Chapter Nine

Two hours later, they were riding the elevator to Wade and CC’s apartment. With three cocktails under her belt, Della definitely had a buzz. Tucker sure seemed looser than usual, too, as he regaled Della with the details of a prank he, Drew, and Arlo had played when they’d been in junior high. It involved getting up at the ass crack of dawn every day to dye all the chicken eggs from the school farm blue for an entire week.

“You should have seen all those farm kids proclaiming it was some kind of miracle. Like blue chicken eggs were a sign of how well they were going to do at the state fair.” He hooted out a laugh as the doors opened into the penthouse.

“What happened? Did you ever get found out?”

“Hell yeah,” Tucker confirmed as he strode out of the elevator. “Randy Studebaker—he was the president of the high school FFA—caught us red-handed one morning. Actually, blue handed.”

He laughed again, and Della joined him as she stepped into the apartment. The milky white light of a full moon flooded in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Were you punished?” The elevator doors swished quietly closed behind them.

“School suspended us for a week, but my mom? She was so mad I washed glasses at Jack’s for an entire summer as punishment.”

Della shook her head. Try as she might, she couldn’t imagine her brother up to that kind of mischief. “It’s hard to imagine Arlo going along with something like that.” Her brother was so damn by the book, him being a rule breaker just didn’t compute.

Tucker snorted. “It was Arlo’s idea.”

“I would have liked to have known that Arlo.” The only Arlo she knew was the stern, stoic guy who had busted down her door and dragged her out of hell. Sure, he’d been kind and gentle and patient and understanding and protective, too, but this devil-may-care rabble-rouser? That didn’t seem right.

“Yeah.” Tucker glanced down at her. “He was a fun guy.”

“Is it because of me?” she asked, searching Tucker’s face. “That he’s different?”

Other than filling in some blanks for her, Arlo didn’t really talk about his past. He had told her a lot about his father—their father—and what he’d pieced together about his relationship with Della’s mother, and he’d talked a bit about his own mother, who she hadn’t met yet. But he hadn’t really talked about his life in broader terms.

Had the responsibility of her been such a burden he’d turned into some RoboCop?

“What?” Tucker frowned. “No. He just…grew up. We all did. He became a cop, became the one that people look to for law and order, and learned early in his career that flouting rules and going against orders could get you hurt.”

“His leg?”

“Yeah. If he’d followed orders that day, he’d still be walking around on two legs. He’d probably be some big-ass detective by now.”

“But the woman in the car would be dead.”

“No, actually…” Tucker shook his head. “The police investigation found she’d have probably been fine. If anything, he put her life more at risk by rescuing her than by sitting tight as he’d been ordered. But she was panicked, and he never could bear a damsel in distress.”

Della had always assumed the rescue had been a matter of life and death, and her heart ached for her brother. She knew Arlo didn’t want anyone sitting around feeling sorry for him, but he’d paid a big price for his impulsiveness. It certainly helped explain why he was so rigid today.

“For which I am forever thankful,” she murmured. His weakness for distressed damsels had saved her life.

Although she didn’t think for a moment that Arlo was alone there. Tucker had ridden in on his white charger earlier this evening to save her pride, after all.

Tucker nodded slowly as silence settled between them. He was still wearing his hat, and he looked big and burly and every inch the cowboy silhouetted by the moonlight coming from behind. Her hands tingled with the urge to trace his granite-like outline. Run her fingers through the scruff at his jaw. Smooth her palm up his abs.

Her heart pounded in her chest at the daring it would take to do that. A daring she just didn’t possess. Trust your instincts, Selena had said, but…there was too much to screw up between them, and hell, what if he rejected her? She’d enjoyed their date so much, she’d be stupid to mess it up with some clumsy seduction attempt. Even if he had looked like he’d wanted to lick carbonara sauce off her mouth only a couple of hours ago.

Frustrated by how impotent her lack of experience made her feel, Della wandered toward the large curved bank of floor-to-ceiling windows staring out over the lights of Denver. The top rail of the horseshoe-shaped Mile High Stadium gleamed in the moonlight. The distant Rocky Mountain foothills stood out in stark contrast to the darker, craggier peaks behind that sliced into the perfect canvas of night.

