PartyNaked (2 page)

To make their store a success, Stephanie and her friends had
made quite a few sacrifices—the main one being social lives. Because of the bar
component, weekend evenings usually found the store open for business. To keep
the profits high, they’d decided to do most of the running of the store
themselves rather than hire outside help. Stephanie hadn’t had a day off in
nearly five months.

“So obviously you grabbed one of the few available men to
darken our door and had sex with the beer distributor.”

Stephanie shifted her purse on her arm, grinning widely.
“You have to admit, he’s easy on the eyes with all those muscles and that rich,
golden tan, even if he is kind of dim.”

“Dim might be an understatement. I think it’s all those
steroids he swears he doesn’t take.”

Jayne’s laughter was contagious and Stephanie giggled before
flexing her muscles and deepening her voice to mimic Hank the Tank. “Feel those
guns there, baby. All natural.”

Jayne feigned a girlie swoon.

Stephanie’s laughter gave way to a heavy sigh. “Christ. I
really am pathetic.”

“Not really. At least you’re getting laid occasionally. I’m
living a life more celibate than a nun.” Jayne scooped up a pile of broken
glass and dumped it in the garbage pail.

“There’s a big difference between getting laid and getting
laid well.”

“Is this why Hank’s history?”

“One of the reasons. His insecurity was the main one,
though. We couldn’t have a conversation. It was like pulling teeth to get him
to talk about anything other than how much he could bench press. After a few
dates, it felt like I was spending more time counseling him than trying to
build any sort of relationship.”

Jayne leaned the broom against the bar. “You know, Jordan
seems to think we’re getting more financially secure. Maybe we could consider
hiring a second bartender so you can at least attempt a social life. We’ve been
at this for two years and I think it’s obvious Mr. Right isn’t going to come
walking through that door for any of us. We need to get out more.”

Stephanie shook her head. There was no way she’d ever give
Beverly a reason to say, “I told you so”. Books and Brew would continue to
thrive and grow because Stephanie wouldn’t accept defeat. “No. We agreed to
give this place three years of solid hard work, so there would be no regrets
about not trying hard enough if it goes under. I’m not going back on that
commitment. I’m just in a bitchy mood. My morning sucked and I’m feeling whiny.
Ignore me. In fact, I’ll make that easy for you. I’m off to the liquor store.
Don’t attempt to make anyone anything alcoholic to drink before I get back.”

Jayne glanced at the clock. “It’s nearly eleven. You better
hurry or I might not be able to keep that promise.”

Stephanie headed for the back parking lot and her car,
stepping out of the bar and into the late spring morning. It was May. Flowers
were in full bloom, the trees and grass green and leafy. It was a beautiful day
full of sunshine and clear blue skies. She drank in the clean air and willed
away her dark mood. She could do this. Today was just a normal day.

One foot in front of the other.

Her pep talk and attempt at happiness was short-lived when
twenty minutes later, she slammed her hand against the steering wheel of her
Volkswagen Bug and started around the city block a second time.

“What the hell is going on?” It was a lousy Thursday and it
wasn’t even lunchtime yet. There shouldn’t have been so many cars parked on the
street. All she needed to do was dash into the liquor store for a few bottles
of booze. Surely there was one open parking spot in this godforsaken city.

She hit another red light and her face flushed with a sudden
surge of anger. She was two seconds away from blowing a major fuse. There was
no denying it. She was trapped in the day from fucking hell. She’d overslept
then, in her haste to get ready, she’d dropped her iPod in the toilet. Her cat
had yakked up a hairball in the middle of her new dining room rug, and then the
incident behind the bar with all the shattered liquor bottles.

Jayne was wrong. Stephanie did need a do-over, a chance to
claim defeat, limp into bed and sleep ’til the growing headache pressing
against her skull stopped hurting. Then tomorrow she’d try getting out of bed
on the right side.

As she rounded the corner and faced passing the liquor store
once more, she cried uncle on finding a parking spot. “Fuck it.”

