the times, Tucker. Tattoos don’t mean anything anymore.”
I slide my finger across the symbol again, and her lips tighten. I want to kiss her. “Why believe?”
; Her shoulders lift slightly. “To remind myself to do it? I might not like shouty sermons, but I do believe.”
“So you stayed here because it’s safe.” Somehow I’ve edged a bit closer to her.
Shaking her head, she wrinkles her cute little nose. “Safe makes me restless.”
“So I’ve noticed. You like surprises, being caught off guard.” Rising to my feet, I push the plates back, lift her off the stool, and sit her butt on brushed metal top of the bar.
Her arms go to my shoulders, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”
“Kiss me.” I’m between her legs now, and I lean down so our mouths are a breath apart.
Her fingers flex against my muscles, and her green eyes sparkle. She bites her lip, and we’re both breathing a little faster.
“You’re too law-abiding for me.” Her words are a warm whisper of a promise on my lips.
“How so?”
“That uniform? Those handcuffs?”
“Maybe I should put you in handcuffs.”
“Maybe I’d like to see you try.”
Heat floods my pelvis, and my cock perks up. I can imagine her in handcuffs. Her hands over her head, round breasts heaving, legs twisting. Fuck, that’s hot.
“Kiss me, Tabitha.”
Her green eyes flicker to mine, and they smolder like emeralds. “You’re too bossy.”
“You like being bossed.”
Another nose wrinkle, a little curl of the mouth into a smile, and she leans forward. The moment our lips touch, fire ignites between us. Her arms tighten around my neck, and my fingers on her waist curl. I pull her soft body flush against mine as my mouth parts hers. Our tongues touch and slide together, and it’s a match to kindling.
It’s sweet orange with the bite of tequila. It’s electricity humming in my veins. She exhales a sigh, and I can’t hide the erection in my pants. I pull back, tugging her lips with mine, taking a gentle bite of her jaw. Another soft moan, and her fingers are in my hair.
I lift my head and our eyes meet.
Damn she’s just what I want…
Eight
Tabby
My lips throb from the best kiss I’ve had… Ever.
Beard scuffing my skin, I scratch my fingernails through his hair and chase his lips as he bites my jaw. Shit, that feels good. His cock is hard against my thigh, and I’m so wet.
He lifted me off my stool like I weighed no more than a doll. It’s sexy as hell, rough and demanding, and when he pulls back, when our eyes meet…
A current shoots from my chest to my core, tingling between my thighs before making its way to the arches of my feet.
We’re both breathing fast, blinking into each other’s eyes. I see the hunger there, but he hesitates. We both do. Our chemistry is crazy, and as much as I want more, I need to hit the brakes, think about who he is, who I am…
Dropping my chin, I loosen my arms, sliding my hands to his forearms. I’m not sure what to say. Holy shit! is on repeat in my head.
“Sorry.” His voice is gruff, and he steps back, helping me off the bar and onto the stool again.
His eyes are diverted, and he walks around into the kitchen area.
“No need to apologize.” My voice is a little shaky, so I clear my throat. “I think we both participated in that.”
He turns to the refrigerator. “I think I’ll switch to beer. Want one?”
“Sure.” I reach for my sandwich, but I’m not really hungry anymore. Not for food anyway.
He places two bottles of amber in front of me. “Frosty mug?”
“Nah.” I take mine before he can pour it into the glass. “I’m easy.”
He does that sexy wink before taking a sip. “Is that so?”
“Not the way you said it.”
Setting the beer on the counter, he leans on his forearms. “Tell me, Tabitha Green, something I’ve been wondering about for a while.”
His forceful tone makes me shift in my seat. “Okay.”
“If Betty Pepper hadn’t called us, would you have gone through with it?”
I frown. “With what?”
“Jimmy, that night at the Plucky Duck.”
“Oh…” Blinking rapidly, I try to remember how I felt that night. “It’s hard to think of it now, knowing what I know about him.”
“You didn’t see right through that act?”
My cheeks are hot, and I press my lips together. “I wasn’t using the best judgment at the time. I was pissed off at everybody.”
When our eyes meet, his are still warm, searching for something. He reaches out a large hand across the bar and slides his finger down the inside of my forearm, starting at my tattoo and going to the bend of my elbow. “Why?”
It’s such a simple question, I feel silly answering it, especially in view of that kiss just now. Who was Travis again?
