Bend ~ Molly McLain

by McLain, Molly

  “Don’t call me that,” she snaps, but her bark is more like a nibble. An uncertain curiosity that confirms my initial suspicion—Kinsey might sell kinky lingerie and dress like a sex kitten, but she’s more apt to cuddle than leave scratches down a man’s back.

  “You’re sexy when you’re annoyed. Anyone ever tell you that?” Might as well have fun and push her buttons a little harder. Reaching up, I smooth a lock of her hair between my fingers. She’s got the messy up-do thing going on and the dark, silky tendrils that fall around her face are gorgeous as hell. All too easily, I can imagine how her pretty hair would look, fanned out across my pillow as I push her back on my bed and feast between her legs. I’d make her kitty purr like it’s never before, and I’d enjoy every friggin’ second of it.

  “Don’t touch me, either,” she says, though her tone is weak and her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are also glued to my mouth, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

  “Just admiring, Kins. No harm in that, is there?”

  Her lips part slightly and the tip of her tongue peeks out just enough to make my balls ache. “I don’t trust you, Sergeant.”

  I wouldn’t trust me either if I were her. “Ah, but you hardly know me, remember?”

  “You’re trouble with a capital T. That’s all I need to know.”

  NEVER BEFORE HAS TROUBLE BEEN so tempting.

  Trent Clark is the kind of man that could ruin me in one night, and not with wine and roses. No, he’d leave me with body aches and residual tremors, torn panties and bruised lips. I can see the promise in his eyes as clearly as I can see that perfect shade of blue. He’d give me everything Ben couldn’t and then he’d walk away with a smile.

  I shouldn’t want him.

  He’s a cop who works for my father. He’s been nothing but a pain in my ass for weeks, and now he’s working my theft case.

  But he looks at me tonight like he wants to eat me alive and, damn it, if I don’t want him to do just that.

  It’s been a while since I’ve played for the sake of playing. I promised myself that once I turned twenty-six—and formally climbed the hill to thirty—I’d stop looking for guys who could only indulge that one part of me. Ben was my first attempt at making good on that promise, but look how that turned out. Sex may not be everything, but it’s definitely something.

  Something I haven’t had in months.

  Leaning close with his rough fingertips dancing along my bare arm, Trent rasps in my ear, “Who’s looking at who now, princess?”

  “Just paying back the favor.”

  “Yeah? You like what you see?”

  Way more than I should.

  “How about we get that drink?” I paste on a smile and do my damnedest to ignore the tension pulsing between us. Nothing good could come of getting messed up with a guy like Trent, even if my greedy libido says otherwise.

  Chuckling softly, he takes his time stepping back. “Should’ve called it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.” He knuckles his nose and lifts his chin toward the bar. “Looks like Will found your old man.”

  “Oh.” I toe up and sure enough, Dad’s clapping Will on the back while Shelby grins between the two of them.

  God help me.

  Chuckling, Trent urges me forward until Dad spots us.

  “Princess!” His eyes light up and he waves me to his side anxiously. “Will and I were just talking about you.”

  Of course they were. “All good, I hope.”

  “Absolutely. I told him how excited you are to help out with the children’s back-to-school program this year.”

  Um, what?

  “You’re very generous to volunteer your time, Kinsey.” Will’s smile is as tight as my own, and I have no doubt that he knows my father is full of shit.

  “Well, well,” Dad says suddenly, glancing at his watch. “It’s just about time for announcements and recognition. Detective, could you keep an eye on my daughter while I take care of business?”

  Will clears his throat uncomfortably, but nods nonetheless. “Yes, sir.”

  Really? I’m twenty-six, not a kindergartener.

  “See you soon, princess.” Dad presses a kiss to my temple and then he’s off, escorting Shelby toward the stage.

  As soon as they’re out of earshot, I turn to Will. “You know I don’t need a babysitter, right?”

  He chuckles. “Not sure, Kins. You did walk over here with Trent.”

  Beside him, Sergeant Hardass snorts. “Fuck you, too, man.”

