by Avery Flynn
“Explain,” he said, his voice hard.
What? She was supposed to roll over and expose her soft, vulnerable underbelly to the guy who was only sitting beside her because it was his job? She shouldn’t do that, but the words came out anyway.
“When you look like I do, you get used to people treating you as if you were just a punchline and not an actual human being. So yeah, people have tossed me into the boys locker rooms, walked away from me mid-sentence when someone hot walks into the room, and—oh yeah—sent me to a hotel room when I hadn’t been invited. Stuff like that has happened to me for pretty much my entire life. I guess that’s why my brothers are so overprotective of me.”
She let out a shaky breath but refused to give into the nerves and the worry and the anxiety that ate away at her stomach lining whenever she had to confront the ugly reality of her life—no pun intended.
Ford didn’t say anything. He just looked at her with his head cocked to the side as if he couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. Really, why would he? He was hot, sexy, and had the kind of sense of humor that snuck up on a person. Then, he picked up his beer and drained it in one long swallow, tapping his thumb against the label after it was empty, a warm flush creeping up his cheeks.
“About the hotel—”
She smiled at him. She couldn’t help it. The guy was obviously embarrassed by that night. “You’re not to blame.”
“Still—”
Stomach cramping up at the idea of hearing an insincere apology meant to spare her feelings, Gina cut him off. “Don’t worry about me,” she said with more bravado than she felt. “My life has gotten a lot better since I’ve accepted who I am and said a collective fuck-you to the assholes of the world.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “Accepted who you are?”
“An undateable.” She shrugged.
“That’s not right.”
She shrugged again. There was no arguing with the truth, and she was done fighting against it. It sucked, but it was what it was. “The world is a visual place. People judge others on what they look like, from skin color to age to physical ability to prettiness, within seconds of meeting. You know it’s true. They’ve done so many studies to show how beautiful people have more opportunities than those with average looks—or less-than-average looks.”
His hands were on her knees in the next breath, and he pivoted around so they faced each other. The fierceness of his expression made her catch her breath. His fingertips gripped her legs, and his thumb pressed into her inner thighs, sending jolts of electricity along her skin.
“You are not ugly.”
Pretty people always said stuff like that, but she knew the truth. “My eyes do this bug-eye thing.”
“They’re big. So what?”
That wasn’t what she meant and he knew it, so she went on. “Have you seen my nose in profile, I am Big Nose Tommy’s granddaughter.”
“Lots of people have big noses or some other perceived beauty flaw, so what,” he said, leaning forward so their faces were so close. “It shouldn’t change how you see yourself. I wish you saw the woman I see when I look at you.”
Now he was just being stubborn. She knew what she looked like and how that impacted how others viewed her—every woman did. And his words hurt. They shouldn’t have, because he was just trying to be nice, but the kind lies only lead to hope and heartbreak. “That’s sweet of you to say, but fibs don’t help. I don’t look like a woman most men want to date and I know it. What helps is accepting it and moving on, not dwelling.”
He didn’t blink, just stared her into silence with the intensity of his gaze. “I believe there’s someone for everyone.”
A dangerous warmth spread through her. Not the burn of embarrassment that she was way too intimately familiar with, or the needy heat of desire. This was hope. If he believed something so ferociously, then maybe it could happen. It was a pretty thought, but not the kind a woman like her could afford to have.
“Detective Hartigan,” she said, forcing a cheerful teasing into her tone that she didn’t really feel. “I never would have guessed that you’re a romantic.”
“I guess I’m full of surprises.” He let go of her legs and leaned back before picking up his empty bottle as he stood. “Want another lemonade?”
“I’m good.” Any more and she’d follow through on the naughty ideas having his hands on her had inspired.
“All right.” He rubbed his palm against the back of his neck, looking like he wanted to say something but not really knowing what it was. “I guess I’ll see you inside.”
Gina mumbled in agreement and followed him with her gaze as he walked across the porch, picking his way around the weak spots, and then disappeared inside.
Only once the door was shut behind him did she let go of the breath she’d been holding.
It came out as a sigh. She couldn’t help it. She was the nerd in the teen movie who’d become friends with the hot, popular guy, only to do the one thing she wasn’t supposed to—start falling for him.
…
“It’s a doohickey,” Gina said. “Who needs one of those?”
Okay, she knew it wasn’t anything but the most gorgeous piece of reclaimed and restored ceiling tin that she’d ever seen. Just looking at the center wreath surrounded by a square of leaves on the silver tin surface made her heart speed up. It was beautiful. She just wanted to pet it. But with all of the other renovations and getting her wedding planning business set up for success, she didn’t have the money to add amazingly gorgeous tin ceiling tiles to the list of must-haves. Instead, it was relegated to the list of somedays. Therefore, calling it a doohickey when Ford held it up at the Wooden Barber Hardware Shop on Main Street made saying she didn’t want it an easier lie to utter.
The look Ford gave her told her exactly what he thought of that statement. It was kinda cute, that you’re-full-of-shit smolder of his. Who was she kidding? It was totally hot.
