After We Fall (11 page)

Nora glances at him, then back at me, and changes the subject. “How are things going?”

I know what she's asking. “Better than expected.”

“Damn,” she mutters, then laughs. “I was hoping that I'd be the one to help you get over her.”

“Appreciate it, but we're good.”

Hayden joins us. “Look like shit, though.”

“Feel like it, too.”

Nora finishes her examination. “There's a small bump on the back of your head. If you were planning on celebrating with a drink, I'd advise you to go home and rest instead.”

“Then that's what he'll do.” Hayden grabs my shoulder and squeezes it lightly. “Dwight and I can catch you another time—unless you need one of us to drive you home.”

“I'll manage.” Sometimes, it feels odd to have them worry over me like they do. Whenever my dad would get tired of beating up on my mom, he'd start in on me, slapping me around for not bringing his beer fast enough. Or for supposedly losing the remote. The only person who worried about me was my mom, but there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it.

Until the day she finally made sure he wouldn't hit either of us ever again.

“Want to come over for pizza?” I ask, then make a face at myself in the mirror. “I sound like a deranged chipmunk.”

Saylor all but cackles at me from her spot on the sofa. She's flipping through an issue of
People
and every so often she'll read about some celebrity doing something stupid. In a weak moment, I invited her over for dinner. Okay, so it wasn't a weak moment but rather my attempt at an apology and to make a friend.

“You're trying too hard. Be natural,” she advises.

I puff out my cheeks and make my voice unusually high. “This isn't natural?”

“Only if you plan to date a guy who works in a helium balloon factory.” The serious look on her face gives me pause, but then I catch the twinkle in her eye. Saylor is very good at making people believe she's batty.

“What about a guy in law enforcement?”

“Finally letting the inevitable happen, huh?” She sits up, placing the magazine beside her. “What changed your mind?”

Turning to face her, I start pulling at my knuckles. “Phone call from my ex sent me over the edge and Hunter helped me out.”

“Oh.” She pushes her glasses back in place. “Does your ex call you a lot?”

I shake my head and stop pulling at my knuckles. Crossing the room, I sit down next to her. “No, but when he does…it's awful. He reminds me of our failed marriage, or rather how I made our marriage a failed one.”

“He sounds like a winner.” She grimaces. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know what you meant.” Leaning over, I snatch a fortune cookie off the table and break it open, eating the pieces as it crumbles around the paper in the center.

“Hunter is a catch, and I do mean it like that,” she admits. “If he were attracted to me and you didn't want him, then I would totally win him over to my dark side.”

“
You
have a dark side?”

She tilts her head to one side. “I do have cookies.”

I can't help but laugh. “That makes me want to come to the dark side.”

“
My
cookies aren't for you,” she says with a grin and nudges me with her elbow. “Read your fortune, lady.”

THE FUTURE IS WHAT YOU MAKE OF IT.
I toss the slip of paper on the table, watching as it floats slowly to land on a half-empty container of steamed rice.

“That's not a fortune,” she points out.

I settle into the cushions, considering all the steps I've taken to change my future and not live in the past anymore. “But it is good advice.”

The next morning, I decide to text Hunter to ask him out. This approach has to be a million times better than my chipmunk impression. Plus, texting puts less pressure on the situation and it gives both of us the chance to save face. For all I know, when Hunter went out last night, he could have found a woman with a heck of a lot fewer problems.

Me:
Up for pizza tonight at my place?

I place my phone on the counter and finish getting dressed for work. As I'm dabbing on some clear lip gloss, I hear my phone ding.

My heart almost stops.

He's already replied to me!
is my first thought. But it's quickly followed by an it-could-be-a-reminder-to-pay-my-wireless-bill-on-the-tenth instead.

Either way, I find myself rushing from the bathroom to the kitchen, nearly breathless with anticipation.

Hunter:
Working until 7 pm. Mind eating later than that?

Me:
No. How about 7:30?

Hunter:
See you then. I'll bring beer as my contribution to dinner.

My heart flutters all the way to work. It didn't even feel like I was driving, more like flying.

A goofy smile covers my face as I walk inside. Saylor takes one look at me and gives a surreptitious thumbs-up. Since she's talking with clients, I can't barge over there to tell her my news. But I want to. I'm practically giddy.