  “Just calling it like I see it.” Will lifts both hands in the air. “Keeping company with you would make me question anyone’s judgment.”

  I roll my eyes and glance at the bar with envy. Trent notices.

  “I still owe you that drink,” he says, stepping forward with his hands tucked in his pockets.

  “Right now, I could use five.”

  He tips his head toward Will. “If my old man wanted me to hook up with this asshole, I’d drink myself to death, too.”

  Will makes a disgruntled sound, but the color in his face gives him away. He hates this crap with my dad as much as I do.

  “Go on,” I tell my father’s dream son-in-law. “I’m fine. And I promise I’ll make him stop this nonsense once and for all.”

  His jaw pulses as his gaze shifts between Trent and me. “Don’t get her drunk,” he warns his friend.

  “She’s a big girl, Vaccaro. I’m not going to babysit her anymore than you would have.”

  “Hello!” I wave a hand in the air. “I’m right here!”

  Will’s eyes narrow in on Trent, blatantly ignoring me. “She’s a case. Don’t forget that.”

  “Oh, so I need a caregiver now, too?” Trent scoffs, before he looks back to me. “Come on, Kins. Let’s go finds the crayons and finger paints.”

  Five minutes later, I’m sipping vodka cranberry and he’s downing a bottle of Guinness.

  “Thanks for saving me from Lieutenant Davies, by the way. I’m assuming that’s why you pretended Will was looking for me?”

  “Nah, I just wanted to harass you.” He winks and I roll my eyes, as my dad and a mass of higher-ranking officers crowd around the front of the podium while the Sheriff takes to the stage. They look like a bunch of eager puppies, waiting for their treat, and I suppose, in a way, they are.

  “What’s with the harassment anyway? Am I that easy of a target?”

  “Kind of. And like I said before . . .” He flashes a grin. “You’re fucking hot.”

  I should smack him, but instead I smile. “I think I like you better without the badge.”

  “Eh, don’t give me too much credit. I’m still a fucker, trust me.”

  Biting back a bark of laughter, I turn my attention to the stage and, together, Trent and I stand in silence while the Sheriff gives his annual speech. His words are full of pride and praise for each of the men and women who serve as Metro PD officers and, despite my distaste for so many things cop, I couldn’t agree more. I’m proud of the work my dad does, even if his job has made it difficult for him to just be Dad and not nosey cop Dad.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Trent’s shoulders pull back a little further with every accolade. In the distance, my dad’s stature is the same. Stoic. Proud. Confident. All well deserved, as far as I’m concerned, though if Sergeant Hardass wanted to cut me some slack, I wouldn’t complain.

  Several of the directors and captains follow the Sheriff, each speaking on behalf of their units. A few of them announce officer retirements and transfers, and I can’t help but notice the tension setting into Trent’s posture. His jaw is clenched and the tendons in his neck strain. I’m not sure he’s even breathing, to be honest, and I have to wonder what’s brought on the quiet, albeit palpable, reaction.

  Finally, my dad takes the stage and I’m torn between listening to his words and making sure Sergeant Hardass doesn’t stroke out next to me.

  “Good evening, comrades, family, and friends,” Daddy b
egins, slowly scanning the crowd until his gaze finally lands on me, and he smiles. I return the gesture complete with a subtly blown kiss, before he continues on again. He shares stories from the past year in a light, jovial voice, until suddenly his tone changes. “I’ve spent the past twenty-five years with the Metro PD,” he says. “I worked my way up from Strip patrol to homicide investigations and then I came back to Tourism Safety as a captain ten years ago. I’ve loved every moment of my time here, but some were more enjoyable than others.”

  Why the hell does this speech suddenly sound like goodbye?

  “It’s with great pride—and a little sadness,” he continues on, “that I share with you tonight my intentions to leave Tourism for a new role as Captain of the Homicide and Sex Crimes Unit. Maybe I’m wired wrong, but my heart belongs to homicide and I’m excited as hell to go back.”

  “What?” My mouth falls open as the crowd erupts with applause. He never said a word about making a change. Never even hinted that he wanted to go back to the blood and gore. “I can’t believe this.”