Della sighed. “I love this view.”

She sensed Tucker approaching well before he entered her peripheral vision. “Yeah, it’s something, isn’t it?”

He fell in beside her, not close, but Della could reach out and touch him if she wanted, and, as his aftershave invaded her space, God…she wanted. “I think if I lived in this place, I’d set up a chair about here and just watch the changing faces of the mountains all day.”

He chuckled, and it slid softly over her, softly as the moonlight. “Not a bad ambition,” he murmured.

Della glanced up, studying his profile. He’d removed his hat, and his hair, which was getting longer again, had that rumpled look. Her palms itched to touch. “Thank you for tonight,” she said, her voice quiet in the hush of the apartment. “For the”—she mimed air quotes—“date. I had fun.”

He nodded but didn’t look in her direction. “Me, too.”

“You actually made me forget I was stood up.”

Now he looked at her, a V forming between his brows. “The guy’s an idiot,” Tucker growled.

A little beam of pleasure lanced straight through Della’s middle. Maybe it was her hopeless crush, maybe it was those three daiquiris, but his quick defense of her made her warm all over. “So, did I pass?”

That V deepened. “Pass?”

“My assessments?”

“Ah.” The frown smoothed out, and he laughed, his dimples flashing in the night. His gaze drifted over her face to the swing of her left earring. He watched it for a beat or two before pulling his attention back to her face. “With flying colors.”

It was ridiculous that such empty praise should go to her head. The whole assessment thing had just been Tucker messing around, but it was nice here in the moonlight with his aftershave and the warm buzz of three daiquiris. It felt very much like it had in the cab of his truck that night. Just the two of them. Close. Cozy. Intimate.

“I think you…left out the most important assessment,” Della said, a spurt of sudden daring riding her, despite the tremble of her voice betraying just how far out of her comfort zone she was flying.

“Oh yeah?” His eyebrow kicked up, a smile playing on his mouth. “What’s that? We covered small talk, light flirting, and menu choices. That’s pretty much all the first-date territory.”

She shook her head, her heart slamming slow and hard against her ribs as she worked up the courage to utter the words. Trust your instincts. “Except for the good-night kiss.”

Della swore she could hear Tucker’s breath releasing in a slow hiss. His frown deepened so much his brow practically hooded his eyes.

“I think most people would agree it’s a quintessential part of any first date,” she continued, knowing that the only hope of talking Tucker into kissing her would be to appeal to his sense of process.

He grunted. “There’s nothing essential about it. It’s optional. And don’t let anyone tell you any different.”

“But don’t men expect a first-date kiss?”

He turned so he was facing her, shoving his hands on his hips and squaring his shoulders. Leashed restraint rolled off him in waves. Fine hairs all over Della’s body prickled.

“Listen to me. Any guy who expects you to kiss him on the first date or who pressures you into it is an asshole.”

He was looking at her like she was not Arlo’s sister again, and Della could see the twin pulsing of the thick veins bracketing the hard ridge of his trachea.

“You don’t have to do a goddamn thing you don’t want to. Now…if the date was good and you want to consider ending it with a kiss, then…by all means.”

“Right. So…” Emboldened by the beat of that pulse, Della took a tiny step forward. “In case of that eventuality, surely it’s something also in need of assessment?”

“I think we can take it as a given that you’ll pass that one with flying colors, too.”

“But I’ve only ever kissed one guy.” Well, two, actually, if she counted that chaste press of her mouth to Tucker’s. Which she didn’t. “I might be really bad at it.”

“You’re not.”

“Really?” A tiny flutter of pleasure spread tentacles to every part of her body.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Fishing for compliments?”

Della grinned. “Totally.”

“Well…you’re fine in the kissing department,” he said, his voice gruff. “Don’t worry about it.”

It sounded like he was trying to shut her down, and she didn’t want to be shut down. She shouldn’t want what she was asking for, either, but moonlight and daiquiris were a potent mix. “I think you probably need a bigger sample size to be sure.”

