by K. Bromberg
I take a little bow, owning the criticism because hell if hearing him say I might turn him on isn’t something that’s on repeat in my head. I’ll use any distraction I can get to take my mind off the fear just being put in that position evoked in me.
“You can curtsy all you want,” Reznor says with a sarcastic tone and a shake of his head, “but it’s not going to save your ass.”
My spine stiffens at his comment. “Loosen up, I was joking.” I roll my eyes for added humor but when I look back to him, there is absolutely no amusement in his expression.
“I’d love to loosen up”—he turns to face me—“but that would mean you wouldn’t be getting what you came here for. To learn how to fight back and defend yourself. The comedy club is that way if you want to be the funny girl and make jokes.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder as the two of us wage a visual war. “Because roughly seven out of ten women will be assaulted in their lifetime…of the ten of you standing here, seven have already or at some point will be a victim… Now, I might not be a genius, but I put my money on the fact that they want to be taught what to do.” He pauses as my eyes burn into his. “Shall we continue?”
No one likes to feel stupid.
And of course that’s how I feel, but hell if I’ll give him the satisfaction of knowing how hard I want to pull that stick out of his ass when he’s right on the money.
“Then maybe you should tell me what to do.” I sound snotty when I speak no matter how hard I try. Because there’s being chastised, and then there’s being chastised by the man you were pseudo hitting on earlier. Now, no matter how hard you tell yourself it isn’t the case, you feel a little rejected.
He flashes me a brilliant smile that grates on my nerves. “Gladly.”
And for the next hour and odd minutes, I’m on my back. Up against a wall. Up against him. Any way you can imagine it, Reznor uses me as his dummy to demonstrate what to do, and what not to do.
All with his body against mine.
“That’s all for today’s class. Ladies, I hope you learned something today, but remember your number one goal is to escape to safety, not fight. If your attacker is coming toward you, the three simplest moves you can use to defend yourself are the down slap to the forehead, the Dracula, and the throat strike. Stay safe and we’ll see you next time.”
A round of clapping starts, and all I do is sag in relief because I’m exhausted.
And pissed off.
I don’t clap. I don’t even look his way as I stalk off the mat and head toward the bleacher at the far end of the gym where my stuff is. Noise erupts as the other classes end and women begin chatting.
I need to get the hell out of here.
I’m tired. I’m sore. And…and I’m not sure how I feel, but I don’t like it.
“Desi.”
When he calls my name, I’m primed for a fight…especially with him.
“Go away,” I mutter as I keep my head down, knowing how anything I do can and will be used against me. Sunnyville might not be a Podunk town, but it has one whopper of a gossip mill, and I’m the last person who wants to take center stage in it.
I take my time gathering my keys and water but can feel his presence at my back.
“Thanks for helping today.”
I whip around to see him standing there, shirt off and balled in his hands, pants slung low on his hips, a towel scrubbing through his hair. The typical look of a guy who knows he has a hot body and is so damn comfortable with it he doesn’t give a second thought that most people can’t do that and look sexy.
“Helping?” I grit out. “How about being your human punching bag for the past hour? The one you continually said was doing the wrong thing. How about that, huh?”
He chuckles. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have taught you nothing while I went and took my psych test again to see if I qualify for the Academy.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Same could be said about someone who judges others without giving them the benefit of the doubt,” he says and shrugs nonchalantly.
“Look. I was making conversation. I was…” I run a hand through my hair and sigh as I rein in my temper. “Never mind.”
Stop babbling, Des. That’s what got you into this predicament in the first place.
“You better hope you never need to defend yourself—”
“Screw you.”
“—because you’re spending so much time being mad at me that you’re not paying attention.”
“I don’t put myself in situations to…”
Reznor angles his head to the side and takes a step closer. “Ah, but you have though.” His voice is softer, sympathetic. I take a step back and shake my head. “What did he do to you, Desi?”
“Who said anyone did anything to me?” I shove my hands on my hips to match my defensive tone.
He rocks on his heels and stares at me with an intensity I want to shy away from but don’t dare. “You didn’t have to say a word. It’s written in your defiance…in your body language.”
“Maybe my body language is saying I’ve had enough of you and your bullshit.”
“Dodge and defend.” He chuckles, and it grates on my nerves. “I should have figured you’d be one of those.”
“One of those?”
“The person who can’t admit you’ve been caught off guard. That you were vulnerable and someone else took advantage of it.”
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh. Types like you always quit,” he says, prompting me to shove my keys in my purse and try to walk past him. But he sidesteps to block my exit. “All talk and no guts.”
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again…screw you and your stereotypes.”
“I’ll be surprised if I see you again on Thursday.”
I glare at him before stomping away. My resolve that I wasn’t coming back is now shattered by my pure stubbornness to prove him wrong. Arrogant asshole.
