by Lucy Score
Cassidy responded immediately.
Cassidy: If you tell him I had any involvement, I’m going to become the worst next-door neighbor you’ve ever had.
I smirked.
“Man, when are you going to ask her out?” Jonah asked.
I put my phone away. “Shut up.”
It was Jonah’s turn to smirk. “Anyone in the family come up with anything about the week Callie disappeared?” he asked.
I shook my head. “You ever tried to remember anything that happened twelve years ago? I remember finding out she was missing. I remember the mess with police and reporters and search teams afterward. That’s all etched in my brain.”
I pushed my eggs around my plate, no longer feeling like celebrating the eviction of the press.
“But everything else?” I continued. “Dad leaving? Mom sending us to stay with Gibs that night? I’ve got nothing. Scar says she’s comin’ up empty, too. Who knows about Jameson and Gibs? Gibs didn’t have much to do with Mom and Dad after he moved out, so I doubt he’s got anything to add.”
“Someone will remember something,” Jonah said.
“You get a side of Pollyanna with your egg whites?”
“Nah. Secrets don’t keep. Sooner or later someone remembers something.”
23
Cassidy
George and Sir Edmund Hillary—named for his enjoyment of climbing literally everything in my house—had settled in nicely. The litter boxes were in my mudroom off the back porch. Their scratching post was in the front window. And their fur was everywhere else.
I’d stepped up my vacuuming game to every other day to keep up with the hairballs that accumulated all over the damn place and tried not to think about the hairless pigs Juney kept harping on. I liked having them around. They were good nap buddies. They meowed back to me when I talked to them. The three of us had spent hours playing with feathers on a stick and catnip-stuffed mice.
I wished I hadn’t pulled the trigger on those store-bought Christmas cards in August so I could have dressed the cats up in Santa hats and done one of those pet picture cards.
Next year.
Yep. I was embracing being a cat lady.
I was on-call today. One of those rare Sundays when I could mostly pretend to be a regular person. But other than handling a nuisance complaint or two, the day was mine. I’d slept in, with George cuddled to my back and Eddie sprawled on the empty pillow next to me, then made myself a beef stew that would feed me for a week straight.
The cooking was done. The cleaning complete. The cats were napping.
I didn’t know what to do with myself.
Normally, I’d be scrolling through a dating app or flipping through old case files. I was a deputy now, but that wasn’t the end of the road for me. Someday, I’d be sheriff. But I had to earn it. Not be handed it because of my last name. So, I studied those case files and I audited the occasional public administration class online. But that was just the beginning of the job. In Bootleg, the sheriff’s department was sewn right into the fabric of our little, weird society. Our job wasn’t only to police and protect, but to communicate and help, to educate and sometimes even entertain.
I followed in my father’s footsteps, taking an active interest in every single person in my town.
But today, I kind of wanted to be a regular human.
George snored from his perch on the windowsill in the dining room, and I whipped out my phone to record the adorableness.
I wondered if being a crazy cat lady would hinder me in my pursuit of the office of sheriff?
I heard a noise out the back and poked my head outside. Jonah was hauling a bag of trash to the bin Bowie kept along the back fence. Our yards were divided by a useless, hip-height fence that had seen better days.
Bowie had once suggested tearing it down and opening up the whole space to us both, but I preferred that physical barrier. Just like the door between our two halves. Barriers were essential when it came to dealing with the man that had broken my teenage heart.
“Howdy, neighbor,” I called out.
Jonah tipped his chin. “Hey, Cass. Got any trash that needs hauling?” he asked.
“Nope,” I called back.
Why couldn’t it be Jonah? I wondered. Why couldn’t that particular Bodine brother make my blood sing? He was a pleasant sort, easy on the eyes, too. And being a personal trainer, he’d keep my ass in shape. He already lived next door. Convenient for booty calls.
I considered the situation for a moment before remembering my recent decision to give up on the male gender entirely. Besides, did I really want to settle down with someone who would put me at the Bodine table every holiday? No siree. It was bad enough seeing Bowie in my parents’ kitchen every Thanksgiving.