Without perceptibly moving, Tucker’s frame seemed to turn to granite. “I’m not kissing you, Della.”

With her pulse fluttering wildly in her chest, Della took another daring step. This was it, it was now or never. “Who says anything about you kissing me?” Her husky voice settled in the handspan of space between them. Tentatively, Della touched his belly. The muscle beneath tightened at the contact, and her own belly mirrored the movement. “All you have to do is stand there. I’ll do all the kissing.”

“Della.”

The gravel in his voice, the roughness of his breathing, was satisfying on a level Della never knew existed. She could hear his arousal, and, sure, she might be a novice where seduction was concerned, but she knew it wasn’t just her who was turned on by their interchange.

“C’mon, Tucker. You’ve endured my amateur attempts once already. What could one more time hurt?”

Her hand moved farther north, and he clamped his over hers, trapping her palm just under his sternum. “Not happening, Della.”

She sensed he was about to step back, to ease away, and panic flushed through her veins. She was so close—she couldn’t turn back now. Snaking her other arm around his neck, Della rose on her tippy-toes, pressing her body to the length of his.

“Please, Tuck,” she whispered, his mouth achingly close as she twisted her fingers in the hair at his nape.

Their eyes met, and there was nothing but the sound of their breathing as they stared intently at each other. It might have been dark, but the moonlight seemed to amplify every single thought flitting through Tucker’s brain. And there was a battle royal going on. She could see he was trying to pull himself back, to remember who he was—who she was. But his body was hard and his breathing rough, and the hand at her hip clutched convulsively.

His eyes heated and darkened. He was losing.

If she were a good person, Della would surrender now and leave him be. She’d unwrap herself from his body. Refuse to put him in this situation. But screw that. She was sick of him handling her like some born-again virgin who needed to be treated with kid gloves.

Was it so wrong to want this? To want her brother’s friend?

“Just a little?” she murmured, pressing her mouth lightly to his like she had that night in the truck, their gazes still meshed.

He didn’t stop her, but he didn’t exactly surrender, either. Just watched her intensely, his lips tight and unmoving. Della’s heart thrummed through her chest as she pulled away slightly, noticing the flare of his nostrils and the clench of his jaw but drawn back to him anyway, needing more.

She pressed her mouth a little firmer this time, lingering for a moment before pressing a series of light kisses along the taut seam of his lips. “Tucker,” she whispered against his stubbornly closed mouth, her eyes beseeching, trying not to sound needy and failing miserably as every hot spot in her body flared to life.

She pressed closer, the heat and hardness of his body a potent aphrodisiac. She closed her eyes and teased tentatively at the corners of his mouth with her tongue, her pulse spiking as his hand clutched her hip hard and a low rumble echoed through his chest.

Growing bolder, she pressed open-mouthed kisses to his lips now, letting them linger, coaxing his mouth to join in—needing it to—sighing as his eyes fluttered closed and his lips finally gave a little.

It was all the encouragement she needed.

Her arousal, growing like a fever in her blood, demanded to be serviced, and she took full advantage as his lips softened further. Closing her eyes, she touched the tip of her tongue to the bow of his lips, tasting him there, sighing as he opened to let her in, whimpering a little as her tongue found his, moaning as his joined in the dance.

It must have been the moan that did it, because it was like a dam suddenly broke. Tucker groaned, deep and guttural, and then his mouth opened and his hands came up to cradle her face, his fingers pushing into her hair, and he devoured her.

There was nothing tentative about the way he kissed her now, and she was no longer in control. She ceded it happily to the dominance of his mouth, his lips twisting on hers, ramping the intensity up to places she’d never been. His tongue thrust into her mouth, the taste of beer and the loud suck of his breathing and the mad wash of her pulse filling her head, her body needy and aching for more.

She was drunk, and it didn’t have anything to do with the daiquiris. She was drunk on the power of Tucker’s kiss, the hand caught between their bodies clutching a fistful of his shirt as her desire escalated. His heart thumped beneath her hand like a gong, and they were moving back until the windows brought them to an abrupt halt.

