by Elle Aycart
“She’s good,” Adrian replied. “I think. Haven’t heard from her in a while.” At Rachel’s insistent stare, he added when Orly left, “Ex-girlfriend.”
Cryptic, Adrian. Rachel could see this Jade in her mind’s eye. Pretty, delicate, skin like silk. Dressed in high-end brands and dining in the upscale restaurant he’d mentioned, Adrian by her side, looking like a rough GQ model with his dark hair and light eyes, the roguish scar over the eyebrow and his sexy crooked smile.
“By the way, how did you get that scar?” she asked, motioning toward his face. “Was it in the line of duty?”
“Not exactly.”
Before she could interrogate him further, her cell beeped. It was the chat group of the OGs, in which long-suffering grandchildren were included.
Rach, how’s the date going? He probably tried to kiss you and you tickled his ass.
She choked on the hot dog. Adrian, who was reading by her side, did too. He cleared his throat. “Is that something you… like to do on your dates?”
She shook her head furiously. She needed to swallow down the piece of hot dog fast.
Another message from Wilma:
***KICKED his ass.
That made more sense. She quickly typed out a reply. No kissing, no ass-kicking either. How was your evening? I hope no mayhem.
After all, without the sheriff and Rachel in town, now was their chance to let loose.
No time. Greta was stung by a bee. She’s fine. She had the deep penis.
“What the fuck?” Adrian asked.
Another message: I had to inject her with an epic penis.
Rachel typed, Grandma, please read your texts before sending them.
*** EPI PEN. EPI PEN.
For prist’s sake. Damn auto cucumber.
Now it was Mike: I am leaving this chat. I warned you. You’re scarring me. No shit. Rachel totally agreed.
Sorry, Alfred intervened. He’s always lurking. Wilma again.
At Adrian’s quizzical look, Rachel explained, “The OGs are having issues with smartphones, especially my grandmother. Her cell is…”
“A dirty old man?” Adrian offered.
Rachel chuckled, nodding. “They call him Alfred. The truth is, my younger brother came to visit us, ran out of battery, and borrowed Wilma’s cell. I suspect he was sexting and her phone learned way too much.”
“This is surreal.”
“‘Surreal’ is a very polite way of putting it, but they love social media and refuse to be left behind. When I was installing Messenger, I asked her what she wanted me to write on her status. She gave me a duh-look and said, ‘Widow, Rachel. Widow.’ Can you imagine?”
Adrian almost spat his hot dog on her. He shook with laughter, covering his face.
“Just a minute,” she said suspiciously, grabbing his cell from the table. She punched her number in and checked the name that appeared on the screen. She stared at it. “‘OG’s annoying minion?’ And you dare complain about ‘Condescending Asshole’? Why haven’t you changed it?”
He grinned. “You’re on probation too.”
“To us, surviving the OGs,” Rachel said, lifting the shot glass.
“To the improbable chance of that occurring.” Adrian raised his own and clicked it with hers. They downed the alcohol.
After gorging themselves on hot dogs, Rachel had insisted on buying him drinks as a thank-you for the rescue. He knew of some bars in Boston, but they’d ended up driving back to Alden. Rachel had argued it wasn’t much fun drinking alone—and drink she was doing, rather heavily. For every one of his shots, she drank two. The guys fluttering around, buying them for her, didn’t help. As much as Adrian enjoyed booze, he was mostly abstaining. Someone had to ensure they made it home.
“Is she with you?” someone asked.
Before she could answer, Adrian threw his arm over her shoulders. “Yes.” Which also helped derail the women’s advances on him. Dealing with Rachel was enough, thank you.
Grumbling, the man left.
“You’re too popular for your own good.”
She snorted. “That’s because they’re too drunk to catch the fine details. All they see is a pair of legs and blond hair. It could also be that Greta enchanted the angel caller to cover up the traces of garage in me.”
Man, she was funny.
“Never thought of changing professions?”
