Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (22 page)

M
y alarm goes
off way too soon. It usually does, but I’m not usually awake until the very early morning, so this is
extra
unwelcome.

I reach out and try to smack it off, but Stone’s practically wrapped himself around me and I can’t get to it.

“Nnnngnggnmmm,” he says into my hair, tightening one arm across my chest.

The alarm keeps beeping. I flail one arm at it, just out of reach.

“Turn it off,” he mutters.

“I’m
trying
,” I mutter back, still flailing. Then I stop, my arm dangling over the side of the bed, and just stare pathetically at the alarm clock.

Finally Stone lifts his head up.

“Izzit broken?” he asks.

I just make a noise and flail my arm again. Stone finally loosens his grip and I lurch forward, finally hitting the sweet sweet snooze button, and sink back into my pillow. He slides his arm back around me.

We repeat that scene, more or less, at least twice more before I finally manage to sit up on the edge of my bed instead of falling back asleep.

“You could skip work and spend the day in bed,” Stone says from behind me. He traces one finger down my spine, and even though I’m barely awake, I shiver.

“I’ve got too much stuff to do,” I say. “And I can’t have
you
talking me into becoming a degenerate.”

“Come on,” he says, his voice low and lazy. “Be bad once.”

“Are you kidding?” I ask. “You gave me a lead on the arson case yesterday. I’ve got
work
to do.”

“Fine, go solve crimes,” he says.

“You
also
have a job, if I remember correctly,” I tease, standing up. “Something about fixing cars?”

“Something about that,” Stone says, and sits up on the other side of the bed. “Good thing I wear coveralls, otherwise I might have to explain to Eddie why I’m wearing the same outfit as yesterday.”

“Eddie does seem pretty fashion-forward,” I say. “He probably writes down what you wear every day.”

I take a quick shower and force myself to turn down Stone’s offer of showering together, since I’m already going to be cutting it close. When I get out he hands me a cup of coffee and a bowl of yogurt.

“Thanks,” I say, surprised.

I take a sip of the coffee. It’s
good
.

“I’m on my best behavior,” Stone says, and winks at me. “I haven’t forgotten our deal.”

I get dressed in five minutes flat, spend another five minutes wrestling my hair, then dump my dishes in the sink. Stone’s already by the door, jacket and boots on. I glance at the wall clock in my living room.

“Almost on time,” I say, relieved, and reach for the door.

Stone catches my wrist.

“Wait,” he says.

I’m already late,
I think, but he cups my jaw softly and looks down at me.

I stop worrying about being late.

Stone looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. After a long moment he just bends down and kisses me.

“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty?” he says after ending the kiss.

“I can just meet you somewhere,” I say, my hand on the door knob.

“It’s a date, not a
thing
,” he says. “I’m also paying for it.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Shit, Stone, I’m not royalty,” I say, and open the door. “Six-thirty sounds good. As long as you don’t punch a cop.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about that,” he says, and I open my front door.

Then he smacks my ass as I step out.

* * *

A
s excited
as I am about the lead for the arson case, it doesn’t exactly crack wide open. Detective work is about ninety-five percent poring over details, going through records, and being really
thorough
, and maybe five percent
aha!
moments.

We compile a list of people with known criminal affiliations who are also affiliated with the Community College of the Sierras. It’s not exciting or sexy, but this is how shit gets done.

I also think about Stone more than I’d prefer, given that I’m at work, trying to solve crimes. I think about last night, which started with him nearly getting arrested and ended with me shouting into my mattress.

I think about the fact that I’m going on a
date
with him tonight, in public, where people can see that I’m romantically linked to the guy who was a briefly a suspect.

I’m not breaking any rules, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry a little.

Despite everything, I’m
still
afraid I’m being stupid. Even if him being in WitSec does actually explain everything — all the lying, all the acting weird — he still spent five years in prison. He still had every intention of sitting outside my house all night. He still nearly got into a fight with a cop.

Rationally, Stone’s not a great bet. Prison fucks people up, and being in WitSec and having to lie to everyone about everything fucks them up more. He said himself that he’s not very good with consequences, so it’s probably a matter of time until something
really
bad happens.

And yet, I keep catching myself thinking about what I’m going to wear, and debating whether it should include underwear or not. I’m getting all moony over the fact that he’s
picking me up
, in a
car
, not suggesting that I meet him at a taco shack.

I’m squirming in my still-busted chair thinking about the dirty things I want him to do to me. It’s a long day.

* * *

A
t six-twenty-five
, I’m finally ready. Most of my clothes are strewn across my bed, but I discovered that I own
two
dresses, and now I’m wearing one of them with a pair of wedge sandals I vaguely remember buying a couple of years ago. I’ve got make up on and didn’t stab myself in the eye with mascara at
all
.