Della vaguely registered the coolness of the glass through the thinness of her shirt, but mostly she was grateful for its solid state and the hard press of his body as the room spun.

She clung to him tight, moaning and panting, losing her breath and her sense and her mind, her legs trembling, threatening to give out. His body was trembling, too, his big muscles shaking her right down to her bones.

She had never been kissed so thoroughly. So damn…masterfully. Finally, she understood why some people did stupid things for those who made them feel like this.

Finally, she understood the word crave.

She was so dizzy with this need for him it was wildly thrilling and just a little bit scary. She’d never experienced anything like this—was she even equipped for it? How could she compete at Tucker’s level?

She dragged her mouth from his as the floor tilted beneath her feet, coming up for air, desperately aroused and hopelessly overwhelmed all at once. “Stop…stop for a second,” she muttered, her breathing a series of loud harsh pants as she ground herself against the windows to stop the spinning, her hand still clutched in Tucker’s shirt. “Everything’s spinning.” She gave a half laugh, her lips tingling deliciously.

Tucker went very, very still. “Oh God. Della…” His voice was dark and gravelly, and the hairs on her neck prickled in foreboding as he took a hasty step back, her hand falling abruptly away. “God…” He shoved a hand through his hair as he took two more steps back. “I’m so…sorry.” He stared at her, his face tight and strained, his mouth a grim slash.

What the hell? “Tucker?”

“That was…unforgivable of me. I…don’t know what came over me… I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I shouldn’t have…come on so strong.”

Della blinked. “Tucker.” She took a step forward, but he stayed her with an urgent stopping motion of his hands as he took yet another step back.

“No.” He shook his head wildly. “I was out of line.”

Oh, for the love of… “Don’t be ridiculous. I wanted you to kiss me like that.”

“For God’s sake, Della,” Tucker snapped. “It doesn’t matter.”

Della blinked. What the what now? “I beg your pardon? What I want doesn’t matter?”

“No…God, no. I didn’t mean… I meant…” He stopped, clearly frustrated with himself. “I should have known you weren’t ready, damn it. I”—he poked himself hard in the chest—“should have known. Are you okay?” He took a tentative step forward and then stopped abruptly. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”

“What? Tucker, no.” She shook her head. “I’m fine. It was…amazing. Like…” She blew out a harsh breath, ruffling her bangs. “I didn’t even know a kiss could be like that.” It should belong in a Hall of Fame somewhere. “I just got a little…overwhelmed for a moment, that’s all.”

But Tucker was obviously too busy dishing out a mental ass-kicking to listen. “Don’t worry.” His expression was impossibly bleak, his mouth tense, his hands shoved determinedly on his hips. “It won’t happen again.”

And before she could object or proffer her opinion, he’d turned on his heel and was striding off in the direction of his room. Della touched her mouth as she watched him go. It was still tingling.

It won’t happen again.

God…she sincerely freaking hoped that wasn’t true.

Tucker threw himself under the shower, calling himself every lowdown horndog name he could think of. When he ran out, he made a few up.

What the fuck, dude?

He slammed his palm against the tiles but barely felt the impact. What was the matter with him? Unleashing himself like that on Della? A sexual assault survivor.

Where was his restraint?

Why on earth hadn’t he gone straight to bed tonight? Why had he let three beers and the smell of strawberry daiquiri and the fucking moonlight lure him into a discussion about first-date kisses? He should have walked away when she first mentioned it. He definitely should have walked away when she’d stepped right into his space. He absolutely should have walked away after that first kiss.

But man…it was like she had him under some kind of spell. He was weak when it came to Della Munroe. He already knew that, but tonight it had been worse than ever. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Hadn’t wanted their fake date to end.

And then he’d kissed her like some drunken ogre. She’d had to tell him to stop. Good one, dipshit.

God…how far would he have gone had she not called a halt? Because she’d been intoxicating, and he’d wanted her bad. Would he have undone her shirt? Slid his hands into her panties? Would he have fucked her against the window for all of goddamn Denver to see?

