Chapter Four
Della was striding past Rosemary’s villa on Monday morning when “How was your date on Friday night, my dear?” drifted out through the open door.
The twenty-four villas were all self-contained units at the back of the complex, connected by a network of paths. Della backtracked and entered. “Morning.”
Rosemary was sitting at the window seat with a book, soaking up the unseasonably warm weather that had arrived over the weekend and was predicted to stay for the next few days before a cold front came through.
“Are you reading one of Winona’s books?” Della was sure that was the cover of Winona’s latest.
Peering over her glasses, Rosemary quirked an eyebrow. “Date was that bad, huh?”
“It was a bust,” Della admitted as she sat down on the end of the seat and leaned her back against the wall.
“Let me guess. He lied about his height?”
“Well…yes, actually. How did you know?”
Rosemary shrugged. “He looked shorter in his pictures.”
Della blinked. He did? “Why do men do that?”
“It’s a penis thing,” the older woman said nonchalantly.
“A penis thing?”
Della was starting to think Rosemary was a little obsessed with dicks. Or maybe she just liked saying scandalous things? Either way, Della found it endearing.
“Yeah…you know. Anatomical proportionality and all that.” No, Della did not know, but Rosemary wasn’t done with the questions. “What else did he lie about?”
“He said he didn’t want to just hook up, but…”
“He wanted to just hook up.” She tutted. “What a dumbass.”
Della laughed, surprised to hear this refined old lady cussing. She filled in the gory details for Rosemary, assuring her she was fine. “Plenty more where he came from. And Tucker’s going to help me pick my matches from now on. He’s also going to teach me to drive.”
Their first lesson was tomorrow morning at eight. She’d studied her booklet all weekend and was going to the municipal offices after work to take her written test for the instruction permit. Della was so excited she couldn’t help but grin crazily. A fact not lost on Rosemary.
“Is he now?” Another quirked eyebrow was followed by a long speculative look.
“Uh-huh.” Della looked away from that imperious eyebrow in case Rosemary read too much into her excitement.
A knock sounded at just the right time, and both she and Rosemary glanced across to find Ray Carmody loitering in the open doorway, flowers in his hand. Ray had been a resident of the old folks’ home for a few years. He was a tall, elegant man with close-cropped gray hair, dark skin that was remarkably unwrinkled, and a frame still impressively erect, despite his eighty-plus years. He’d worked for the electric company for five decades.
His eyes darted between the two women. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you had company. I’ll come back.”
“Don’t be an old fool, Ray. It’s just Della.” Rosemary swung her legs around so her feet were planted on the ground and gestured for Ray to enter. He looked like he wanted to flee, but he entered anyway.
“I found these out on my walk today. Rocky Mountain columbine.” He thrust the collection of blue-and-white wildflowers in her direction. “I thought you might like them.”
Rosemary reached for them, staring at the petals. “So they are.” She sniffed them, then shook her head at Ray. “What on earth are they doing out in February?”
“I think the heat the last couple of days got ’em all confused.”
“Well, thank you. I love them.”
Ray beamed, the smile finally making some slight crinkles in the otherwise smooth skin of his face. Neither of them said anything for a beat or two, just kept smiling at each other.
Hmmm.
Obviously remembering they weren’t alone, he cleared his throat and dragged his attention from Rosemary. “How’d your date go, Della?”
Della almost laughed. This was the disadvantage of working in a place where people had too much time on their hands and about the most exciting thing that ever happened was when they switched out cobbler for pumpkin pie on the menu in October.
But, having grown up without grandparents, Della liked that these people looked out for her and treated her like their collective granddaughter. It had been strange at first, but she’d quickly become fond of the affection.
“Terrible,” Rosemary said, jumping in for her. “The young man expected her to go home with him. On an empty stomach!”
Ray scowled. “I’m sorry, honey. Boy clearly hasn’t got the sense God gave a goose.”
“It’s fine.”
“You want me to kick his ass?”
Della did laugh then. “Thanks, Mr. Carmody. I handled it.”
Another knock, and all three turned to find Bob Downey at the door. He and Ray were old friends and practically joined at the hip since moving to the old folk’s home a few years back. They swaggered around the facility, cracking themselves up constantly, like Dean and Sammy in Vegas.
