The Sweetheart Game

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “This is not going to be a habit in my house,” she told the grumbling teenager after she’d nudged her awake. There would be rules whether either of them liked it or not.

  Now she was downstairs trying to formulate a chores list.

  Someone knocked. Jason stood on the porch. He was looking back over his shoulder. “Hey. Interesting lawn service yesterday but the place looks great.”

  “Thanks. The Scouts thought that by the look of the lawn, the homeowner was infirm, so they opted to earn their community service badges by cleaning up.”

  He turned back around. “Uh-huh. Well, that’s not why I’m here. I saw your car and stopped by to see if the rat poison bottle yielded fingerprints.”

  She stepped back and let him in. “There were prints but they weren’t in the system.” She walked over and yanked a gray sweatshirt off the back of the chair. “We’ll need to find something from Mel to compare them.”

  “Even if they match Mel, it’s his house and his shed. We’ll need more.” He watched her fold a blanket and drape it over the back of the couch. “Were you robbed?”

  “You’d think so. Hurricane Heather came through last night with gale force winds.”

  Before she could explain, footsteps padded down the stairs. Dressed in a faded red Washington High School t-shirt and barely there gray shorts, Heather spotted Jason beneath a mess of curls and came to a stop on the last step.

  A slow and appreciative grin appeared as she assessed their visitor. “Is it my birthday?” she said and smoothed her shirt.

  Jason chuckled.

  Summer scowled. She’d need a leash for that girl. “This is Jason Parker. He lives next door. This is my sister, Heather.”

  The latter strolled over on long legs and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jason.”

  “Likewise.”

  Heather held his hand a little too long. Summer glanced around for a fire extinguisher. Jason watched her sister with a smile. Thankfully, his expression was of humor and not interest in the girl.

  “So you’re friends with my sister?”

  He looked over at Summer. “I guess you can say that. We’re working on a project together. We’ve taken in a stray cat who’s about to have kittens.”

  Relived that he didn’t mention the investigation, Summer expelled her held breath. She didn’t want to get into the full story now. Besides, her sister shouldn’t be involved if there could be danger, even if it was a remote chance.

  Heather’s eyes lit up. “I love kittens! Can I see her?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Come over with Summer sometime.”

  “Yay.” Heather clapped her hands and headed for the kitchen. Any interest in Jason vanished. He was too old for her anyway. Summer would hate to have to shoot him, too.

  “You’re right,” he said. “She’s a hurricane.”

  There was no argument there. “Seventeen and already giving me headaches with her sassy mouth. I plan to lock her in her room until she’s thirty.” Summer explained the real reason for the crowd of boys and her concerns that Heather was too wild. “For the last few years, our grandparents were too feeble to corral a teenager and Tammy was useless. I hate that I have to parent her now. Why can’t we just be sisters?”

  He walked over and put an arm around her shoulder. “She doesn’t need a parent. She needs you. You two will figure it all out. Don’t worry.”

  Summer lifted her face. “I hope so.”

  Jason’s eyes fell to her mouth. He brushed a light kiss on her lips. She smiled beneath it and didn’t pull away. It was nice to have support.

  “I see that!” Heather called.

  * * *

  With Summer humming the Mission Impossible theme, which kept repeating itself in his head, Jason waited until Mel left his recycling bin on the curb and went back inside before jogging across the street and grabbing a couple of empty plastic bottles off the top. Casually, and hoping that no neighbors were watching, he slid them under his coat and strolled back.

  Because he’d been a cop, he was used to covert trash picking for evidence, so he’d volunteered to go over. Summer and Heather cheered as he returned and slipped into his house.

  “You should be a spy,” Heather said. Despite wanting to keep her out of the case, the girl was too smart for her own good. Yesterday, she’d overheard—or snooped in on—a conversation he and Summer had on the back deck and begged to be included. Summer agreed. To a point. She’d warned Heather to stay clear of Mel.

  Jason put the bottles on the coffee table. Mrs. Kravitz was tucked belly up in Heather’s arms like a baby.

  “Well done,” Summer said. “You’re a pro.”