“Nah. I’ll die with my coveralls on. Although a year ago I developed an early midlife crisis and decided to sign up for some online courses. I found something I like and that I’m qualified for.”
“What?”
She looked a bit uncomfortable, as if she’d said more than she intended to. “Nothing important. Just self-improvement stuff. Didn’t you have one? A midlife crisis, I mean.”
“Not yet, no, but when I do, I doubt I’ll be going back to school. I’ll buy a sports car, like any respectable guy.”
Laughing, she leaned on him, patting his cheek. “You’re cute. A pity you’re an ass.”
She was being totally sincere, he could tell. “You’re drunk.”
“Aye,” she admitted, amused.
Rachel had such a sexy, husky laugh. And huge caramel eyes that looked like puppy-dog eyes when she pouted. Weird, he’d never noticed it before.
“You know, it’s not true what you said to Orly. I do like you.” And the forced truce wasn’t that painful.
“Such a lousy liar,” she said, flagging the waiter down for more shots. “If you ever go undercover, you’re toast.”
Ouch. He’d been undercover. Never had issues following a script.
Rachel lifted a finger for him to wait. She downed another shot and then continued. “You meant to say you don’t dislike me as much as you thought you would.”
Very perceptive for a totally shitfaced woman. “I don’t dislike you,” he insisted, tucking back a strand of hair that had escaped her outdated updo. What little makeup she had left was now smudged, giving her a certain just-woken-up look. Very natural. His girlfriends never had that look. They left the house impeccable, and they came back impeccable, never mind where they went and what they did.
Rachel was a different ball game. She was… real, down-to-earth. Damn surprising how easy it was to talk to her. He’d never spoken about his brother before. Ever. It was too painful. With Rachel, it had come out effortlessly, though.
“Be that as it may,” she said, “you saw I have everything under control in the garage. Your thugs are safe. I’m safe. You don’t have to come supervise anymore. You’re free.”
“You sure?” he asked, realizing he wasn’t thrilled about the prospect. But why? He didn’t have to spend another afternoon in the garage, with his thugs and their Grease Barbie. He would be free to do whatever he wanted. Train. Sleep. Go to Boston. Why wasn’t he jumping for joy?
She nodded, and like any self-respecting drunk, did a full 180 and forgot all about that. “My scalp hurts like fuck from all the pins and shit Wilma put in to hold my hair in place.” She reached up as if to start pulling the pins out, but he stopped her. The last thing he needed was her voluptuous mane cascading down her shoulders.
“Time to go.”
Adrian tried to settle the tab, but the waiter showed him her card. “She’s taken care of it.”
Grabbing her card and her by the hand, he navigated their way to the exit. He’d never held her hand before, and the calluses and rough patches surprised him. They weren’t unpleasant, just different.
Once outside the bar, he realized she was in no condition to walk, not even the ten minutes it would take to get to Wilma’s house. It would be an hour before they made it to her place, so he stepped in front of her, went down on his knee, and motioned with his head toward his back.
She broke into giggles. “I’m not too experienced in proposals, but I think you’re supposed to look at me, not give me your back.”
Smartass. “Hop on my back, Grease Barbie. You’re too drunk to walk.”
“You’re no
t that steady, either.”
True. “Shut up and obey.”
Miracle of all miracles, she did. Not without giggling, though. “I’m doing all kinds of things today.”
No shit. So was he.
Rachel put her face in the hollow between his neck and his shoulder. Her hands were rough, but her face was soft. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He was losing his ever-loving mind. Too much booze. But no matter how hard he tried, her soft body glued to his back messed with his head. Both his heads, actually. And they both liked having this woman close.
She muttered something he didn’t catch, and then lifted her arms.
“What are you doing?” he asked, turning his face to hers, which was a mistake, because now their mouths were a breath away from touching. Shit. He just had to lean in a bit and… no, no, no. Wrestling back control of the situation, he forced himself to look ahead and continue walking.
“Too tight,” she mumbled, totally oblivious.
Then he realized she was taking the pins out of her hair and dropping them like bread crumbs.
