13. Luke
THIRTEEN
LUKE
Dammit, Maggie’s chili was good.
I didn’t want it to be good.
I didn’t want to be sitting on my goddamn couch with a hard-on because I couldn’t get the sight of her tits straining that skintight tank top out of my head. Seeing her on my front porch, those pebbled nipples poking right through her shirt, I gripped the doorframe so hard I nearly cracked it.
This woman was getting under my skin, and I liked it way too fucking much. I liked her spunk. I liked how easily she dished my shit right back to me without missing a beat. I really liked the way her blue eyes turned to liquid heat as she raked her gaze down my body.
I should find solace in discovering the attraction wasn’t one-sided. She didn’t want to like me any more than I wanted to like her. Good. Let us both be fucking tortured by that.
Except she brought me chili.
Why did she bring me chili?
I pushed up from the couch, carrying the empty bowl to the kitchen and wishing there was more. But after one bite, I combined the two plastic bowls she brought into one giant one and scarfed it down like I hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe I hadn’t. I all but licked the damn bowl.
At least if Maggie’s chili tasted like dog shit, I might stand a chance at keeping my head on straight. But no, it was good enough to give Dana Wilcox a run for her money in the upcoming chili cookoff.
This was the mayor’s fault. I should be out on patrol, safely away from my house and surprise chili deliveries.
Instead, I had two fucking weeks ahead of me where I wasn’t allowed to bury myself in work.
I’d be home because Rosalyn made me park my patrol SUV in my garage, swearing if she saw it anywhere in town before Golden Days was over she’d make me spend an entire week with Todd from animal control as my ride-along.
That woman knew how to make an effective threat, I’d give her that.
I willed the tent pitched in my pants to collapse, and focused on anything else I could to make that happen.
Washing the dishes in the sink, yanking the sheets off my bed and throwing them in the washing machine, vacuuming every room—the sheer amount of dog hair in the canister was mind-boggling considering Husker hadn’t been over in almost two weeks, and I vacuumed thoroughly after he left.
I scrubbed the inside of my refrigerator, reorganized the pantry, and tossed an embarrassing amount of expired food in the trash from said pantry.
And yet, no matter how many chores I completed, all I could fucking think about was Maggie standing on my porch in a tight salmon-shaded tank top, those nipples pointing right at me.
This was my fault, of course.
Ever since Raquel snuck out of her dressing room three years ago, leaving me in a church full of people to explain why there wouldn’t be a wedding, I’d sworn off women.
Not just relationships, like a sane man would do.
Oh, no. I put a fucking chastity belt around my cock.
Because of that stupid decision, the slightest sight of a beautiful woman—even one who typically scowled at me—apparently caused my body to react as though I were fourteen.
I stared at the drying bowls on the counter, tempted to return them tonight.
“That’s a bad fucking idea, and you know it,” I said to myself.
I ignored the throbbing below my waistband and instead put the sheets in the dryer, hung the entire pile of clean laundry that had been collecting on a sitting chair in my bedroom for who the hell knew how long, and alphabetized the majority of the books on my bookshelf.
I dusted the shelf reserved for Kira’s books, and even considered reading one.
But I was too weirded out by the idea of reading sex scenes my sister wrote, so I put the book back in place.
Huh, apparently that was the cold shower I needed.
Crisis averted.
I was wrestling the fitted sheet into submission when I heard a faint ringing. I searched the bedroom, lifting the bunched-up comforter and searching beneath the pillows to no avail.
I listened closer and realized my phone was in another room.
After two more rings, I found it in the kitchen and swiped to answer so it wouldn’t go to voicemail, not realizing it was a video call.
“Uncle Luke, did you lose your shirt?”
“I’m doing laundry. Can I borrow one of yours?”
Opal giggled a no, revealing her tongue was stained the same blue as her lips, as though she recently finished a Popsicle.
“Why not? Boys can wear pink.”
“My shirts are too small.”
“What she means to say is as much as we’d pay to see you get stuck in a little girl’s shirt, she doesn’t want you to rip any of hers Hulk style,” Connor said, poking his head over Opal’s shoulder so his face appeared on the screen. “Were you sleeping?”
“So what if I was? Is that a crime now?” I snapped a little harsher than intended, but the last thing I wanted was my brother figuring out I was on mandatory leave.
He’d find out sooner or later. It was impossible to keep secrets in this town.
But I wasn’t mentally prepared for the line of questioning tonight.
“It’s not even my bedtime yet,” Opal said.