  “I was a cop for eleven years,” he said and enjoyed the compliment. “We dug through trash for evidence many times.”

  “You were a cop?” Summer said.

  “And an Army Ranger for five minutes. Do you want to see my badass tattoos?

  “Yes, please.” Heather said. Since catching them kissing, she’d treated Jason like an older brother.

  “Maybe some other time,” Summer said. Though her mouth deflected the offer, there was a light of interest in her eyes. For a straight-laced southern girl who didn’t swear, he suspected that she might have a bit of a bad girl beneath the feminine frills and cotton candy pastels.

  The idea of opening that door intrigued him. The image of Summer’s hair draped around her naked body as she reclined in his bed sent a shot of heat through him. The fact that now, with her sister seated on his couch, was not the time to have sexy fantasies about her, cooled his thoughts.

  Summer took the bottles from him by their screw tops and dropped them into a plastic bag. “We’ll get his prints and DNA, but unless he wrote a confession in blood under the labels, we’ll have to keep searching for the rope to hang him.”

  “Is she always the voice of doom?” Heather asked. She kissed a cat paw. Mrs. Kravitz was in love.

  “Nope. Usually she’s perky,” he said. “This case has changed her into the grim reaper.”

  In her tight pink pants and white top, Summer was the antithesis of grim. “I’m neither perky nor grim. But if you two don’t stop teasing me, I’ll show both of you my secret dark side. It involves Mace and a taser.”

  Jason snorted. Yep. She had a wicked side he’d yet to explore. Naked if he had his choice.

  “Wow.” Heather said. “Come on, Mrs. Kravitz. Let’s get out of the line of fire.” She rolled off the couch and managed to hold onto the portly cat without pitching forward on her face. “We’re going to see what Jason keeps in his medicine cabinet.”

  At his scowl, she laughingly veered away from the stairs and headed into the kitchen. “You both are no fun. At. All.”

  After a minute, Jason turned to Summer. “I like that kid. She’s a pistol.”

  “If you want her, you can have her.”

  Despite the offer, he knew she was joking. He saw the way the two of them interacted, like one person; same gestures, same sass, same blue eyes, and a lot of love passing between them. Summer would jump under a train for that girl.

  He’d jump under a train for both of them. Despite his vow to not get involved, he was heading for a fall. Summer was all he thought about or wanted. All of his promises to the contrary aside, he wanted more from their relationship. He just had to figure out what and hope she’d agree.

  Jason started to speak when a car pulled up in front of Mel’s house. He went to the window. A short woman with red hair got out and walked up the sidewalk to the door. From the distance he couldn’t judge her age, but she carried herself with confidence and a steady stride. She wasn’t old. “This is the second time I’ve seen her in two days.”

  Summer joined him. “I wonder who she is?”

  Mel opened the door, grinned, and she went inside. “The housekeeper?” he said.

  “I don’t think so.” She made a face. “The housekeeper comes on Wednesdays and she’s a lot older.”

  “Huh. I’m not the only person
you spy on,” he said. “Nice to know.”

  She glared. “For your information, Mary loves to gossip, even if it’s about herself. Within ten minutes of meeting her for the first time, I heard about her awful sister, her favorite TV show, and that Mel has hemorrhoids that may require surgery. The housekeeper came up at minute eleven. Do you want to know about her sex life? I’ve got that, too.”

  “God, no. Please.” That was like knowing how your parents conceived you. You knew the facts about the act but would rather deny all and believe you were adopted.

  “Moving on,” he said. “I have an idea. Last night I was thinking that if we are to get information about Mel and Mary, we need to get an insider’s perspective.”

  “We already spoke to the neighbors,” she said.

  “Not all of them.” He walked over and picked up a stone turtle paperweight—which Heather thought was cool—and passed it from hand to hand. “We haven’t grilled the king of dead critters yet. I’ll meet you in five at my truck.”

  Chapter 22

  Shady Meadows was set back at the end of a long and winding golden road, paved in glitter and lollipops. Okay, that was a gross exaggeration, but Summer was duly impressed by the serene grounds, the lovely trees, and the large pond where a quartet of swans drifted on the surface in single file.

