Chapter 4
DESI
“Des?”
I jump at the sound of my name and rap my head against the cabinet as the dogs lying in various places of the room jump and begin baying.
“Goddammit, Jeff. You scared the shit out of me.” I stand with a hand pressed to the back of my hair and my heart pounding a violent staccato in my chest.
Thoughts. Fears. Memories. The three hit like lightning, and I hate the irrepressible terror that accompanies them. Nothing happened to me. I don’t need to live in fear.
When I look up to see him in the doorway, one hand is on his hip in that way that tells me he’s used to wearing his utility belt and holster. A smile is on his handsome face, and an adorable French bulldog named Disco is under his arm.
“Sorry. I knocked at the front. You didn’t answer, but I saw your car was here and figured it was okay to come in.”
Rubbing the spot on my head, I shove down my thundering pulse and smile shakily at Disco and the very attractive man holding him.
How’d I forget to lock the door?
My mind reels over my mistake. Over what if he came back.
“Des? You okay?” Jeff asks as he takes a step toward me, concern owning his expression.
“That’s totally fine. I’m totally fine.” The words are a rush of air as I try to hide my unease. “Here. Let me put the rest of these guys up for a sec before we set Disco down so I can introduce him to them one at a time.”
“Yeah. Sure,” he says as I grab a box of Milkbones to bribe the other dogs toward the back of the house where I have a dog room of sorts. It’s painted in a bright yellow and has dog beds, water bowls, and dog toys. It’s where I put the clean dogs after they’re bathed and groomed.
When I come back to my grooming studio, he’s nowhere to be found. “Jeff?”
“Coming,” he says as his footsteps sound off in the hallway that leads to my kitchen and family room. “I set him down and he took off like he did last time. There’s something about your kitchen he loves.”
I grab Disco from Jeff and nuzzle the adorable dog. He grunts and groans as he always does. “I have a pot roast in the Crock Pot. He probably smells it.”
“So what time am I coming over for dinner?”
I stare at Jeff. “We already tried that, remember?”
Both of our cheeks heat at the memory of our torrid few-week tryst, where we enjoyed the hell out of each other’s bodies but agreed there wasn’t much else between us. A relationship just how I like them—short, hungry, and over without any attachment.
“Yeah, but...sometimes it’s good to take a walk down memory lane.”
I push against his chest as he steps closer. “A walk down memory lane is one thing, but I assure you crawling up my thighs isn’t where memory lane is located.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
“Can’t fault a woman for saying no.”
We stare at each other for the briefest of seconds, each gauging if the other is being serious or if a quick relapse into each other would be worth it. It’s been five months since I’ve had sex—with him no less—but I don’t think need should dictate this decision.
This woman wouldn’t complain about a good orgasm or three...but Jeff comes with ties—the kind of ties where he wanted more—and I don’t like anything that binds me unless it’s to my headboard in the pursuit of hot sex.
“I haven’t seen you around lately. You hiding? You have a hot man you’re using as a sex slave I should be worried about?”
“You applying for the job?” I laugh as his eyes darken and lips quirk up in a smile, and I realize the opening I just gave him. “I’ve been busy is all.”
“Busy? Since when does busy stop you from letting loose? You’re going to turn into a crazy cat lady pretty soon if you keep hibernating the way you are.”
“I’m already the crazy dog lady, so does it really matter?” I ask to try and avert what he’s really asking: Are you okay? Are you worried you’re going to run into him on the streets so you’re hiding here instead?
“Cats, dogs… The town of Sunnyville misses you.” He chuckles. “Karaoke night down at The Tavern is boring without you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave a hand at him like he’s crazy.
“I’m serious.” He takes a step forward and puts a hand on the side of my waist. “I’ve missed seeing you.”
“Am I interrupting something here?”
We both jump back at the sound of Grant’s voice in the doorway. “Jesus. It’s like a cop convention in here all of a sudden,” I say and take a step back from Jeff to look over his shoulder at my best friend’s husband.
Grant is six foot plus, with dark hair and a great body. He’s more than easy on the eyes and definitely smitten with my best friend, Emerson. But that little lift to his eyebrows, and glance from Jeff to me and back, is a simple question of is something going on between you two?
Leave it to a man to notice the obvious five months too late.
“Jeff was just dropping off Disco,” I say, lifting the dog in my hands for emphasis.
“I was,” he says, lips twisting and feet shifting. “Pick him up about what time?”
“Four-ish works. And if something happens and you get called to shift, he’s more than welcome to stay till tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.” Jeff takes a few steps back with a smile on his lips to me and a soft nod and the word “Sir” on his lips to Grant.
We both stand in silence as Jeff’s footsteps retreat and the front door shuts.
“Did you have to scare him off?”
“I’m his superior.”
“I didn’t see either of you in uniform, and I really don’t need the big-brother routine.”
“I don’t have to wear a uniform anymore when I’m on the job.”
“Smart-ass.”
Grant fights a smile and shakes his head as we fall into our typical sibling-ish banter. He looks over his shoulder and then back to me. “He’s a little young for you, don’t you think?”
He might be young, but the boy has skills in the sack.
“And your point is…”
“Maybe that’s why you never have a guy around for more than a few weeks.”
“Maybe I like it that way.” I curtsy and roll my eyes as we repeat the same conversation we’ve had a hundred times. “Not everyone wants what you and Em have.”
“Uh-huh.” He reaches out and pets Disco. “He’s still too young for you.”
“And young means he has stamina.”
“Stamina is one thing, Des. Experience is another.” His grin is wide and crooked, and there’s that sex appeal Emerson fell in love with.