The night air feels like heaven. It’s still hot and stifling but it doesn’t smell like sweaty gym, and it sure as hell doesn’t smell like Reznor—cool and clean and manly.
Standing in the entry of the high school, all I can do is shake my head and curse the man I’ve tried to abuse over the last hour.
He frustrated me. He tested me. I tried to fight back.
I lost.
Is that why I’m pissed? Because he proved to me there’s no way I could handle myself if I were attacked?
Or is it because he stood there, confronting and frustrating me, making me so angry I totally missed the opportunity to admire how freaking hot he is with his shirt off?
Because what I remember of him…damn.
Get a grip.
He’s nothing.
You’re fine and can handle yourself.
But when I start the car, there’s a niggling feeling deep down that I know all of those are lies.
All three of them.
Chapter Three
Reznor
The beer is cold, the bar is crowded, and the music is some twangy shit that makes me feel like I’m back in the South…when I left its humid heat and sweet-talking women years ago.
Sweet talking. That sure as hell isn’t what comes to mind when I think of Desi from last night...and yet, she’s been on my mind more than I care to think about.
I nod subtly at the woman eyeing me and then shift to survey the local cop hangout, Hooligan’s. There are definitely boys in blue in here—you can tell by their walk, their attitude, their need to blow off steam—and it feels so odd to be on the outside of the unspoken bond between the men when I’m usually right in the fucking middle. The nucleus. The one they come to when they need advice, to talk, anything…
But this isn’t San Francisco.
This is Sunnyville, California. Home of grapes on the hills, wine in the cellars, and my temporary home for the next few months.
“Reznor fucking Mayne, is that you?”
Talk about a small world.
&nb
sp; I turn to see an old friend from the Academy moving across the space. He’s a little over six foot. Dark hair. Light eyes. The fucker has filled out since being in the same graduating class with me—when he knew this was what he was made to do, and I questioned whether I’d be able to stay on the right side of the law.
“Grant Malone? No shit.”
We shake hands, and he takes a seat beside me. The bartender slides a beer to him within seconds without him asking.
“Thanks, Timmy,” he says with a nod and then turns back to me. “You look good. What happened, did you have a run-in at a tattoo parlor?” He laughs as he takes in the sleeve covering my right arm.
“You know how it goes. We all have to tell our stories somewhere...mine just happens to be on my arms. Hell, if I’ve gotta be straight-laced, I might as well look like a badass while doing it.”
“You haven’t changed one bit.” Grant lifts his beer to his lips and shakes his head.
“And your skin is still art free,” I tease. “Still a cop?”
“Detective.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“You like it?”
“It’s a smaller beat but—”
“Crime’s everywhere.”
“You can say that again. I’m just coming off a homicide at one of the vineyards. Decided I’d kick it here for a bit, unwind, get my head straight before heading home to the fam.”
“Family?” I’m not surprised. Malone’s one of the good ones.
“Yep. Wife. Two kids with one on the way. Dogs.”
“So very TV sitcom-ish.”
We both laugh, the leap in our lives so very different than the last time we saw each other.
“What about you? You married? Kids?”
“Nah. Not sure if it’s for me or not.”
“I can respect that. Are you still on the right side of the law or did you decide it wasn’t exciting enough for you?” he asks without any judgment in his tone. It doesn’t surprise me that he remembers our late-night conversations in the Academy dorms. The ones where I confessed to what a punk I’d been. The trouble I’d been caught up in where I figured my only option was to sign on with the force or end up behind bars.
“Me? SWAT.” I love the look on his face. Shock mixed with disbelief. “Wild, huh?”
“You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack. Did entry for ten years, and I’ve been the commander of a team with SFPD for the past five.”
He looks at the beer between his hands and smiles. “Some of the guys took bets after we graduated from the Academy whether you’d stick it out or not.”
“Nice to know my friends are bastard assholes,” I say through a laugh, but know damn well I would have bet against me too. “And?”
“Looks like if I could track down the old crew, I’d be a rich man.” He taps the neck of his beer against mine and takes a long pull before looking back at me. “Fucking SWAT, Rez? Really?”
“Yep. Gotta get my fix of adrenaline somehow.” I take my time looking around the bar, watching to see who’s sitting back, taking note of who’s paying attention that Grant is talking to an outsider in this town where it seems everyone knows everyone. Getting the lay of the land even when I’m not on duty. It seems old habits die hard. “So this is your beloved Sunnyville, huh?”
“Yep. Big but small. Scenic but confining. A place where everyone knows your name...and your business.” He laughs, but I can tell he loves it here. “Told you that you’d make it here one day.”
“Guess it seems you knew all the answers back then. You should have been a fortune teller.”
“No, thanks. I’m good with where life has brought me. What brings you here?”
“I took some time off I had coming.”
“There’s never time off in our world,” he says, and I can see his mind working. I know he’s wondering if I was put on disciplinary leave for something. It’s really none of his fucking business, but the last thing I need is him looking into me.