  “No shit,” Trent mutters beside me. “Sneaky bastard.”

  “You didn’t know either?”

  He lifts his beer and shakes his head. “Nope. Not a clue. In fact—” Trent stops short when my father’s voice rings through the sound system again.

  “Shelby, dear, could you please join me on stage?”

  Oh for Pete’s sake, now what?

  The sergeant and I watch in stunned silence as Dad meets his girlfriend at the top of the stairs and then leads her to the center of the stage.

  “Tonight’s a big night for me, darlin’,” he says into the handheld mic. “And I’m wondering if you’d make it even more special.”

  When my father hits his knee in front of Shelby, my gasp is loud enough for everyone to hear.

  When he takes the tiny box from the pocket of his dress blues, the room begins to spin.

  When he pops the question—and she says yes—I turn and run.

  I catch up to Kinsey outside the front foyer where she stops to yank off her shoes.

  “Leave me alone, Trent. I’m not in the mood for your shit right now.” Breathless, she points a glittery heel at me and I see the tears welling up in her dark eyes.

  “Can’t do that, Kins. You’re upset.” My own aggravation aside, letting her run off into the night goes against my better judgment. I may be off duty, but protecting others has been hardwired in my moral fiber.

  “I’m not a freaking child!” she hollers, and behind her, one of the entrance security guards dips his chin toward the radio on his shoulder.

  “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. Somewhere you can cool off.” Before you cause a scene. I reach for her arm, but she snatches it away and marches barefoot to the curb. A few yards away, a waiting cab shifts into gear and approaches.

  “I’m going home,” she snaps. “And the last damn thing I plan to do is cool off.”

  God, she’s cute when she’s pissed. I open the car door for her and she climbs inside with a huff. I drop in after her and tell the cabby to head toward Henderson. I expect her to argue about me tagging along, but she’s too caught up in her anger.

  “How could he do this?” She pushes her hands into her hair. “I mean, I love Shelby. I’m happy for them, but a little notice would have been nice, you know? And he’s going back to Homicide? What is that about?”

  “You got me, Kins.” She sure as hell isn’t the only one who’s surprised.

  “And what was up with the Iron Man act back there? I was worried you were going to pass out on me!”

  I lift a shoulder and gaze out the window as the cabby merges onto the interstate. “Just thinking about how I should’ve stayed home tonight, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” Kinsey crosses her arms over her chest and, for the next fifteen minutes, we both pretend to enjoy the church music on the cabby’s radio.

  Finally, Kinsey clears her throat. “We’re almost to my place. If you could just drop me off at the restaurant on the next block, that’d be great.”

  “Sure thing,” the cab driver says, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.

  Kinsey doesn’t live in this neighborhood. Close, but not close enough. I don’t say anything, though, as the car slows in front of an Italian place. It’s early enough in the evening that the place is still serving food, so it’s possible she’s just hungry.

  But my gut says she’s trying to bail.

  She begins to dig in her purse for the fare, but I put a hand on her arm. “The ride’s on me tonight, princess.”

  For a moment, she blinks up at me with those pretty brown eyes. Even with frustration burning in their depths, they’re intoxicating. I wish tonight could’ve ended differently, so maybe I could’ve spent a little more time enjoying them.

  “Thank you.” Her gaze drops to my chest as she sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry for being such a bitch tonight. I took my anger out on you and I—”

  Pressing a finger lightly to her lips, I hush her. “Already forgotten, Kins.”

  She slowly meets my eyes again, swallowing hard. “Maybe there’s more to the guy behind the badge than I thought.”

  Probably, but I’m still at least eighty-percent prick. The proof being that I can’t stop thinking about her on her knees.

  Flashing another grateful smile, she gets out of the car and hurries down the street toward the restaurant’s entrance.

  “Where to next, sir?” the cab driver asks, as I dig a fifty from my wallet.

  “Actually, this is my stop, too.” I pass the cash over the seat and he nods. “Keep the change and have a good night.”