“Let me guess, this is where you inform me that you have experience in spades.”
“I’ll let Emerson tell you what I do or don’t have because this is an odd conversation to have with you,” he says through a laugh, cheeks flushing pink, discomfort all around. “What was he doing here?”
“Back to Jeff already? He was dropping Disco off. You’re the one who sent him here in the first place, so if we were to accidentally fall into bed with each other—again—it’d be all your fault.”
“Again?” He laughs. “Christ. TMI.”
“Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, Officer Sexy,” I say, referring to my immediate thoughts, and the nickname I gave him the first time we met a few years back.
“And I didn’t send Jeff here.”
“No? What about the twenty other cops who have shown up in the past few weeks, who never took an interest in getting their pets groomed before?” I roll my eyes and shake my head. “I’m supposed to buy that it’s just a coincidence that suddenly they need Fido clipped and washed?”
“What can I say? You’re building a reputation around town.”
“And you’re lying through your teeth. You know cops are too straight-laced for my liking.” He just widens his smile while I glare. “You’re frustrating.”
“Thank you. I’m told that often.”
“How’s Em doing?” I know damn well she’s the one who tells him that.
“She’s good. You’ve probably talked to her more recently today than I have.” He chuckles and is most likely right, but asking benign questions is better than having him look too closely.
Shit. He’s looking too closely.
Turning my back to him, I set Disco on the floor before moving toward the washing station. I don’t want to do this right now. I don’t want him to see through the false pretense of fine that’s hidden me for a while now.
“You’re still not sleeping are you, Des?” His voice is right behind me when he speaks. He’s not going to let me get away with putting him off.
“I sleep like a baby.”
“Which means like shit. Did you forget the kids don’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time?”
“It’s an expression, Grant.”
“Yeah...well...if the shoe fits?” His tight smile tells me he’s not going to let this go like I want him to.
I hang my head in the silence that ensues. “I’m fine,” I say.
“Fine as in you never think twice about what happened or fine as in it’s all you think about and you don’t want anyone to know?”
I take a deep breath, hating that his question is hitting too close to home. “Fine as in fine.”
“I don’t buy—”
“You know what? I’m sick of looking over my shoulder. Of being afraid of the dark. Of jumping when a customer comes into my business.”
He gives me the second I need before he rounds to the other side of the wash station with Disco in his arms, licking the underside of his neck.
“It’s going to take time.”
Anger bubbles up inside me. “Time? Is that all it is, Grant? Time to get over the petrifying fear of waking up to a man standing over my bed? Because I don’t know about you, but it feels like it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than that to make it go away.
” Tears threaten—when I don’t ever cry—and my teeth grind together as I try to shove unwelcome dark emotions and fear behind the facade of cheer I’ve been projecting these past few weeks.
“It’s normal. What you’re feeling is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Fucking great. Thanks for the psych eval.”
“What’s your problem, Des? Why is it so hard for you to admit that this has you rattled? It’s perfectly okay to—”
“Perfectly okay to what?” I counter as I turn the water on and then off.
I drop the sprayer in the sink, brace my hands on the side of the tub, and hang my head for a beat.
I don’t show emotion. I don’t break down.
I don’t admit to anyone I’m scared...so why do I want to tell Grant when I haven’t even admitted it outright to his wife?
It’s because I’m sick of being tough and want things back to the way they were.
“Does it make you feel better to hear me admit I’m scared most nights? Is that what you want to hear me say?” I bite back my anger with the rising bile in my throat, hating that he’s the only person who can get me to admit something like this out loud.
“No. It doesn’t.” His sigh is heavy, weighing down the space between us, despite the adorable puppy I should be cooing over.
“Any news on who it was or where he is?” I choke on the simple thought that he could come back.
“No.” His eyes are serious as he sets Disco down and stares at me.
“I’m so stupid.” I laugh, but there isn’t an ounce of humor in the sound.
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I wish you’d stop saying that to me. Obviously I did something to someone and they.
..I don’t know what they did.” My voice wavers.
Hating hearing the sound, I add a touch of my typical sass to cover it up.
“I mean, I get that most people are in love with me, but stalking takes it to a whole new level.”
“It’s not funny, Des. Nothing about this situation is.”
“Yeah. Yeah. But how do I know this isn’t on me?
Have I met him at Hooligan’s and accidentally led him on.
..so he’s hurt?” Would that justify why some stranger broke into my house and watched me sleep?
“Let’s hope whoever it was got his rocks off and has now moved on to the next person.
” If I keep saying it, then maybe I’ll believe it.
“We don’t know enough to even say that, and regardless, Des, this isn’t on you. He broke the law and is definitely high up there on the creep-factor record so...quit saying that, because it’s not funny.”
I pick up Disco and set him in the basin. “You’ll be happy to know I’ve sworn off men from here on out.”
“That’s funny,” he says and turns the water on for me.
“You doubt me?”
“I doubt a lot of things about you right now, but mostly that this isn’t bugging you.”
“It’s not. I’m fine.”
“I could get you a security guard if that would let you sleep better at night.”
And draw more attention and more town gossip and more just everything I don’t want?
“I started taking self-defense classes. Does that make you feel better and get you off my back?”
“You did? I know a guy who—”
“I did. Can we now get back to normal life where we don’t have to talk about this every time I see you?”
He falls silent, and I hate that its return has me looking up to meet his eyes. “Desi.” The compassion in his voice...so goddamn sick of it. My vulnerability turns into anger.
“Drop it, Malone.” We wage a visual war of wills—where he wants to do his job to protect and serve, and I want to forget it ever happened. “Thank you for looking out for me, but he’s long gone.”
I hope.