“I’m headin’ over to the Pop In,” Jonah said, zipping up the vest he wore instead of a coat. “Need anything?”
The Pop In was the Bootleg Springs version of a gas station and general store. “Popcorn!” I’d have myself a cozy movie night tonight. Maybe Dirty Dancing or Sixteen Candles. Or better yet, an action movie where nobody fell in love with anybody and they all still had a damn good time.
He gave me the thumbs-up. “On it. I’ll deliver.”
“Thanks, Jonah!”
I was still watching him, wondering why his denim-clad ass didn’t hypnotize me the way his roommate’s did, when the ass I was comparing it to walked out the back door.
“Hey,” Bowie said, from his side of the back porch.
“Hey,” I said back. He was wearing low-slung sweats and a long sleeve thermal shirt. He was tall, lean, a little scruffy, and every other damn thing that I liked in a man’s body.
Yep, I pretty much hated him in that moment.
I was a split second away from finishing up my ogling and making an excuse to go back inside when Sir Edmund Hillary decided it was a fine time for an adventure. The skinny little bastard streaked between my feet and dashed across the porch.
“No!” I yelled. It was winter, and the cats were new to me and my house. I hadn’t let them explore the backyard yet in fear that this exact thing would happen. “Eddie, come back!”
Barefoot, I took off after him, ignoring the icy concrete of the walk beneath the soles of my feet.
He stopped six feet ahead of me and blinked like he was gonna let me catch him.
Cautiously, I approached. The little bastard let me get within a foot of him, and when I swooped down to make my move, he skirted out of my range.
“Holy shit! When did you get a cat!” Bowie called from his side of the fence.
“When I gave up on men.”
Eddie changed course and ran straight for the fence.
“Stop!” I suddenly and viscerally empathized with every parent who ever put their child on a leash.
Eddie launched himself at the peeling wood. His little feet scrambled for purchase and then he was up and over.
Bowie dove like a receiver stretching for the game-winning touchdown pass. He landed hard with an “ooof.”
I tiptoed through the residual snow and peered over the fence.
“Got ‘im.” Bowie held Eddie up triumphantly by the scruff of the neck. Eddie’s front feet stretched out in front of him uselessly. He looked thoroughly disgruntled. Bowie was wet and muddy down the entire left side of his body.
I couldn’t help it. They made a ridiculous picture. The laugh escaped before I could pull it back.
“Happy to entertain,” Bowie smirked, cuddling Eddie to his chest. Eddie’s ears were down, and his tail twitched, but he submitted to the head scruffing Bowie doled out. I didn’t blame him. Bowie’s hands always did look so…competent.
We met at the fence.
“Gave up on men, huh?” Bowie asked as I leaned in to take the cat from him.
Our hands got tangled up as Eddie tried to squirm his way loose and those competent hands were smashed right up against my breasts. Why hadn’t I put on a bra? Bowie’s jaw was clenched, his eyes on the strug
gling cat pinned between us. The rough edge of the fence dug into my stomach. The ground was freezing under my naked feet. I had at least eight cat claws embedded in my skin and all I could feel was Bowie’s hands.
“Sorry,” he muttered to me as we wrestled.
Oh, holy hell. All those years of adolescent fantasies and this was how Bowie Bodine first touched my boobs. And he apologized. Real life was stupid and unfair. In desperation, I grappled my stupid, unfair cat out of Bowie’s arms and stepped back. I slipped on an icy chunk of slush and almost went down, but I recovered just as he reached over the fence to grab me.
“I’m good. I’m good,” I said, taking another hasty step backward.
My face had to be six shades of tomato judging by how hot my cheeks felt.
“You sure?” Bowie asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweat pants. Was it my imagination or was that a very clear penis impression in his pants?
Oh, Lord. I was seven shades of tomato now. I looked like Merl’s farm stand in July.
“Yep. Good. Thanks.” I ran for my back porch with numb feet and flaming face.