Tucker dunked his head under the water and turned off all the hot, desperate to rid himself of those images, of that little whimper he could still hear reverberating through his brain, of the desire still surging through his system despite the heavy dose of self-loathing.

His dick, still painfully erect, was apparently immune to things such as contempt and freezing water. It’d no doubt survive a nuclear blast impressively intact.

Like a cockroach.

I didn’t even know a kiss could be like that.

He reached for those words as they floated by, desperate for any distraction but rattled by them probably more than anything else tonight. That Della could have been with someone for years and not been thoroughly kissed in every way possible was perhaps the saddest fact of all.

He wanted that for her. To know what it was like to be thoroughly kissed, to be with someone who took the time to introduce her to the delights. It just couldn’t be him. Because, as he already proved, he couldn’t kiss Della without wanting to go all Incredible Hulk on her ass, and she was obviously still only at the mild-mannered Bruce Banner level.

…

A few days later, Della was sitting at a table in Annie’s diner, staring out the window as she absently stirred her coffee, her slice of banana cream pie untouched. She was reliving Friday night again for, like, the hundredth time. The way Tucker had pinned her against the glass and unleashed. Muscles deep inside her pelvic floor looped the loop just thinking about that unvarnished passion. Her breath hitched. Hell, her toes were literally curling in her boots.

If only she hadn’t ruined it all by putting on the brakes.

There had been plenty of times in Della’s life she’d wished she had a time machine, but right now she’d trade them all in to go back to that moment. To lean into the dizziness and the crazy tilt of the floor and just ride that frantic, speeding train all the way into the station.

She hadn’t wanted to stop, damn it. Just to…pause. To catch her breath.

Hell, if that wasn’t one of the worst decisions she’d ever made—and God knew there’d been plenty of them. Instead of experiencing what she had no doubt would have been the best sexual experience of her life, she was sitting in Annie’s still re-virginating and so damn sexually frustrated she wanted to scream.

The truly tragic part was that Tucker’s defenses had been fortified, and she didn’t see how she was going to get that close to him again. She’d had one shot, and she’d blown it.

The morning after had been awkward with a capital A. He’d apologized again, informed her there would never be a repeat of the incident, and formally withdrawn himself from wingman duties. When she’d tried to discuss it, he’d shut her down.

I think it’s best we just put this behind us and move on, okay?

No. It was not okay by her. Not then, not now. She shouldn’t have pushed him, she knew they were a no-go, and she’d like to talk to him about it, but she knew Tucker well enough to know he needed time to process things. Once he’d had a little distance, he’d be more rational. Once he saw she was absolutely fine, that she hadn’t scuttled back into her shell, he’d be more approachable.

She’d give him some space. And torture herself with reruns of Denver in the interim.

“You’re not planning on hurting my feelings there, are you, doll?”

Della glanced up as the crackly, pack-a-day voice broke into her thoughts. “Hey Annie,” she said, forcing a smile on her face.

“That pie ain’t going to eat itself.”

Della laughed. “Sorry…I was miles away.” In Denver. A bank of windows at her back. A hot, aroused man at her front.

“Uh-huh.” Annie didn’t move as she fixed Della with an expectant gaze.

Without thinking twice, Della picked up her spoon, loaded it, and shoveled the banana creamy goodness into her mouth. Annie’s pies were cooked on the premises and were the best in the county. The entire state, according to multiple blue ribbons.

Eating one of them was no hardship.

Annie nodded approvingly at the appreciative moan that slid from Della’s lips. “Mmm.” Della savored the mouthful, her taste buds in ecstasy. “This is divine.”

It wasn’t exchanging kisses with Tucker Daniels, but it was probably the next best thing. Or maybe that was eating banana cream pie off Tucker Daniels’s lumberjack abs?

Annie took the compliment as her due. Her pies being divine was not news to anyone, least of all Annie. “More coffee?” A gnarly hand, the knuckles misshapen from arthritis, held up a filter pot about as old as the diner. Annie didn’t wait for a confirmation; she topped up Della’s cup anyway. “You’re looking good, Della,” she said as she withdrew the pot.

The next spoonful of pie paused halfway between the plate and Della’s mouth. She glanced up into Annie’s knowing eyes. “Thank you.”