“Think of what this will look like in your office. You can dazzle the Donnas and Scotts while they pick between pink and yellow envelopes and get them to make the decision you already knew they should make all the faster.”
He had a point. She looked at the price per square foot written on a handmade tag affixed to the shelf where the tin sheets were stacked. Ouch. Her bank account would reach out and slap her if she even thought about it.
“It’s gaudy.” She barely managed to not flinch after letting loose with that fib.
The truth was nothing at the Wooden Barber was gaudy. The store was as if Ace Hardware and Restoration Hardware had an illicit affair, and the baby that resulted was this heavenly mixture of practicality and beauty in a specialty hardware store.
“Are you nuts?” Ford’s eyes nearly bugged out. “It fits in perfectly with the Victorian era of the house and will be a real wow moment.”
“You’ve been watching too many design shows.” Because they had totally shown him the light.
“That’s a lie.” He snorted and looked down the aisle at another couple, who were discussing the pros and cons of a reclaimed stained glass window. “You know I only watch action movies and cop dramas to laugh at all of the shit they get wrong.” He reached up and tucked a strand of wavy hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ear. “Get the tin ceiling—at least for your office, but it would look great in the rest of the main floor, too.”
It would. She nearly winced knowing how amazing it would look, because it wasn’t to be. She was a practical business owner and she had priorities she had to follow. Being a grown-up really sucked some days.
Too bad there wasn’t any way around her bank balance. “Not gonna happen, Officer Bossy.”
Ford took a hard look at her, the intensity of it making her face heat up. She wanted to press her hands to her cheeks but refused to give in to that old insecurity.
“Is it because of the price?” he asked.
Of course it was. “Nope.”
He slid on his cop face. “You
know I trap people in lies for a living, right?”
“So?” She wiped her suddenly clammy palms against the sides of her worn jeans and nibbled on her bottom lip.
He stepped in close, his next words brushing against the shell of her ear and sending her heart rate into overdrive. “I know you’re lying.”
“How’s that?” Damn, she sounded breathy.
“Because you’re gonna make your bottom lip bleed if you chew on it any more.”
She immediately stopped nervously gnawing on her lip. “Fine. I want it, but I can’t afford it.”
He smiled down at her. “Good thing you don’t have to.”
It took a second for his words to penetrate the lust fog limiting the visibility in her brain to almost nothing. “What are you talking about?”
He took out his phone and opened the calculator app.
Wait a minute. How did he remember the dimensions of her office ceiling? Realization hit. This trip to the Wooden Barber was a setup. He’d planned the whole thing.
“It’s my housewarming gift to you,” he said as he finished his calculations and started putting squares of stunning tin into their cart.
She watched, vacillating between oh-my-God-yes and this-is-a-big-no-no. “I can’t accept that.”
“Why?” He didn’t slow his pace. “Your friends don’t give you presents?”
“Is that what we are?” she asked, not liking the word to describe them and really not liking the reason why. “Friends?”
“With handyman benefits.” He gave her a wink. “Don’t forget that part.”
“Like that’s gonna happen,” she said with far too much despair in her voice that had nothing to do with his skills with a hammer. Oh God, she was in so much trouble.
He grinned down at her. “Good, I’d hate to be the only one.”
As he finished adding the tin squares, Gina pushed down the giddy hope bubbling inside her—the one that made her want to believe that there could be something more permanent about what was going on between them. As if that was possible. As if there was a Cinderella moment in her future. She wasn’t waiting for Prince Charming, and no fairy godmother was going to give her a makeover. She was who she was—and that was Miss Right Now and Not Miss Forever.
She’d better remember that, or there was nothing but trouble ahead for her.
…
Guilt buying? Ford? Yeah, he was doing exactly fucking that. He hated lying, but was doing it anyway with Gina, and that was exactly why he was handing over his debit card to the clerk at the Wooden Barber. The only other choice was coming clean about why he was staying with her. He couldn’t do that. There were rules that had to be followed in an investigation, and giving up the goods to a civilian was a rookie mistake and he sure as hell wasn’t a rookie. He was an asshole who was starting to think too much about a woman he should see as only a source, a way get the information he needed to stop the Espositos.
“So why did you join the police department?” Gina asked as they carried the two boxes of tin ceiling tiles back to his car.
Ford’s grip on his box tightened. “Everybody needs a job.”
“Bullshitting doesn’t suit you,” she said with a laugh.
Using the act of balancing the box in one hand while he pulled his car keys out of his pocket as cover for the unease creeping up his spine, he bought a couple of seconds. “You know me so well?”
“Enough to know when you’re dodging.”
He popped the trunk open. “It’s a boring story.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe that.”
Ford put his filled-to-the-brim box in the trunk and then took the half-filled box from Gina and set it next to the one he’d carried. She was staring at him, her arms crossed and a small smile playing on her lips. It was the curl of her lips that did him in. The need to make sure that smile stayed in place had him opening his mouth.