George was sitting neat as you please in the open back door. His tail was curled around his feet, the tip flicking to an unheard beat. He yawned as I stumbled up the porch steps.
“Don’t you even think about it,” I grumbled to him, shoving both cats inside and slamming the door on Bowie’s gaze.
24
Bowie
She’d given up on men. I should be popping a bottle of champagne right now in celebration. I’d never have to watch her climb into some guy’s car all dolled up for a night out again. Never overhear her talking about dates with Scarlett. I wouldn’t have to deal with hearing the sounds of a happy relationship through the thin walls that separated us.
But giving up on men included me, too. Sure, I’d taken myself out of that game a long time ago. But there was a part of me—a big part—that had hoped Cass would find a way to put it back on the table someday.
I wondered what it was exactly that had sent her into cat lady exploration. The dinner, the dance we’d shared, had been…nice.
My damn traitor of a cock stirred under the sheets remembering the feel of Cassidy pressed against me. I lost count of the thousands of hard-ons I’d gotten thanks to her. It was unnatural, the way one woman could turn me to granite in seconds all without ever really touching me.
I yawned, scrubbed my hands over my face, and prayed for sleep. Sleepless nights due to my next-door neighbor were an unfortunate and common occurrence.
The shriek brought me rocketing out of bed. I was still groggy when my feet hit the cold floor. But the adrenaline coursing through my body was shouting its message: Cassidy was in danger.
If that fucker with the toothpick from dinner the other night showed up at her house I was gonna—
She screamed again, and I heard a thud. I vaulted over my bed and sprinted for the hallway. The door that separated our spaces didn’t stand a chance. I don’t know if I kicked it in or how I managed it, but I found myself staggering through an open door and into Cassidy’s bedroom.
We faced each other on opposite sides of her rumpled bed. Her eyes were wild, her hair a disaster. And she was completely fucking naked.
I didn’t think it was possible, not with the fight instinct firing my every synapse, but I went stone hard so fast I almost passed out.
“Bowie!” she screeched, and something flappy dive-bombed me.
It headed in Cassidy’s direction, and she dropped to the floor, pulling the bedside lamp with her.
Cassidy Tucker was fearless. She’d hauled two-hundred-pound belligerent drunks into jail cells. She’d responded alone to plenty of domestic disturbance calls. Hell, she was the one Scarlett called whenever a lonely garter snake tried to hole up in her house.
But there was one thing that scared Cassidy down to her boots: bats.
The damn thing swooped my way again, and I ducked, not keen on flying biters with potential rabies.
“Catch it, Bowie!” Naked Terrified Cassidy could have begged me to stick my fingers in a light socket and dance the Macarena and I’d have done it. The disoriented bat came back at me and fluttered its way to the headboard of Cass’s bed.
Thinking fast, I snatched up her gym bag from the floor and dumped the contents. Cassidy peered over the edge of the bed, eyes wary.
“Come on, buddy. You and me have some business to attend to,” I said, approaching cautiously. One foot in front of the other. It wasn’t so hideous up close. More like a weird looking rat puppy with wings. I took a deep breath and deftly dropped the bag over the bat, using the flap to coax it inside.
I felt it flop around and quickly zipped the bag closed.
“Is it gone?” Cassidy whispered from the other side of the bed. I could only see the top of her head.
“It’s all right, Cass,” I promised her. I should be carting the bat out, averting my eyes. But instead, I put the bag on the floor and rounded the bed.
I shouldn’t be pulling the naked object of my affection to her feet and running my hands over her arms. But here I was doing exactly that.
Cassidy leaned into me, her forehead resting on my chest. “That fucker scared the crap out of me. I almost shot him.”
I spotted her service weapon on the nightstand and breathed a sigh of relief.
I was sporting morning wood at 2 a.m. I was so hard, if she moved one little muscle I might go off like a gun. “Cass, honey. You’re not wearing any clothes.” I reminded her, pushing her back enough to give my aching, throbbing, pulsing hard-on a little bit of breathing room.