  Climbing out into the balmy night, I scan the street for Kinsey, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

  Ducking into the darkened doorway of a closed bookstore, I wait, giving her two minutes to show back up again, thinking she’s lost me.

  Sure as shit, the telltale click of heels on the sidewalk sounds only moments later. She passes by the darkened doorway, headed toward the seedier side of the neighborhood.

  I watch her until she hits the end of the block and turns right, then I hurry behind, careful not to be seen or heard. Hitting the end of the sidewalk, I catch a glimpse of her just as she enters a bar.

  But not just any bar—a dive bar. Franco’s, to be exact. The best place in the neighborhood to grab a cold draft beer or score a random hook up. The odds are about the same, especially on a Saturday night.

  How do I know?

  This is my neighborhood and this is my bar.

  I HAVEN’T HIT UP FRANCO’S in years. Since my freshman year of college actually, when I wasn’t even legal to drink. Daddy’s little girl was something of a rebel back then, trying to get away with anything and everything I hadn’t been able to under Hitler’s roof. It helped that Franco’s bouncer had been a friend from school and the bartender had been too busy to check IDs.

  I remember that night at Franco’s for one reason and one reason only—I lost my virginity that night. In the men’s bathroom. To a guy named Mohawk, who was at least twenty-five to my eighteen. He wasn’t the kind of guy I could ever bring home to Mom and Dad, with his jet black mohawk (shockingly) and five facial piercings. He was in a band, and he gave me so much more than he took that night.

  Sliding onto the only vacant stool at the far end of the bar, I smile to myself. I’m not a sexual deviant by any means. I’m not into the really weird shit . . . or at least not yet. But I do appreciate a pair of rough hands and a dirty, vulgar mouth more than most. And maybe it’s ridiculous, but after months of taking care of business by myself, paired with my pissy mood, I need another version of Mohawk tonight.

  Franco’s brought me luck once, so maybe I’ll get lucky and lightning will strike twice.

  “What can I get for you, gorgeous?” the handsome bartender asks, as he leans across the bar, showing off some wickedly muscled forearms, complete with tats.

  “I’ll start with a shot of Gentleman, and f
ollow up with a tall Whiskey Sling.”

  He arches an eyebrow at my matter-of-fact order and something about that expression rings familiar. “You here alone?” he asks, and damn if he doesn’t sound just like Hardass and Will.

  What-the-hell-ever.

  “For now,” I lie. “I’m meeting a friend.”

  Lifting his chin, he goes to work on my shot. While I down that and relish in the burn, he mixes the whiskey and lemon concoction.

  “That’s an awfully pretty dress for this part of town and that kind of drink. What time will your friend be here?”

  “When he gets here,” I say with a smile. Truth is, he may already be here. If Hunky Forearms would leave me alone, I could get a better look around.

  “Don’t get yourself into trouble before then,” he warns before going back to work further down the bar.

  Thank God. Crossing my legs, I spin on the stool so I can see the pool tables and dart boards. My focus falls almost immediately on a tall, athletic looking guy in a pair of jeans and black T-shirt. Inconspicuous enough, except for the tattoo creeping up the side of his neck and the short, dirty blond ponytail tied at the back of his head. He has a Charlie Hunnam vibe going on, and I’m hopeful.

  I watch him for a few more minutes, until he glances over, sees me and smiles. I give a subtle wave and he trades his pool stick for a mug of beer before coming over.

  “You’re a shark out there,” I say above the Aerosmith humming through the sound system. “I’m impressed.”

  He laughs and the sound is rich and deep, just like I like. “Easy to look good when the competition sucks.”

  Yes, I noticed, but I figured I’d stroke his ego anyway. “I’m Kinsey,” I say, offering my hand.

  “Chase.”

  “Nice to meet you, Chase.” I clink my drink against his mug and he leans in as the music seems to get louder.

  “I’ve never seen you here before. Are you new to the area?”

  “Nope. Born and raised in LV. Just passing through on my way home tonight.”

  “Ah. So you’re by yourself?” I nod and a crooked grin slides across his face. “Why don’t you come over and hang with me and my friends? I’ll grab your next drink.”