  The whole setting was like one of those Antique Roadshow million-dollar scenic paintings by some long-dead famous artist; a painting someone purchased from the Goodwill store for a buck twenty-five, then struck it rich, leaving their 1978 doublewide in the dust of their brand-new fire-engine-red Porsche 911.

  The only thing she’d ever gotten as an unexpected boon was a mink coat from the forties that her great-grandmother had bequeathed her in her will. Unfortunately the coat had a serious case of mange. She should have asked Jason to bury it with the other critters.

  “I want to live here,” she said as Jason parked in front of the tall brick-and-stone building. “Do you think they serve pudding cups for dessert?”

  “You can ask.”

  She climbed down, literally, from the cab and walked around to meet him in front of the truck’s gleaming grill. “You know what they say about men who drive big trucks? Something about compensating . . . Just sayin’.”

  He sent her a malevolent glance. “Is that so? If you’d like to go around behind those bushes, I can rid you of that misconception right now.”

  She had to admit to herself that deep down in the most secret workings of her tingling play parts, she wanted to look under his jeans. She hadn’t seen one since a year ago when a homeless guy in San Francisco flashed her with his mini winky. And that didn’t really count.

  Heat crept into her face. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Maybe later then.” The intensity in his eyes lit a fire in all of her erogenous zones.

  Lord, she needed sex. Spending time with Jason and his muscles and his big hands, and his large . . . truck was getting to her. The fact that he wasn’t slobbering to get in her pants put him well above her recent dates. If he wasn’t her neighbor, she might have taken him up on some no-frills sex.

  Darn. She needed to lower her expectations or get rid of some rules. Would it really hurt if she had a one-night stand with him, woke up riddled with regrets, and then instigated an angry court case over custody of Mrs. Kravitz?

  There were worse things out there.

  “You know you think too much,” he said as they walked into the building. “Not everything is a life-changing decision.”

  She stumbled over the strip of metal threshold. Was this guy a mind reader? “Mistakes can’t be erased.”

  “Yes, but some mistakes are damn fun.”

  Searching for a comeback, she paused. “So is jumping out of a plane or climbing Mt. Rushmore. Ninety-nine percent of people survive but what do the other one percent say when their chutes don’t open or an avalanche is heading for their faces? I’ll tell you what they say, ‘Oh shit! What was I thinking?!’ that’s what.”

  Jason’s jaw dropped. “You swore like a trucker just now. Quick, find cover! The world is about to roll off its axis!”

  Summer clamped her jaws together and stewed. Jason chuckled, signed them in, and headed for the elevator. Once inside, she turned on him as the elevator rattled into a slow upward climb. “See. You’re a bad influence. I never swore before I met you.”

  “Baby, you ain’t seen nothing of my bad influence.” He backed her into the corner of the elevator and put his hands on her hips. “If you plan to say no, do it now before I kiss you.”

  This was where good and bad Summer collided in a mishmash of emotions. Unfortunately, good Summer was still trying to get over swearing, and was out of commission. Bad Summer plastered herself against Jason’s chest and pulled his face down to hers.

  The kiss was hot and electric. She was pretty sure that she moaned, groaned, and hit a few high notes never heard by ears outside of the canine variety. His hand went up her shirt, her hand cupped his zipper, and when the doors opened on the fifth floor, they were both heading downward toward the dingy carpet with her teeth locked onto his ear lobe.

  Clapping hands and a wolf-whistle was better than a fire hose to catch their attention. They shot apart as a pair of elderly men and one elderly woman with a walker cheered.

  “Look at that, Mabel.” A toothless man said, loudly. “It isn’t even Saturday.”

  “They forgot to hit the Stop button,” Mabel replied, her eyes on Summer. “If you’re going to do it on the elevator, young lady, hit Stop!”

  The second guy waggled a pair of bushy brows. “That reminds me. I need to get my Viagra refilled. Evelyn from three is having me over on Friday. Hubba-hubba.”