She pulled up to a sweet cherry-red
Camaro
parked right in front of the store, threw on her
blinkers and turned the car off. She could get what she needed in a jiffy. The
street wasn’t that damn busy and it was wide enough to support her brief stint
of double-parking.

“Two minutes,” she said to no one in particular as she
climbed out of the driver’s seat and hastily walked into the liquor store.

Jarod Nolan emerged from the barber shop and ran his hand
through his short brown hair, enjoying the lighter, cooler feel of it. He’d
considered letting it grow longer, now that he was a detective, to blend in
with the lowlifes on the southeast side of the city, but after last night he’d
decided
fuck it
. It was time for a fresh start. He’d finally received
his promotion to detective, a position he’d wanted since graduating from the
police academy, and today was his first day in the new job.

He’d intended to celebrate his success last night with
Cheryl, but that plan had backfired, big-time, and now he didn’t feel much like
smiling about anything.

He let his brain replay Cheryl’s words as she’d dumped him
after the special dinner he’d organized. “I can’t really explain it, Jarod,”
she’d said. “Fact is you’re just too nice for me. You’re sort of boring.”

He rolled his eyes. Since when was being a cop synonymous
with acting like a bad boy? Fucking television and movies glamorized a job that
at times felt like little more than grunt work.

While Cheryl liked bragging to her girlfriends she was
dating some super-macho version of Dirty Harry, the truth was he typically sat
on his ass patrolling the streets for long hours, ticketing speeders and
arresting drunks or abusive husbands. After hours of driving around in his
patrol car, he preferred going home at the end of his shift and just chilling,
watching movies or reading a book. Unfortunately, Cheryl would beg him for
details about his day, hoping for some exciting drama she could relate to
others. His real life never lived up to her romanticized idea of what it should
be, and eventually he stopped talking about work completely.

“Boring,” he muttered, his temper spiking at the
recollection. “Fucking nice.” A blonde woman, walking some poor frou-frou dog
with ridiculous purple ribbons around its ears, gave him a quick sideways
glance and then hurried along.

He’d dated Cheryl for nearly six months and, while the
breakup wasn’t completely unwanted, he’d actually expected he’d be the one
doing the dumping.

He walked down the sidewalk toward his car. As he
approached, he realized he was blocked in by some asshole who’d decided to
double-park.

What the fuck?

He glanced at the time on his cell phone. He was exactly ten
minutes away from being late to work—on his first day in a new division. Great.

He sucked in an annoyed breath and then an evil thought
occurred to him. Pretty stupid to double-park next to a cop. Maybe he should
clock in early. He disengaged the locks on his car, opened the door, and
reached toward the passenger seat, where he had his ticket book. He was
supposed to turn it in today. As a detective, that was one part of the job he
was looking forward to leaving behind.

Looked like he was about to write his last parking ticket.

Cheryl’s voice rang in his ears, taunting him.
Too nice,
huh?
Yeah, well, this person was going to see just how nice he wasn’t.

He stood behind the light-blue convertible Bug and started
writing down the tag numbers. If the owner didn’t show up in the next five
minutes, he’d call for a tow truck. He did a mental tally of how much money
this ill-advised decision was going to cost someone and let that figure soothe
his anger.

He finished filling in the information before tearing off the
ticket and tossing the book back into his car. He’d just thrust the ticket into
the back pocket of his jeans, prepared to wait for the car’s owner, when a
pretty chestnut-haired woman walked out of the liquor store with a box full of
bottles. She acknowledged his presence behind her car with a quick nod then
proceeded to place the box on the passenger seat of her vehicle. Looked like
she was having one hell of a party.

She was an extremely attractive woman. He ventured to guess
she was in her late twenties. Her light suntan told him she was either a sun
worshipper or no stranger to a tanning bed. She wasn’t thin, though he wouldn’t
say she was overweight either. When she bent down, he was treated to a pretty
nice view of her full, round ass. He forced himself to look away before he
forgot his purpose.

When he didn’t move, she looked at him, her chocolate-brown
eyes capturing his as she shrugged. “Parking is brutal in town these days.”

