Protect (30 page)

“Sure, thank you,” Sharon answered, still
smiling as she swallowed whatever had given her troubles.

Fritter sat back with his beer but Gertie was
staring at him, and her look was ... smart. He decided to ignore
her, and that’s when she tucked back into her food.

Tiny brought Sharon a beer, opening it in
front of her. Likely to show off his arms. Then he handed it over
and Fritter had to fight to ignore how Sharon smiled up at his
brother.

“Thank you, Tiny.”

“Any time, Sheriff. You know you’re always
welcome, you come here looking like that especially.”

“Tiny!” Gertie scolded, but now Buck was
laughing again.

“Just because she ain’t in uniform doesn’t
mean she won’t arrest you for the worst pick-up attempt in recent
memory,” Buck muttered.

“No one’s picking anyone up,” Tiny said,
sinking into the sofa on Fritter’s other side. He was leaning
forward on his knees, making it no secret he was eyeing her up.

Fritter wanted to punch him in the face. His
fist was actually itching from need.

Sharon at least ignored him, or pretended to.
She and Gertie chatted easily, or somewhat easily, about babies.
That’s when Gertie filled Sharon in on how Rose was expecting,
Sharon smiled broadly at that news, and Fritter was struck with the
urge stand up and tell everyone this was his woman. She was
slipping into their group as it was.

He didn’t. Sharon would have been
mortified.

As the women talked and food was consumed he
restlessly tried to ignore her proximity, but it was impossible.
When she stood to leave it put her ass in his line of view and he
got hard, sucking back the last of his beer.

“I should go. Check in on Brayden.”

Gertie smiled up at her and took Davie from
Buck so he could go eat. “It was nice of you to stop in.”

“Yeah, thanks for coming by,” Buck said,
taking her elbow and placing a platonic kiss on her cheek.

“You want me to walk you to your car?” Tiny
was offering, standing up as well.

No fucking way
. Fritter got to his
feet. “I’ll show you out. Make sure this old fucker doesn’t try
anything.”

Tiny was chuckling again, but it was a
triumph to notice Sharon didn’t look back at Tiny. Instead she
smiled at Fritter and made for the door. His eyes were on her ass.
He couldn’t help it.

There was no one outside. The sun was dipping
closer to the horizon, but it was nowhere near dark. They walked
side-by-side to her little blue “pod car,” as he thought of it, not
saying a word.

“Thanks for walking me out, even if it was a
bit of a risk,” she said, digging into the little leather purse at
her hip. The strap cut across her torso and settled between her
breasts, making the shirt even tighter.

Fuck him if his cock didn’t get even harder.
“It probably was, but with the way Tiny was eyeing you up I figured
my gallant act might cover us.”

She grinned. “What’s with that anyway? He’s
been around forever. He knows me.”

“He knows you but he’s never seen you in a
fuck-me skirt and sex kitten heels.” Tiny’s words, but he realized
they were absolutely accurate.

She gasped, mouth open. “Fritter!”

“What? You got mirrors in your house, how do
you not know how good you look?”

“I’m not ... I don’t ...”

He had to grin. She wasn’t a girly girl, she
didn’t dress to impress anyone. She put all this on and did her
hair out of respect, wanting to look nice so she fit in.

“You look good,” he assured her, stepping in
a little bit closer. “You look really good. I am dying to hike this
skirt up.”

“Stop talking like that,” she hissed, but her
cheeks turned pink. He fucking liked that, too.

“You came out for Mickey’s memorial.”

“Yeah. I felt I ... had to.”

Damn, he really liked
that,
too. “I’m
glad. I miss you.”

She inhaled, cheeks getting pinker. “Missed
you, too. It’s been busy.”

“I can’t imagine. You doing okay?”

She shrugged. “Not bad. Investigation is
wrapping up on the bike shoot out on the highway. Bodies have been
released from all those home invasions, not that anyone’s claiming
to know anyone from that group. And I’m still getting DEA pressure
to hand over Mickey’s file.”

“Who’s giving you hassle?”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry about
it.”

“I mean it. Who is it?”

“I’m not telling you that. You don’t need to
worry about me, Fritter.”