“That is littering, Grease Barbie.”
She snorted. Obviously, she didn’t give a flying fuck. Along with the pins, she was dropping hair too, if all her “ouches” were anything to go by. Little by little, her mane unraveled, covering her face and his. Perfect—now he wasn’t only drunk and horny, but also vision-impaired. And she was passed out and softly snoring.
They made it to Wilma’s driveway without tripping or Rachel throwing up on him. Both unbelievable victories.
She probably had the keys somewhere in her purse, but to get them, he’d have to put her down. While he was weighing his options, the porch light turned on, and Wilma opened the door.
“The date didn’t go well?” she asked, looking at her granddaughter.
“I think not.” He wasn’t going to give any details or explain how they’d ended up together; he’d let Rachel come up with an explanation herself. He had enough trying to process the madness of his own behavior.
Wilma stepped aside and, sighing loudly, motioned for him to enter. “For once, it’s refreshing that Rachel is the one escorted by the sheriff.”
Chapter Five
Rachel rushed to Alden from Boston after her last mandatory seminar. Thank God she was about to graduate. She dropped her books at home and was hurrying to the garage, hoping she’d arrive before the kids, when she saw Annie, Max Bowen’s wife, and Christy, the wife of the oldest Bowen, Cole, coming out of the neighboring house.
“Hi girls, where are you going?” she asked, clicking her car open.
Annie and Christy smiled. “To the diner to get pizza boxes,” Christy said.
Christy had been Annie’s roommate in college. She’d come to Alden for a visit and now she was married to Cole Bowen, one of the most sought-after men in the county, and expecting a baby.
“Jump in, I’m going in the same direction. How’s Lizzie? Where did you leave her?” It was very strange to see Annie without her baby girl.
“At the candy shop with Max,” Annie replied.
“Oh boy. I guess there’s a mile-long line for entering again.” Sweets & Tweets was very popular. With Max manning it? A spectacle. Add to that the cute baby with him and, well, it was a miracle no one sold tickets to enter the candy shop.
“Probably,” Annie agreed with a smile, and got into the car with her friend. “We haven’t seen you at the romance book club lately.”
Rachel turned the engine on. “You wouldn’t believe how busy I’ve been.” Between the OGs, the garage, her studies, her regular trips to Boston, community service, and the stupid dates, her plate was full.
“Your grandma and her friends?”
“So far behaving.” At some gut level it scared the shit out of her, though, as if it was the calm before the storm. Or maybe they were growing up. Ha. “They finished with the Pedestrian Safety Education thing and now they’ve been ordered to help redecorate the community center.” After that, they were supposed to help at the doc’s office.
Annie pouted. “Such a pity, no more sheriff moonlighting as a stop sign.”
“You guys saw the pics?”
“The whole town has seen them,” Christy said, chuckling.
It figured. Someone had to turn off the grannies’ internet. They were a menace.
“How’s your community service going?” Annie asked. “We heard you’re seeing quite a lot of our brooding sheriff lately.”
Christy looked surprised. “Really? And you haven’t killed him?”
“So far no.” Which was as big a surprise to Rachel as to the girls. Adrian had turned out to be much different from what she’d expected. Charming and witty, even. Too flashy, though, for her taste. Sexy and attractive, true, but too high maintenance. “I’m in charge of rehabilitating his teenage delinquents.”
“And have you?” Annie asked. “Rehabilitated them, I mean.”
“We had a rough beginning, but now they’re doing quite well.” She was already giving them more and more complicated cases, and they seemed to enjoy finding what was wrong with the cars. She was getting an old Chevy pickup from the fifties to restore almost from scratch. She had the feeling XL, Ash, and Monti would dig that.
“A little birdie told us the sheriff gave you a piggyback ride the other day,” Christy said.
Right, she was going to have words with that little birdie—called Wilma, no doubt. She’d probably told Max and Annie, which meant all the Bowens knew by now.