He nodded. She had no reason to suspect he was a cop. He was
dressed in street clothing and driving his own car. There wasn’t anything to
clue her in to how screwed she was.

“Double-parking is illegal.”

His comment stopped her for a second and she looked at his
Camaro. “Oh my God, is that your car? I’m so sorry. I swear I circled the block
twice looking for a spot. I knew I’d only be inside for a few minutes. You
couldn’t have been waiting long, right?”

He hadn’t been standing on the street much time at all, but
that wasn’t the point. “Long enough,” he muttered. Ordinarily, he’d have
shrugged off the offense and issued the woman a warning. Problem was, he wasn’t
in the mood to be generous. He was tired of being nice.

His cold response tweaked her temper—anger flared in her
dark eyes and strangely enough, it pleased him. He was itching for a fight.

“I wasn’t in the liquor store more than ten minutes.” Her
voice had lost some of its conciliatory tone.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? Whether you were
double-parked for ten minutes or ten hours, it’s still a violation.”

She narrowed her eyes, annoyed by his haughty tone. “What
are you, a cop?”

He grinned at her question and pulled the ticket out of his
back pocket. “As a matter of fact…” He handed her the ticket, adding,
“Detective Nolan.”

She muttered a softly spoken but clearly enunciated “fuck”
under her breath. “Listen, Detective—”

He cut her off. He’d heard every excuse in the book during
his years patrolling the streets. One of the best parts about being undercover
with the drug task force meant he wouldn’t be subjected to angry retorts,
tearful pleas or seductive come-ons as women tried to get out of tickets. “Save
it for the judge.”

“Judge?”

“You clearly want to protest this injustice.” He was sure to
imbue as much sarcasm into his comment as possible. “You can lodge your complaint
in court, not to me. I’m late for work. So if you don’t mind—” He gestured to
her car.

Her eyes narrowed. “You know, you don’t have to be such a
jerk about this. I wasn’t away from my car more than ten minutes.”

“And because your time is more valuable than mine, you felt
justified in parking illegally, blocking me in
and
breaking the law.”

“Are you kidding me? Don’t you have any real crimes to
solve, Detective? You have nothing better to do than harass a law-abiding
citizen?”

He raised his eyebrow at her comment. “Do you need me to
define ‘illegal’ for you?”

She placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward
slightly. “Oh wow. Hello, Mr. Power Trip. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it
doesn’t cost anything to be nice?”

He released a bark of cold laughter. “What is it with you
women? You want us to be nice when it suits you and bad boys when it doesn’t.”

The woman looked confused. “What the hell are you talking
about?”

He shook his head. He was letting his anger at Cheryl carry
over to the job. It was stupid and unreasonable. This woman didn’t deserve his
abuse. However, before he could offer an apology or backtrack, the woman jammed
the parking ticket into her jeans pockets. “Whatever. This sucks.
You
suck. Goodbye.”

She quickly walked to the driver’s side and climbed in. He
regretted letting her leave the second she pulled away.

Shaking his head, he got into his own car, leaning his head
against the headrest.

She was right.

He did suck.

Chapter Two

Stephanie rubbed a weary hand over her face. The Romantic
Hearts book club meeting was in full swing as she dropped off the second round
of Screwdrivers. She wasn’t sure what book they were discussing, but it must
have been a hot one. The ladies were animated and laughing loudly over a
certain racy passage.

It was only seven o’clock, but she felt like she’d been on
her feet for years rather than a few hours. She was still stewing over the
parking ticket in her pocket. She’d never met a more arrogant, condescending
police officer in her life. She had half a mind to storm over to the police
department and file a complaint against Detective Nolan.

The only thing holding her back was that ultimately she had
been wrong. She should have known better than to do something so stupid. Her
day had been one long string of bad luck. It only stood to reason that the
first time she’d ever double-parked in her life, she’d block in a freaking cop.
Murphy’s Law was having a lot of fun at her expense.

She hadn’t told the other girls about the ticket upon
returning to the bar because she was equal parts irritated and embarrassed.
She’d just carefully stepped over the mat, put the liquor bottles on the
counter and gotten to work.