“I was dating this guy.” I pick at the label on the bottle. “He turned out to be a real jerk. Then he skipped town.” When I glance up, I notice Chad’s brow has lowered, and I can’t tell if it’s about Travis the Jerk or Jimmy. “I was having second thoughts, anyway. I wasn’t sure about the condom situation, and I wasn’t sure I was even into it anymore…”
He nods slowly. “You look out for yourself.”
“I’m not stupid.” Sitting up straighter, I feel defensive. “Sometimes it’s nice to be with someone, a warm body when you’re feeling lonely. I guess that sounds wrong… Sinful.”
I can’t believe I said that out loud. Am I drunk? I’m pretty sure I sound like a total slut right now.
“It sounds human to me.” Chad clears his throat and straightens. “I just wanted to know.”
Squinting up at him, I try to decide what to make of Chad Tucker. “You’re doing it again.”
“What’s that?”
“Being something else.”
“Something good?”
“Let’s play a game.”
He walks around the bar again to sit beside me. “Sure. Get the mood back on track.”
I slap my hands on my thighs, then I lift my palm. “Ew…” Purple paint covers it.
“Here.” Chad stands in his chair, reaching for the roll of paper towels. “Let me get you something to change into.”
He crosses the living room to what I now see is a bedroom off to the side. Scrubbing the paint off my hand, I inspect my jeans, wondering if this crap will ever come out. It smells like gasoline.
My lip curls, and I call after him. “If you’re bringing me clothes, I can’t imagine you own anything that would fit me.”
He’s back pretty fast, changed into sweat pants and a white undershirt. My eyebrows shoot up, and I tear my eyes away from his crotch before he catches me staring. It looks like a snake swinging heavy and low in those pants. An Anaconda. I want to touch it.
Again, Holy shit is on repeat in my head.
“How’s this?” He holds out a large, navy tee and a pair of dark blue boxer shorts.
I take them, loving the way they smell. “I’ll be swimming in these.”
“I’ve got this.” He jogs around into the kitchen again, pulling a narrow drawer open and digging in it. “What do you think?”
He’s holding an enormous safety pin. “What the hell… Are you MacGyver? Where did you get that?”
He frowns as if trying to remember. “I think it was on some dry cleaning. I figured it might come in handy one day, so I threw it in the sauce drawer.”
“The sauce drawer?”
“You know, where you throw all the sauce packets. Don’t you watch SNL?”
“Not enough.” I hold out my hand, palm up. “Hand it over.”
I’m changed and pinned in his boxers in no time, the shirt knotted in the front. He has two more beers on the bar waiting when I return, and when he notices I’m not wearing a bra, I see the same struggle on his face as when I saw his trouser snake.
Glad to know I’m not the only one enjoying the view.
Pretending like I don’t notice, I slide my pal
m over the bright red circle on my thigh faintly shaded from the paint that seeped through the denim.
“Looks like I got punched in the leg.”
Concern replaces lust, and he crosses to me quickly. “Does it hurt? I have an ice pack…”
“I think it’ll be okay. It might leave a bruise, though.”
“Sorry.”
“What’s this?” I point to the bar where the beers are waiting.
He gestures to them. “You wanted to play a game… Quarters?”
I snort and frown. “No.”
“Truth or dare?”
“Never.” I’ve been burned too many times by that game.
“I’m all out. What you got?”
Climbing on the stool, I run through the least offensive drinking games I know. “Never Have I Ever?”
He tilts his head to the side, and the way the light hits his square jaw is like some classical painting. “I don’t know that one.”
“How can you not know that one?”
Broad shoulders rise in a shrug, stretching that tank, and I inwardly sigh. “I guess Oceanside is more sophisticated than you give it credit for.” His reply is a total tease.
“Not a chance.” I take two more beers and twist off the caps. “It’s easy. I’ll start by making a statement of something a person might do. If you’ve done it, you drink. For example, never have I ever gone skinny dipping.” Lifting my beer, I take a short pull. “Get it?”
His frown softens, and he starts to nod. “I think so. You drink when it’s something you’ve done.”
“Right. First one drunk… Wins?”
“Then loses tomorrow.”
“Or later tonight, depending on how your stomach works.”
His full lips part, and I’m treated to that white smile again, coupled with that deep dimple in his left cheek. Holy shit.
“Was that your first statement?” He points the neck of his bottle at me. “You’ve gone skinny dipping?”
“Yep. Drink up, Tucker.”
Lips press into a grin, and he shakes his head.
My eyes go wide. “You are shitting me right now. You’ve never been skinny dipping?”
“Never had a reason.”
“Who needs a reason?” He shrugs, but that grin is still there. I narrow my eyes. “I don’t believe you.”