You’re killing it, Rivers
, I think at myself in the mirror.

I decided to wear underwear, by the way.

There’s a knock on my door, and butterflies tumble through my stomach. I yank it open and Stone’s standing there, in jeans and a double-pocket button-down gray shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Guess what,” he says.

“Well, you’re standing here, so you probably didn’t punch any cops,” I say.

He grins.

“Bingo, Detective,” he says, his eyes traveling down my body. I swallow hard and wonder if we’re actually going to make it to dinner.

“You want to come in?” I offer.

“We should go,” he says. “I made reservations.”

I am
actually
impressed. I know it’s a low bar, but I can’t help it.

“Where?” I ask.

“Bandito’s,” he says. “The swanky Mexican place overlooking the water.”

Damn.

“I
know
I told you I’m not royalty,” I tease, grabbing my purse.

Yes, there’s a condom in it. Okay, there’s two, as well as eyeliner, chapstick, my wallet, my phone, breath mints, my badge, a pair of latex gloves, two evidence bags, zip tie handcuffs, a notepad, a voice recorder, two pencils, a Tide pen, a couple cough drops, and several thousand bobby pins. I like to be prepared.

“Keep insisting that and I’ll get suspicious,” Stone says.

“That I’m a princess in exile?” I ask.

“Something like that,” he teases as I step out of my door.

Then he palms my ass as I turn to lock it.

“We’re in public,” I murmur, looking at him over my shoulder.

“Yeah, but have you
seen
your ass in this dress?” he murmurs back.

“You’re the one who made reservations,” I say. The lock clicks, and I turn around. “
And
you’re the one who just turned down an offer to come inside so we could be on time.”

He just moves his other hand to my ass and squeezes. I’m pretty sure all my neighbors can see us pawing each other on my front steps.

“Listen, everyone makes decisions they regret,” he says.

“You’d know,” I tease.

“What happens if you don’t show up for a reservation?” he asks.

“I think the head waiter hunts you down and beheads you,” I say.

“Might be worth it,” Stone says.

He kisses me, his mouth moving against mine slowly, like he’s trying to keep himself in check, his hand on my lower back, pressing my body against his.

A screen door slams, and both of us jerk back.

Across the street, Florence Newport is standing on her small front porch, watering can in hand as she stares straight at us.

“Hello, Luna,” she calls out. “Lovely day.”

I clear my throat and Stone takes his hands off my ass.

“Yes, lovely,” I call back.

She nods once, primly, and starts watering flowers. Stone and I look at each other.

“C’mon,” he says, nodding at his car. “At least let me buy you dinner before you hop on my dick.”

“Dammit, Stone,” I say, but I’m laughing as he puts his hand on my lower back to walk me down the steps.

“My gramma always said not to buy the cow for free,” he says, opening my car door for me.

“Is that what she said?” I ask.

He frowns, then shuts the door and walks around the car, getting in his own side.

“It was something about cows and free stuff,” he says.

“You clearly didn’t listen if you’re paying for dinner
and
putting out,” I tease.

He cranks the ignition twice before the engine turns over, then glances at me sideways.

“Who said anything about putting out?” he asks, grinning.

I slide one hand onto his hard thigh.

“Maybe I can talk you into it,” I say.

“Behave yourself, Detective,” Stone says. “I’m driving.”

* * *

A
t Bandito’s
, we sit near a fire pit, look out at the ocean, eat delicious Mexican food, and I have the best goddamn date of my life.

I also have two margaritas. They don’t make me less handsy.

“So you grew up in a commune,” Stone is saying.

Dinner’s over, and we’re just sitting here, finishing our drinks and waiting for the check. He’s moved around to sit next to me, his arm around my shoulders, and it’s pretty much all I can do not to crawl onto his lap. As it is, I’ve got one hand on his thigh, and every couple of minutes I slide it a little higher.

“Serenity was
not
a commune,” I say. “I just told you that.”

“Mhm,” he says, not sounding convinced.

“It was just a... very small community,” I say. “Where the people did a lot of stuff together and shared a lot of their things. And television was pretty much the devil, but not the devil, because the devil is a Judeo-Christian concept and there’s no such thing as pure good or pure evil. Also, Satan is a bastardization of one of the Celtic gods or something but I forget which one.”

“Well, I basically got raised by television, and I turned out okay,” Stone says, straight-faced.

I laugh and squeeze his thigh. I’m
pretty
sure I can see his dick stiffen every time I do.

“It did make me feel pretty weird in school,” I say. “I went to our community school until eighth grade, but then I was in the San Luis Obispo county schools and had
no
idea that
Lost
was a TV show. I also didn’t know who any famous people were. And all my shirts were tie-dye.”