“Shit went south in a situation I was leading my team on. A dad barricaded with kids. I made the call to breach. Shit went bad before we were able to neutralize him.”
That much is the truth.
“It’s not your fault.”
Malone gets it. What’s in my head. What keeps me up at night. Why I needed to leave the city behind for a little bit.
“Yeah. I know. It doesn’t make it feel any better.” I finish off my beer and shrug away the screaming echoing in my head from their mother as she stood behind the barricades fighting officers to get to her babies. “Just a fucking waste.”
“It always is.” He judges my mood with a nod and a tight smile. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be.”
“So you took time off to get your head straight?”
“Something like that.” I chuckle and then sigh, because I know I need to give more. “It was either that or I was going to quit so...it was agreed I’d take some time. Besides, my sergeant knew the head of a self-defense academy out here. He needed some instructors and my boss wanted to make sure I didn’t fall off the damn grid. Figured, why not get the hell out of Dodge for a while and do that.”
“Timing is everything.”
“It most definitely is,” I say as Grant points to my beer asking if I want another. I nod.
“Sunnyville Self Defense Class?”
“That would be the one.”
“Bear’s a good guy.”
“You know him?” Small town. Everyone knows everyone.
“Yep. Does that mean you’re going to be hanging around Sunnyville for a bit?”
“Seems like it. He has two instructors out on vacation, so I said I’d fill in.”
“It’s not like you don’t know how to defend yourself.”
“Are you still sore about that, Malone?” I tease, remembering our hand-to-hand combat lessons and how I beat him in the class competition.
“Nah.” He smiles. “Grudges aren’t my thing. You’ll have to come over sometime. We can catch up, shoot the shit, talk about the old days…”
“You mean talk about kicking each other’s asses.”
“We had some good times.”
“Fucking epic.” I take a tug on my beer.
“It’s a plan then. But for now, I’ve got to head home.” He stands from his stool and sets a business card on the bar top before cuffing me on the shoulder. “Good seeing you again, Rez.”
I pick up his card and turn it over in my hand as he walks away.
Sunnyville Police Department. Detective Grant Malone.
He’s where he should be. Detective. Husband. Father. He’s...Christ, he’s happy. Fulfilled. Doing what he loves.
I shake my head and look around. And what does that make you, Rez?
Hell if I know.
At one point my job was all I needed. But is that still all I need, or am I craving something more? Something else to give me that rush?
Fuck this.
Now’s not time for psychological bullshit.
Now’s time for another beer.
Chapter Four
Desi
“Des?”
I jump at the sound of my name and rap my head against the cabinet as the dogs lying in various places of the room jump and begin baying.
“Goddammit, Jeff. You scared the shit out of me.” I stand with a hand pressed to the back of my hair and my heart pounding a violent staccato in my chest.
Thoughts. Fears. Memories. The three hit like lightning, and I hate the irrepressible terror that accompanies them. Nothing happened to me. I don’t need to live in fear.
When I look up to see him in the doorway, one hand is on his hip in that way that tells me he’s used to wearing his utility belt and holster. A smile is on his handsome face, and an adorable French bulldog named Disco is under his arm.
“Sorry. I knocked at the front. You didn’t answer, but I saw your car was here and figured it was okay to come in.”
How’d I forget to lock the door?
My mind reels over my mistake. Over what if he came back.
“Des? You okay?” Jeff asks as he takes a step toward me, concern owning his expression.
“That’s totally fine. I’m totally fine.” The words are a rush of air as I try to hide my unease. “Here. Let me put the rest of these guys up for a sec before we set Disco down so I can introduce him to them one at a time.”
“Yeah. Sure,” he says as I grab a box of Milkbones to bribe the other dogs toward the back of the house where I have a dog room of sorts. It’s painted in a bright yellow and has dog beds, water bowls, and dog toys. It’s where I put the clean dogs after they’re bathed and groomed.
When I come back to my grooming studio, he’s nowhere to be found. “Jeff?”
“Coming,” he says as his footsteps sound off in the hallway that leads to my kitchen and family room. “I set him down and he took off like he did last time. There’s something about your kitchen he loves.”
I grab Disco from Jeff and nuzzle the adorable dog. He grunts and groans as he always does. “I have a pot roast in the Crock Pot. He probably smells it.”
“So what time am I coming over for dinner?”
I stare at Jeff. “We already tried that, remember?”
Both of our cheeks heat at the memory of our torrid few-week tryst, where we enjoyed the hell out of each other’s bodies but agreed there wasn’t much else between us. A relationship just how I like them—short, hungry, and over without any attachment.
“Yeah, but...sometimes it’s good to take a walk down memory lane.”
I push against his chest as he steps closer. “A walk down memory lane is one thing, but I assure you crawling up my thighs isn’t where memory lane is located.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
“Can’t fault a woman for saying no.”