“You know…you and me…we’ve got a lot in common, sugar. If you ever want to talk, you know where I am.”

Della nodded. Annie had offered the same thing back in the early days when Della had first come to Credence. Plenty of townsfolk had offered an ear, wanting to help ease Della’s transition. But Annie’s offer had been different. The old woman had never elaborated, but Della had sensed that Annie knew what it was like to be a victim.

And how to survive.

Della slid her hand briefly onto Annie’s arm. The skin was remarkably smooth for someone who was supposedly old as dirt. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” Maybe she’d take Credence’s pie queen up on her offer one day.

Annie nodded and straightened, all business again, Della’s hand sliding off her arm. “Finish every last bite,” she said, all briskly crotchety again, before she moved off. “You’re too damn skinny.”

Della smiled at Annie’s back as the older woman departed before attacking the pie with gusto. One mouthful had stirred Della’s appetite, and she wouldn’t dare leave the diner without every morsel devoured. Annie considered even crumbs left on the plate a personal slight.

Hell, she might get some to go for Arlo tonight. Donuts might be traditional cop food, but her police-chief brother couldn’t walk past Annie’s pies.

Winona appeared as Della was scraping her plate clean. “There some kind of famine coming I’m not aware of?”

Della laughed. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.” She put her spoon down on the plate and dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table. “I’m contemplating getting a second.”

“You know,” Winona said with a faux-conspiratorial whisper, “this is Annie’s grand plan? She laces her pies with some mysterious ingredient developed in some secret government lab to keep the masses addicted and coming back for more.”

“Yeah.” Della leaned in and mouthed, “It’s called sugar.”

Winona sighed. “Damn it, why does sugar taste so good? Why?”

Della grinned as she gestured to the seat opposite her. “You wanna sit? Or have you got a book to be getting back to?”

“I do. But I’m stuck, so I’m procrastinating. I came here looking for an enabler in the form of pie.”

“Will I do? I’m not as sweet.”

“True. But you’re not going to stick to my ass, either.”

Della laughed. Hell, if she had Winona’s figure, she’d eat pie all damn day. She was almost six foot, big-boned, and curvy—very Xena Warrior Princess. Della would bet good money that it took a lot of pie to power that commanding frame.

“I don’t think your brother is that keen on us hanging out,” Winona said. “In case I corrupt you.”

It was well known around town that Credence’s chief of police and the erotic romance novelist rubbed each other the wrong way. Arlo found Winona a confusing and irritating mix of brash and laissez-faire. Winona found Arlo and even more irritating mix of hot cover dude with a side of stick-up-his-ass.

Sparks flew off them whenever they crossed paths, but secretly Della thought they both enjoyed the banter. “Corrupt away,” she said with a smile, using her foot under the table to push the chair out a little.

“Oh goody.” Winona grinned as she slid into the chair, her caramel curls bouncing.

“So…what are you stuck on?” Della didn’t think she’d be of much help, but she found Winona and her writing process fascinating.

The other woman sighed. “I can’t get my hero and heroine to do it.”

“Oh.” Della didn’t think for a moment she meant mowing the lawn or paying their taxes.

She really liked that about Winona—her frankness about sex and the unselfconscious way she spoke about it. There was nothing taboo or risqué, it was just another part of life. Della supposed that was par for the course for an erotic romance author, but she’d never met anyone quite like Winona.

She was pretty sure nobody in Credence had, either.

“They were supposed to do it in chapter two,” Winona lamented. “I’m on chapter ten, and they’re still refusing to get down and dirty. Seriously, I’ve never met two more recalcitrant characters in my life. I mean—it’s sex, right?” She bugged her eyes at Della in appeal. “It’s not like I’m asking them to swallow poison or have a root canal.”

Della literally had zero suggestions to give. She hadn’t been able to get Tucker to initiate a kiss, and she wasn’t likely to now, either. “You can’t just…make them?”

Winona hooted out a laugh. “If only.” She reached across and patted Della’s hand. “I wish it worked like that. I really do.”