He was though, and he wanted to take care of
her. He wanted to hug her when she had a bad day and he wanted to
make sure other pricks weren’t giving her a hard time. He needed to
be that guy. “If you need help, you say so.”

“You know I won’t.”

“I know.” He looked around, and they were
still alone. “Where can I find you later?”

“What?”

“I wanna see you. I need ... I need to be
with you. Tonight. Can you meet me?” It was the most painful thing
to stand there and wait for her response, like he expected to be
rejected as a prom date or something.

“Fritter, I don’t know.”

“Please, Sharon. I can meet at the motel if
you want.”

She eyed the lot, keys in hand,
fidgeting.

“Sharon, if you’re changing your mind
about—”

“No,” she cut him off, alarmed. Her blue eyes
came back to him. “That’s not it. I just don’t see how we can make
this work, Fritter.”

“Meet me tonight. One night at a time.”

With a heavy sigh she crossed her arms, and
somehow he knew he was getting his way. And he was right.

“Brayden’s got a house party tonight. He
leaves in about an hour.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You can’t stay the night.”

“It’s okay, as long as you can keep it
down.”

“
Me?
”

He grinned. “I’ll gag you.”

She was ready to argue, processed what he
said then blushed as she muttered, “You’re the one that’s
loud.”

“Okay. You gag me then. Just do me one
favour.”

“What?”

“Keep the shoes and the skirt on.”

She turned away and opened her car door,
shaking her head. He watched her slide in behind the wheel then
shut the door behind her. He had to wipe the smile off his face
before he reentered the clubhouse.

“I saved you some pizza, Mom.”

She groaned, hand going to her stomach. She’d
been well fed at the clubhouse, and as she kicked her shoes off at
the door the smell of pizza hit and she wasn’t hungry in the least.
“Thanks honey. Save it for your lunch tomorrow. They fed me at the
wake.”

Brayden appeared in the kitchen entry,
pulling a T-shirt on over his young man chest. “Really? You went to
the clubhouse?”

“Jayce invited me. You did your laundry,
right?”

“Yep! So, you were at the clubhouse. What was
that like?”

They’d had a
talk
about Fritter. She
explained that it was a secret, which if it were revealed it would
be punished with death. Brayden had found it funny, but she wasn’t
entirely sure she was exaggerating. At least not where Fritter was
concerned. He told her he “got it,” and he wasn’t going to say
anything. She trusted him.

“Never mind,” she said, tone of the
warning
variety.

“Okay, okay. How do I look?”

She raised an eyebrow and leaned against the
cupboards. “Like a sixteen year old going to a house party. Where
is this again?”

“Sinclairs? Out on a farm or something.”

She knew the Sinclairs, and their house out
in the boonies. Not far from where Fritter’s mom lived. “Okay. And
no drinking, right?”

“Of course.”

“No drugs.”

“
Mom!
”

“I’ve told you before; pot doesn’t bother me
too much but I’m the Sheriff. Let’s pretend I still have some
chance of winning this election.”

Her son, fruit of her loins, approached and
gave her a hug. “You’re gonna win, Mom.”

“Yeah, tell that to the polls.”

“You’re ahead in the polls.”

And she was. The newspaper had done an
on-the-street survey, probably using the opinions of about twenty
people all together, to gauge where the election sat. She was ahead
by a slim eleven percent, but maybe people would just jump on the
winning bandwagon and she’d come out on top.

She was tired of campaigning, and she hadn’t
even done much. A few door-to-doors here and there, reminding
middle-aged couples the importance of voting. She just wasn’t
comfortable selling
herself
to people. She knew she was
capable of this job, she didn’t want to have to explain why. She
wasn’t a dancing monkey for fuck’s sake.

“I hope it sticks,” she muttered as her son
stepped away and scooped his wallet up off the table. “You got
enough money?”

“Yeah. I gotta find another job soon if the
garage is going to be closed much longer, though.” He sounded
guilty saying it, and she was proud of him. He had an even grasp of
empathy and responsibility.

“I don’t see it opening too soon, bud. Might
need to go on the hunt again.”

He looked crestfallen. He must have really
enjoyed the garage.