Over a date.

Half a decade has passed since I've been giddy over a date with a man. The feeling is oddly satisfying. Freeing, even.

As the morning passes, I struggle to stay focused on my tasks, but I don't think the dogs mind. Well, the little dogs anyway. They got the big dogs' portions and vice versa.

“Those red hearts getting to you?” Saylor asks, helping me switch out bowls.

“No, but if you have stars…watch out.”

She gives me an odd look. “Did you get some after I left?”

My mouth falls open and I sputter. “No, did you?”

A dark brow arches over her glasses. “A lady never tells.”

“Touché.”

“But I'm not a lady.”

“You really don't have to tell me.”

She grins. “I didn't get any, either.”

“Maybe bake different cookies next time?” I suggest.

Saylor arches a brow. “Or find a man who likes
all
my cookies.”

Tonight, I am as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs while I wait for Hunter to come over. He texted me about fifteen minutes ago to let me know that he needed to jump in the shower first.

My mind begins to wander, imagining Hunter under the spray of the water, soaping up his chest and hard abs. Running his hands over his arms and then down his legs, touching himself. Then I'm in the shower with him, helping him rinse off and licking drops of water off his nipples. Pushing him down onto the shower seat, I'll oh so conveniently have to straddle his legs before taking his cock into my hands and pushing him inside—

There's a knock at the door, followed by “It's me.”

“Com—coming!” My body is hot and bothered. My clit is throbbing and my nipples are tight. There's no way I can answer the door like this. “Just a second—have to wash my…uh, hands.”

“I'll be right here waiting.” There's a bit of humor in his tone. He must have had a good day at work, I think, as I dash to the kitchen sink and begin to actually wash my hands. No way I can lie to a cop. Right before I grab a towel, I splash a bit of cold water on my face and the back of my neck.

The sudden cold makes me shiver. I hate cold water with a passion, but sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Unfortunately, this girl can't change her panties.

“No more fantasizing,” I sternly lecture my image in the mirror in the foyer.

“You okay in there?”

Opening the door, I smile at him while not quite meeting his eyes and say, “Perfectly fine.”

He sets the six-pack of beer on the table in my foyer. “You look a little flushed.”

My heart leaps into my throat and I sneak a peek at him, then flat-out stare at him in astonishment. “Oh my gosh! Are you okay? How did you get a black eye?”

“If you'll let me in, I'll tell you all about it.”

I open the door wider and he steps inside.

Before I can say another word about his injury, he's cupping the back of my neck and kissing me—slowly and thoroughly. His kiss does nothing for my efforts to calm down. The insistent, warm pressure of his mouth makes me melt against him. His tongue strokes mine, learning more of what I like.

He's not an impatient kisser, not at all. Hunter has a mouth made for sinning and the skills to make me want to skip dinner and go straight to dessert.

Breaking our kiss, he leans back a little and smiles. “Hey there.”

“Hi.” My gaze can't help but go to his bruised eye. It's mostly black and purple. I shudder, images of staring at my own face, covered in similar shades, creeping up on me.

“I can leave if my eye bothers you,” Hunter says as he begins to run his hands up and down my arms. It's as if he's trying to warm me up and comfort me at the same time, which is silly since he's the one who is hurt in the first place.

“I don't want you to go, but I won't lie to you and say it doesn't bother me.”

He tilts his head to one side. “You are a very brave woman.”

“For letting you stay?” I ask lightly. A part of me wants to push him away, but a bigger part, the part that is starved for gentle and loving human contact, is greedy for more from him.

“Yeah.”

His honesty surprises me, yet it doesn't at all. Hunter has been nothing but honest with me, even when I didn't want to hear it. Then again, I don't think I could be with another man who lied to me. The last two years with Penn were the worst. He constantly lied to me, and when I didn't believe him, he'd force me to believe him.

But my bank account didn't lie. Neither did my eyes.

“You can tell me all about your poor eye over pizza. How about that?” I ask, willing my heart to settle down.

The serious expression on his face slowly melts away, replaced by a friendly grin. “And beer.”