“Uncle Luke’s getting old,” Connor explained.
“Did you two call just to harass me?”
“Yes,” Connor said at the same time Opal said, “No.”
“Dad’s taking the boat out tomorrow!” Opal exclaimed, her entire face beaming.
I wasn’t sure whether my brother had taken out his boat all summer, so whatever prompted this unexpected voyage—likely the last of the year—piqued my curiosity. It was possible Opal simply wore him down, but my gut said otherwise.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Grandma Connie said we have to catch dinner if we want her to cook it tomorrow,” Opal explained.
“So, it’s a fishing trip?”
“Yep! Will you come, Uncle Luke?” Opal bounced, and so did my screen.
Sunday dinner at my grandparents’ place was mandatory, barring any true emergency.
I got more passes than most because of my line of work.
But I wouldn’t be missing tomorrow. I was a bit smug at how quickly my Sunday filled up, but mostly I was relieved that I’d be able to avoid Miss Mayhem for most of the day.
Maybe this vacation wasn’t the prison sentence I expected it to be.
“Of course I’ll come.”
“You still got your poles?” Connor asked.
“Yep.”
They were hanging on the back wall of my garage, collecting dust. Which reminded me, I needed to get online to grab a fishing license.
Any tension I was carrying earlier seemed to evaporate into thin air. A few hours of quiet on the remote Ghost Lake sounded exactly like what I needed. As tourists didn’t know about this smaller, private lake, there were zero chances of running into Maggie Holland out there.
“Want me to meet you at the old dock?” I asked.
“Actually, we’re going to fish at Glimmerstone,” Connor said. “Boat’s already docked there.”
Not ideal, considering it was the busier of the two lakes and typically crowded from the time the ice thawed until after the conclusion of Golden Days. If I was going to be forced to take time off, I’d rather it be as people-free as possible.
“Why Glimmerstone?” I asked.
“Because the last time I took the boat down the sorry excuse for a road to the old dock, I broke an axle.”
“That was two years ago.”
“You think it’s gotten any better since then?”
It hadn’t. That road was heavily rutted and an off-roading adventure on a good day.
Plus, the cabin as well as the dock at the end of it were technically no longer part of our family.
The property had belonged to Uncle Karl and Aunt Wendy for more years than I could remember.
But my buddy Beckett recently took them up on their offer to buy it.
I was sure he wouldn’t mind us out there, but it felt different now.
“You invite Beckett?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s coming too.”
“Kira too?”
“She had some yoga thing to do, so it’s just us boys and our captain.
” Connor rustled a hand in Opal’s hair, and that delightful giggle warmed me from the inside out.
Maybe having a family of my own was off the table, but I could spoil the hell out of my niece.
“I better get this one to bed. We’re meeting at the marina at six thirty. ”
“Goodnight, Uncle Luke,” Opal said, waving at the phone before she ended the call.
I set the phone on the kitchen counter, intent on gathering and inventorying my fishing gear.
But the sight of two colorful socks resting on the table gave me pause.
They were the socks Ellie brought me—one with reading raccoons, and another with a flamingo and the words don’t make me put my foot down.
I should return them, right?
Maggie was probably looking for the missing socks.
You’re fishing for an excuse, and you know it.
I stared at the socks for several more seconds, a war raging inside me. What was the worst that could happen? She’d slam the door in my face? Already happened.
“Fuck it.”
I swiped the socks off the table, slipped on a pair of flip-flops, and hurried out the front door sans shirt. I liked the way she looked at me without a shirt—like she wanted to lick my skin. Maybe tonight I’d get to lick various parts of her skin.
Grabbing the handrail, I hopped down the last three steps in one leap. The crisp autumn air gave me a slight chill, but the molten lava running through my bloodstream warded off most of it.
Halfway across the shared driveway, I caught sight of something white out of the corner of my eye.
Thinking it was trash, I hurried between the two vehicles to collect it.
Only when I got close enough did I realize it was a shred of tulle caught in the back door of Maggie’s SUV.
The fabric fluttered in the gentle breeze, silently rustling against the pavement.
I froze.
I can’t wait for you to see me in my dress. It was Raquel’s voice echoing in my memory. You’re going to absolutely die!
I gripped the socks tightly in my hand, and sucked in a deep inhale. Shaking the unwanted memory away, I retreated back to my place. If I needed a sign that getting involved with Maggie—even for just a night—was a terrible fucking idea, this one was flashing neon.