“Well…that must be very frustrating.” God knew Della understood all about lack of sex and the frustration that caused.

“Yeah.” Winona’s curls bounced again. “But it’s okay…it’ll come to me. I just need to mull on it for a bit.”

Annie interrupted then with her ever-ready coffeepot and the slice of cherry pie Winona had ordered. “Annie, you are a goddess,” she proclaimed as the pie was slid in front of her.

The pie queen laugh-snorted as she poured hot black liquid in Winona’s empty cup. “When’s your next book out? You’re not going to make me wait for Darius and Skye too much longer, are you?”

Della blinked. Annie read erotic romance?

“Working on them right now.”

“Then why are you here, doll?” Annie demanded, fixing Winona with a cantankerous glare.

Winona grinned, unperturbed. “Sometimes a woman just needs pie.”

“Well you let me know next time you’re craving pie, you hear?” Annie shoved a hand on her hip. “I’ll get it delivered.”

Winona stifled a laugh as Annie shuffled off to her next customer. “So…what’s new with you?” she inquired.

It was on the tip of Della’s tongue to say, I made out with Tucker on Friday night, and now I can’t think about anything else, even though it was a stupid thing to do. She was absolutely positive Winona would be the perfect person to talk to about all these…feelings…she was having. Hell, she was sure Winona would relish it and probably be really, really helpful, but…it’d taken her a couple of years to warm up to talking to Selena about sex in the privacy of her Denver office. It was going to take a seismic shift to casually mention it in the middle of Annie’s diner in buttfuck eastern Colorado to someone she’d known for a handful of months.

They were friends but not close friends.

“I bought a car. I’m picking it up this afternoon.”

“Yeah? That’s great.”

Della told Winona all about the ten-year-old sedan she’d test-driven last night. It belonged to a ranch hand Arlo knew who’d just bought a truck and was keen for some fast cash. The vehicle was electric blue with a fire decal down each side. Arlo had winced at the paint job and said he’d get it resprayed, but Della had fallen in love with it on sight. It was bold and brash—the total opposite of her, of how she’d blended in for the last three years, and she liked the statement it made.

I’m Della freaking Munroe, and I’m baaaaack.

“Have you given her a name?”

A name? Della blinked. She didn’t know anyone who named their car. “Umm…no. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Well you should. A car with flames down the side demands to be named.”

Della concurred. “I can hear Arlo rolling his eyes already.”

“Even more reason to do it.”

Laughing at the faux-innocent expression on Winona’s face, Della asked, “Does yours have a name?”

“Sure does.” Winona’s lips twitched. “Scarlet.”

Of course. Della couldn’t have picked a more suitable name for Winona’s deep-cherry-red Jeep. Suddenly, a name came to her. “Jolene,” she said, saying it out loud, trying it on for size.

It might have seemed a strange choice—the other woman. But Della had always felt a little sorry for the much-maligned Jolene. And hell if it didn’t make a statement. Della was stepping out. Like Jolene. A woman who had gone after what she’d wanted.

“I love it.” Winona held her palm up, and they high-fived. “Okay, where are we taking her on her maiden voyage?”

“Oh. Is that a thing?”

Winona nodded vigorously. “First chance you get, you gotta take her on a bit of a trip somewhere special. For a start, you need to let her out, see how she handles, right? But then you’ve got to mark the occasion. Make it an event you can tell your grandkids about. Life can be pretty dull and mundane most of the time. It’s important to celebrate milestones.”

Della nodded slowly, an idea forming in mind. “Okay…”

“Oooh…” Winona quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve got it, haven’t you?”

Della shifted in her chair. “Would you…come to Frieda’s with me?” Who better to visit a sex shop with than a woman who wrote sex scenes for a living?

Winona didn’t bat an eyelid. “Well, hell, yeah.” She slapped her palm down on the table. “Now we’re talking. It’s definitely memorable.”

“Yup.”

“Probably spare the grandkiddies the story, though.”

Della laughed, her heart beating weirdly fast. “Gotcha.”

Winona nodded. “It’s a date.”

Yeah. A date with a dildo. She couldn’t wait.