She looked down. So did I.
I’d dreamed about this moment for a long-ass time and I wasn’t about to ruin it by being a gentleman and looking away. Not when she was naked and in my arms. She had gentle curves, like the backroads that meandered around the lake. Her legs went on for fucking ever. Her breasts were perfect teardrops that looked like my hands were made to hold them. I loved every damn inch of her. The muscled shoulders, the subtle nip of her waist. The scar on her right hip from a fish hook that I personally removed when she was eleven.
I swallowed hard and tried to remind myself why I’d never touched her.
But she was still looking down, staring at me. Or my cock that was trying to fight its way out of the boxer briefs I’d slept in.
“Like a little sister, huh?” she asked, throwing that lie back in my face.
Fuck. I had her back against the wall before she could say another word.
I pinned her against the drywall and held her in place with my hips. My cock throbbed against her belly. Her breasts were flattened against my chest so hard I could feel her heartbeat. Instead of trying to kick me in the balls—which is what she had every right to do—she sank her teeth into my shoulder and then ran the tip of her tongue over my skin.
I went ahead and lost my damn mind. I held her by the throat, her pulse skittering under my fingers, and I let myself do what I’d spent years thinking about doing.
The second my lips found hers, everything changed. She wasn’t scared anymore, she was starving. For me. And I was drowning in her. I kissed those lips that had smiled at me, frowned, smirked. A lifetime of expressions and we were finally discovering one more together.
She sank her teeth into my bottom lip, and then we were nothing but teeth and tongue and razor-sharp lust. When she bucked her hips against me, I ground my hard-on into her. The only barrier between us was the thin cotton of my underwear that I would gladly shred with my bare hands if it meant I got to bury myself in her.
I lifted her up, and she eagerly wrapped her legs around my waist. The head of my dick nestled between her silky thighs like it knew where its home was. I could feel her heat through the cotton.
“Yes, Bowie. Yes.”
It was my undoing. My name, breathed from Cassidy’s lips, was my salvation and damnation.
“Oh, God, Cass.”
Her hands were everywhere. Stro
king, squeezing, tempting, teasing. I kissed her like she was the center of my world, tasting her. I cupped her breast and reveled in the feel of her nipple pebbling against my palm. Our bodies recognized each other. Recognized that connection, the physical craving that only the other could satisfy.
She shoved a hand between us, and I was scared that she was coming to her senses. But those long fingers wrapped around my shaft, and I couldn’t feel anything but need anymore. She freed me from the briefs and lined up the head of my dick against her. Wet and hot, the evidence of Cassidy’s need was kissing the crown of my cock. I shifted, gave a shallow thrust, testing us both.
Oh, fuck. Just the tip buried in Cassidy’s core was better than anything I’d ever experienced in my life. Including orgasms. The giving and receiving. This torturous inch of pleasure was better and more and everything.
“Oh, my God, Bowie. Yes, please. Please. Please,” she gasped into my mouth.
I could feel her pulsing around me already. Greedy, needy, and so fucking perfect. Through the haze of lust, the crushing need to drive into her, our eyes met. Those moss green eyes pulled my soul from my body. I saw us in those eyes. Our past, present, and future all wrapped up in the hope and need in Cassidy Ann Tucker’s beautiful green eyes.
“Are you sure, baby?” I gritted out.
“Bowie!” She squeezed me everywhere, milking the head of my cock.
I drew my hips back, ready to finally take what I’d wanted for so damn long.
“Everything all right?”
Jonah Bodine was a dead man.
25
Cassidy
The half-asleep Jonah spun around so fast I thought whiplash was a possibility. He missed the open doorway and walked smartly into the doorframe.
“Ouch! Holy shit. Sorry!” he sputtered, holding his face.
“Get out, Jonah!” Bowie growled, lowering me gently to the floor.
I yanked the sheet off the bed and wrapped myself mummy-style while Bowie pulled his underwear back into place and stood between me and his brother’s view.