Funnily enough, her grandmother hadn’t mentioned anything the morning after. She’d just looked at Rachel and smiled a very rueful, unsettling smile. That had been over a week ago and so far, nothing else.
“I overdid it with the tequila shots.” Which was about all she remembered from the end of the night. That, and how much fun she’d had with Adrian. She hated to admit it, but he was growing on her. Too much.
He’d kept coming to the garage whenever he wasn’t on duty. Why, she wasn’t sure. She’d tried telling him there was no need, but he’d grumbled and informed her that such matters were for him to decide. Sometimes he brought food and drinks, but mostly he just sat with her, and they hung out with the thugs. The ass wasn’t only attractive, but he was great company too, damn it. He had something she couldn’t describe, like a magnetic field around him that activated once you got him to smile and relax. It pulled at her. Or maybe she was just losing her marbles from too much work. The latter, probably.
“I know what that’s like,” Christy mumbled. “Tequila got me in such a mess when I came to Alden.”
“Don’t complain,” Annie said. “The end of that mess was Cole. I got a gigolo, remember?”
Rachel chuckled. Yeah, that had been interesting to watch from the sidelines.
They arrived in the center of Alden, and Rachel parked the car in front of the diner. Now that she was here, she could grab some coffee for the kids and her employees before heading to the garage.
She got the coffee, and Christy got the pizza boxes. She hadn’t been kidding; she wanted the boxes, empty at that.
“Why the empty boxes?” she asked.
“I have something to prove to Max. He makes fun of what I eat. He calls it fake food. And he refuses to eat anything I prepare.”
Rachel had heard Christy had had issues with food and that she didn’t eat sugar or flour—which, of course, left tons of dishes out of her everyday diet. She’d come up with alternatives, which apparently Max, being the junk food addict he was, didn’t approve of.
“Next barbecue,” she continued, “I’m going to demonstrate that my fake fast food tastes like the real shit he eats. I’ll make my own pizza, put it in these boxes, and tell him I bought it at the diner. I’ll bet you whatever you want that he won’t notice the difference.”
“Yo, ladies,” came a voice from behind them. It was Sara, Mike’s youngest sister. “I was looking for you. I have an emergency.”
Annie frowned. “What’s wron
g?”
“The kickboxing class has been rescheduled to tomorrow, and today, we won’t have enough volunteers for our self-defense class. Mike can’t come to the gym today, so I’m in charge. Do you know of any Good Samaritans who’d agree to play assailants and be kicked in the gonads?”
Rachel smirked. “I’ll bring you three.”
She left the girls talking and drove to the garage. First the honey. She handed the coffees to XL, Ash, and Monti. Then the vinegar. “You’re supposed to do what I tell you to, right?” The guys assented. “Follow me.”
“That was a violation of our human rights, I’ll tell you,” XL complained the second Adrian picked up the phone.
“Pure torture!” That was Ash, screaming from the background.
Adrian laughed. He’d heard the guys had been drafted to help with the self-defense class the other day. “How bad was it?”
“It?” XL asked suspiciously. “You know what we’re talking about, right? Were you in on it?”
“I was working. Rachel told me afterward.” With a message that said something like she’d lent his disciples to the gym. “So, how bad was it?” he repeated, as he pushed open the door of the bowling alley, whose owner had called about some vandalism in the parking lot.
Inside, it was all dark. Flashes of neon colors blinded him for a second, catching him off guard, until he remembered they were having glow bowling day.
A loud snort took him out of his reverie. “Bad doesn’t begin to describe it,” Monti interjected. It sounded like the kids had the phone on speaker.
“We spent an hour and a half being kicked in the balls, getting our arms twisted and our knees jabbed,” XL explained. “Body protection only goes so far.”
“Damn right, Sheriff,” Ash said. “If my family jewels don’t recuperate, I’ll hold you responsible.”
“You should have tightened your groin cup,” Monti told him.
“And the girls?” Adrian was sure having Bottoms Up’s beauties all over them had been a ginormous plus for the horny teenagers.