“Sorry, Bray.”

“Nah, it’s not that. I’m just ... what’s
Jolene going to do?”

That took her by surprise. Of course he knew
Jolene; she’d hired him. And it was a good question; the woman ran
the garage for Mickey. Would she even want to keep doing so now?
Even if the crime scene was released in the next few days, would
anyone bother making a go of it?

“I don’t know, Bray. That’s a good
question.”

“Do you know if the club ... takes
care
of the widows?”

Sharon tilted her head. “I’m pretty sure they
would, yeah. Where’s this coming from?”

“It just sucks. Some people can be on their
own but ... I don’t think Jolene’s one of those people.”

Her heart melted, just a little, and time
she
hugged
him
. “You are a real sweetheart under the
smartass exterior.”

He scoffed but he hugged her back.

“I think you might be surprised at how tough
people can be, no matter what you think of them.”

“I hope so. She’s cool.”

“Yeah, she is.”

She let him go with a tug on his long hair,
then she was alone in the house. Earp made a half-hearted tour of
the kitchen while she stared at the clock on the wall, noisily
slurping down some of his water before flopping onto his dog
bed.

“Good boy,” she grumbled as the sound of
straight pipes died one street over, and her heart sped up. Just a
bit.

She was officially stupid. Her emotions could
not be trusted, and sitting next to Fritter at the clubhouse proved
it. She would have loved to have him touch her, much like Buck
always had to have his hands on Gertie. Even while holding his son
so she could eat, his hand was on her knee, running up and down her
thigh. Absently. He likely didn’t even know he was doing it.

That would have been nice, and it would have
been great to have that with Fritter. He’d brushed his leg against
hers and it took everything she had not to put a hand on his
thigh.

Stupid. So stupid.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her back
door opening. At the sound she jumped and Earp leapt to his feet,
gruffly barking a couple of times as a warning as he approached the
top of the steps leading down to the landing. She was watching as
Fritter bounded into the kitchen, and greeted her dog with a “Hey
there, guard dog!” Earp’s tail started wagging and he sat down to
let Fritter scratch his chin and ears.

Fucking
guard dog
was right.

Fritter looked up eventually, and his grin
slipped a little. But not in a bad way. In a way that made her body
clench low, and when he straightened up she stood up, too. His eyes
swept over her, warming her, until he said, “You took off the
shoes.”

“No shoes in the house,” she replied, and he
immediately kicked his sneakers off, shoving them down the steps to
the landing. It made her laugh, then he was in her space, pulling
her into his with both arms and crushing his mouth down onto hers.
She let out a whimper, and his hand went to her ass, gripping it
tight as he gave a grunt of his own.

She let him wash through her; his smell in
her nose, the taste of beer and cigarettes in his mouth, the hard
wall of his body as he mashed her against him. It was a relief to
not think; to just let go. And she was in good hands with
Fritter.

“The kid gone?” he nearly snarled, nipping
along her neck as his hand in her hair held her head where he
wanted it.

She gasped and clutched at his shirt, decided
it wasn’t good enough and shoved her hands under the cotton, nails
scratching across his ribs. “He’s gone,” she assured him as he
hissed, then nipped at her collarbone.

“Good.”

Quite suddenly both hands were under her
skirt, shoving it upward. She made a sound of sudden shock, then he
was pulling at her panties, shoving them to her knees until they
dropped.

“Jesus,” he was muttering, pulling her away
from the cupboards and walking her to the kitchenette table. “Tell
me you’re ready. I need you ready.”

“I’m ready,” she gasped against his mouth,
then he spun her around and shoved her against the table. Another
gasp, and her skirt was up around her hips while his hand wrapped
around the front of her hip, then rode roughly across her clit.
“Fuck! Fritter!”

“I know honey. I’m gettin’ ready. I need a
minute.”

There was the sound of a zipper and a ripping
condom package, but it barely registered because his hands were so
fucking good at getting her off. She was climbing as he nudged into
her, and his hand continued, unaffected, as she crested and gasped
and squeaked against the fake wood top of the kitchen table.

“God, I love that. I love knowin’ just what
to do with you, Sharon.”