“I had a friend in high school, Jake, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was crossing the street and a drunk driver blew a red light, hitting him hard enough that it knocked him out of his shoes.” He let out a breath, clearing the mental image of what the scene must have looked like from his head. “The driver didn’t stick around to see if Jake was still breathing. He peeled away, leaving burned rubber and a dead seventeen-year-old at the corner of Phillips and Granbury.”
“That’s horrible,” she gasped. “Did they find the guy?”
He closed the trunk with more force than necessary. “No.”
“I’m sorry.” She stepped close and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.
It wasn’t a long hug, more of a quick squeeze, but he felt it all the way down to his center. And when she let go, he missed the feel of her touch immediately. He had no fucking clue what was happening to him. Why her? Why now? But the answers to that didn’t matter, because the fact of it was something was happening.
She went to take a step back, but he grabbed her hand, stopping her. Surprise and heat flared in her eyes. Yes, his entire body answered, and he stepped close, dipping his head as he did so.
A loud wolf whistle from a passing car barely registered, but Gina jolted back at the sound, her face flushed as she nervously chewed her bottom lip, a protective arm slung across her belly.
Shit.
Ford searched the street, wanting to mop the street with the dick who’d put that look on Gina’s face and stopped the kiss before it could happen. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it wasn’t you, I just…” Her words died off.
He intertwined his fingers with hers. “What?”
“It’s nothing.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t take.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Sure, he was pressing, but no one should be able to put that lost, beaten-down look on her face.
“Sometimes old hurts come back to slap you in the face, that’s all.”
“Gina,” he said, using the same comforting but authoritative tone he employed when interrogating nervous witnesses. “I want to understand.”
She swallowed and lifted her chin and pulled her hand free from his, obviously determined to brush whatever was going on under the rug. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Was it the guy in the car? Do you have history?” His gut clenched at the idea of that. Possessiveness wasn’t the best look for a guy in his position, but he couldn’t deny that’s what had him grinding his teeth in frustration.
“A history?” Her cracked laugh was as disbelieving as the look on her face. “No. I have no clue who that was.” She walked around to the passenger side of the car. “Look, let’s just go home and put up this ceiling.”
“You can’t avoid this story forever.” Not if it made her react like she just had. This was important, and he wanted to protect her from it.
“Yes,” she said, opening the door and sliding inside. “I can.”
…
The next week was all hammers and nails—and not in a way that would reduce any of the frustration building each time Ford laid eyes on Gina. So far, he’d helped take out a wall in the hall so it could be widened, knocked out some primo avocado-green laminate countertop in the kitchen, put up the tin ceiling, and helped Huey, the plumber who seemed to owe a great debt to the Luca family—Ford didn’t want to know for what—renovate the master bath. That last one meant traipsing through Gina’s bedroom multiple times a day, which was its own kind of hellish torture for his imagination.
The woman might love organization, but it didn’t show in her bedroom. It was impossible to miss the black lace panties on the floor near the laundry basket, the rumpled pillow and half-made bed, and the warm vanilla scent of her that seemed to linger in the air. He’d spent way too many hours at night on that poor excuse for a couch staring at the ceiling and picturing her wearing only the black lace panties, dabbing perfume on her wrists and between her perfect tits. It was not what he should be pondering during the long, sleepless nights, as his captain would have told him if
he wasn’t chewing Ford’s ass out already.
“So you’ve got nothing,” the captain said during their usual late-afternoon call.
“You knew this was a long shot.” Ford left out the part about the captain being the one to come up with this cockamamie plan, even though keeping it to himself was about to kill him. So, he took a second to inhale a deep breath and watch Gina through the window as she put another coat of white paint on the backyard fence.
The pinch in his shoulders eased, and his blood pressure dropped from the red zone as he watched her work her paint roller.
Then she bent over to get more paint on the roller, and the calming breath he’d inhaled came out as a frustrated groan that he hoped the captain took as annoyance about the lack of results. “Her brothers haven’t been around all week.”
“You need to find a way to change that.”
Well sure. He’ll just teleport the Luca brothers over from wherever they were. That would totally work. Clamping his mouth shut before that thought could spill out, he tapped his finger and thumb together to the count of twenty and only then gave himself permission to speak.
“Her grandmother’s birthday party is tomorrow. I’m her date. The whole family will be there.”
“If that comes up empty, then I’m calling your operation.”
And there it was. The captain couldn’t have been any clearer with his meaning, and the blame for the lack of results landed with a loud thud at Ford’s feet. It was a response that anyone could have seen coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. That’s why his gut did that clench and shimmy thing, because the failure that was all but assured was going to get pinned to him.
It wasn’t because the end of the operation meant no more Gina or hearing the silly songs she sang to herself as she brewed coffee in the morning or the mind-melting view of her ass in those black yoga pants she always paired with ridiculous novelty T-shirts.
That part didn’t matter. It couldn’t. He was one of Waterbury’s finest, and she was a Luca. There had to be regulations written down forbidding that kind of fraternization. So after tomorrow, that was that.
His grip tightened on his phone, and he turned away from the window. “I understand, sir.”