I shake my head. “I don't drink alcohol…Penn spiked my drink once and…he, uh…apparently, he had me go down on him in a bar. I don't remember it. He showed me the video right before I finally left him.” Swallowing, I take a step back, his hands falling away as I do, and go around him to shut the door. “Ruined a lot of fun things for me.”

“Including sex?”

My face heats as I turn to face him. “No, you and I…we, uh…obviously, that's okay.”

“Except now I feel guilty as hell.” He rubs his hand along his jaw. “Your ex is an asshole, Evangeline, no two ways about it.”

“I know,” I agree in practically a whisper, then clear my throat. “I couldn't actually see anything in the video and since I didn't remember, it's not something I really associate with it. Only alcohol. I know that's stupid, but—”

“It's not stupid,” he says flatly, his green eyes turning hard. “If I thought I could—never mind. One day, I hope that fucker gets what's coming to him.”

“Guys like Penn never do.” I move to the kitchen, motioning Hunter to follow me. I have to change the subject. I need to change the subject. Asking Hunter to have dinner with me is the step I need into a future without my past dogging my heels. “I hope you brought your appetite because I had two extra-large pizzas delivered—one supreme and the other spinach and mushroom.”

“You think I'm the spinach and mushroom type?” he asks, grabbing one of the two plates I had set out in anticipation of him coming over.

“I'm not sharing the supreme.” I bite back a grin as he opens the boxes and puts two slices of my favorite on it. “Just look at all those green peppers and olives.”

He hands the plate to me, then proceeds to pour a glass of soda for me. “Funny. Sit. I'll serve myself.”

Taking the glass from him, I head to the living room and sit down on the sofa, waiting for him to join me before I dig in. “I'm thinking
The Martian
or the latest
Mission: Impossible
movie?”

“Latest M:I movie,” he says, his footsteps heavy against my floor. When he gets to the sofa, he toes his shoes off before sitting beside me. “Sorry, I should have taken these off at the door.”

“It's okay.” I grab the remote to download his pick, then start eating my pizza. “This is so good. I hate that it took me so long to order from them.”

“Saylor's recommendation?” he asks before taking a drink of his beer.

I nod. “She knows all the great places to eat.”

“I know some, too.”

“Like the taco truck.”

He nods. “Especially the taco truck.”

“Is that how you hurt your eye? Got in a fight for the last taco?”

“You got jokes, huh?” His full lips quirk, then he sets his beer down on the coffee table.
On a coaster.

Don't pay attention to that. Don't even act like it happened.

But I can't stop staring at his drink on the coaster. It's so ridiculously considerate that I feel actual tears welling up in my eyes.

“Sometimes,” I admit, then redirect my attention to my meal.

“I got hurt at work because I wasn't paying attention.”

“So a bad guy
didn't
do that to you?” I ask, peering up at him.

“Wish it had been. Then I could have arrested him for assault.”

“I'm sure that would have helped your ego.”

His brows crease in obvious confusion.

“You know, like the time you hurt your knee?”

“Thanks for bringing it up,” he says wryly. “I'd like to talk to you about something that's been on my mind.”

A sliver of unease runs through me, my formerly good mood starting to ebb away. “What's that?”

“Us.” He tilts his head to one side for a moment. “Specifically, the night you were found.”

My mouth turns dry. The pizza on my plate is no longer appealing. “What about it?”

He picks up the hand closest to him, engulfing it with his much larger one. “I wanted you to know that you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mumble.

“Actually, it's not. It's not easy at all to talk about that night, or how you looked…how I felt.” Setting his plate on the coffee table, he scoots closer to me and takes my plate away as well, then pulls me into his lap. I feel as stiff as a board at first, but Hunter doesn't let that get in his way.

Instead, he begins to rub circles on my back, kneading out knots that have been there for years. “You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but I want to clear the air between us.”

“My air is just fine.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I didn't always want to be a cop.”

“What?”

“I didn't always want to be a cop,” he repeats. “All the guys I work with, they have that in common. It's something they've wanted forever, or it's part of their family history. For me, though, cops brought nothing but trouble, or at least my dad made it seem that way.”

I lick my lips. “Why?”

“Because he was a very bad man who hated when he got caught doing very bad things.”