  Mabel pointed her walker at Jason. “I bet that guy doesn’t need a blue pill. Am I right, sweetie?”

  Mortified, the elevator walls seemed to close in around Summer. As the trio entered the elevator, she rushed out the door. Her cheeks burned from embarrassment.

  Jason rushed after her. “Summer.”

  “Don’t touch me.” She hurried into the ladies room. He followed her in. She yelled, “Get out!”

  “We need to talk.”

  Summer went into a stall and slammed the door. When he stayed, she knew hiding wouldn’t help. “This is not the place to have a conversation,” she begged. “You need to go before you scare some poor lady into a heart attack.” Glancing under the door, she saw his dark brown work boots against peach and cream tiles. His crossed ankles told her he was leaning back on the vanity, likely with his arms crossed and his face a curious mask.

  “You’re making a big deal out of getting caught,” he said, drolly. “Technically, we weren’t doing anything but kissing.”

  She swung the door open, ready for battle. “Your hand was up my shirt!”

  “It wasn’t anything those folks hadn’t seen before.” He was not taking the embarrassing episode seriously. “From what my grandpa says, this place is like a senior swingers club.”

  Great. “That isn’t the point.” Her eyes burned. She looked away. “That isn’t the point. Someone saw us. Who knows what they’re thinking,” she whispered again and leaned one hand on the wall. “What will they think about us?”

  “Who cares? We’re adults necking in the elevator. No harm done.”

  “For you, stud, but what about me?”

  Flashes of her past raced through her mind and her throat constricted. It took a few sharp breaths to stave off the whirl of a panic attack. She hadn’t had one of those in years.

  He pushed off the vanity and walked over to place his hands on her shoulders. His warm palms helped to keep her from a complete meltdown. Somewhat. The walls were still moving.

  “Summer, tell me what’s wrong.”

  Years of pain welled up and thudded on her ears. Even her friends didn’t know all her secrets. The one secret that turned her life upside down and was the real reason she didn’t fully trust men was locked deep in her mind.

&
nbsp; Suddenly, she wanted to share. She wanted to look into his green eyes and make him understand why she acted the way she did and how trust was hard for her. She didn’t want him to think she was a flake.

  She inhaled and jumped, “In the year between ages fourteen and fifteen, I changed from a skinny stick girl to a curvy pinup-cheerleader that all the boys wanted. My friends became resentful and worried that their boyfriends would want me. And some of them did. A few girls stopped talking to me.”

  Unable to hold eye contact, she spun around and rubbed her arms. The room had gotten cold. “It was devastating. I wanted to be the same as my friends.”

  Jason reached his arms around her. His warmth helped ease the chill of memories.

  “One day after school, I stayed over to work on a film project. The school was mostly empty when I stopped for a bathroom break before heading out.” She clutched his arms. “Bruce Jamison followed me in. He was six-two and about two-fifty. I was surprised but wasn’t fearful. We’d grown up together. I thought he was playing a prank.”

  Jason inhaled sharply but his arms stayed put. “Tell me.”

  Summer closed her eyes. “He told me awful things about what he planned to do to and he grabbed me. I screamed and fought, but he was bigger. So much bigger.” Her voice caught. “What saved me was the arrival of my chemistry teacher, Mrs. Lowe. She pushed him off me before he could get my shorts off. The woman was five feet tall and a hundred pounds, if that, but she was a pit bull. I’ll always be grateful for her intervention.”

  “Oh, baby.” He pressed a kiss on her head. “Did you press charges?”

  “I wanted to, but Tammy refused. For once in her life, she didn’t want the scandal. She made me promise not to tell my grandparents. I caved.”

  “You were a child.” He put his chin on her head. “None of that was your fault.”

  “I know.” She inhaled and let it out. “Tammy was wrong. It didn’t get better. Afterward, Bruce spread rumors around the school and talk started about how I was a slut like my mother. In a small town everyone knows your business.” Tears fell down her face. “The worse part was that Bruce’s girlfriend was my best friend, Lane. She believed him and not me.”