“Come in, Bob,” Rosemary called. “The more the merrier.”
“What you all in a huddle about over here?” He still felt the need to be involved in everything, mayoral robes or no.
“Talking about Della’s date,” Ray confirmed. “The boy put the hard word on her.”
“What?” Bob’s bushy eyebrows knitted together. “What’s wrong with him?” he demanded of Ray. “Only got one oar in the water?” He turned to Della. “You want me to kick his ass?”
Della suppressed the absurd urge to cry as the two old men stood ready to defend her honor. She didn’t need it, but there was something nice about their paternalism. Her father sure could have learned a lot about having her back from these two. “No need, Mr. Downey. But thank you.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Anytime, just holler. Ray and I are at your service. We could probably get Arthur and Harry to join us.”
Ray snorted. “Harry’s blind as a bat and deaf as a post.”
“Yeah. But the kid don’t know that.”
Della wasn’t sure how the kid could miss it, considering Harry had a pair of coke-bottle glasses so thick her eyes watered in sympathy every time he peered at her through them.
“And besides,” Bob continued, “he’s sprightly.”
“Well, thank you,” Della said with a solemn nod, touched by the idea of her own personal A-Team, no matter how geriatric. “I will remember that.”
Satisfied that Della obviously knew they had her back, Bob clapped Ray on the back. “I was just heading to the pool table. You joining me?”
Ray glanced at Rosemary for a second or two. She was still clutching her flowers, and she smiled at him before he turned to Bob and said, “Sure, why not. Kicking your ass never gets old.”
“Ha!” Bob snorted in disgust. “You’re just having a run of luck there, sparky, but that’s all coming to an end this morning. I can feel it in my water.”
Ray snorted back. “They got antibiotics for that these days.” And then they both cracked up. When they finally pulled themselves together, Ray performed a little bow, his gaze lingering on Rosemary as he said, “Excuse us, ladies,” before letting Bob drag him to the games room.
Rosemary tracked Ray’s progress all the way out the door, and it was Della’s turn for a speculative look. “I think Ray Carmody has a bit of a crush on you.”
“Well, I hope so. I’ve been giving that man so many damn signals I’m beginning to feel like a traffic light.”
Della blinked. “So…you have a crush, too?”
The older woman shot her an impatient look. “Why not? He’s handsome, funny, smart, and still has all his own hair and teeth. Nice soft hands, too. Reckon they’d feel mighty nice on my skin.”
From the way Rosemary’s fingers stroked absently up her inner arm, Della was left in no doubt that she wasn’t just talking about holding hands. “So…what? You want to get married again?”
“Goodness, no.” She laughed as if it was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. “I’m too old for all that fuss. Now I just want a man to occasionally tell me I have a great tushy and to warm my bed when the feeling takes us.”
Yeah. Della wouldn’t mind a guy complimenting her tushy every now and then, either.
Her brain automatically went to Tucker. Tucker, who’d never checked out her ass. Damn it—why must her heart want someone so completely uninterested?
“You don’t approve?”
Della dragged her mind back to the conversation. “Don’t be silly. I say go for it. If you ever need me to pass a note—” She grinned. “Let me know.” Holding her hands out for the flowers, she asked, “Would you like me to put those in a vase?” Rosemary passed them over, and Della said, “I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you, dear.”
When Della got to the doorway, she paused and turned. “Rosemary?” The older woman glanced up from her book. “You do have a great tushy.”
“Darlin’,” she said, her eyes twinkling all the way across the room. “I have a spectacular tushy.”
“What about Daniel?” Della asked, inspecting the face on the screen as Tucker drove out of Credence.
He grimaced. “Della and Daniel?”
She rolled her eyes. “He has a very cute dog. He’s twenty-four, enjoys a good time and running—” She sighed at the next word. “Ugh…maybe not.”
“Another dude with no car?”
“No…he’s spelled amok as two words. And the mok is spelled with a u instead of an o.”
“If you’re after good spelling, that’s going to rule out about seventy-five percent of the Tinder pool.”
This was true. There was an appalling lack of spell-check going on in the app. She’d ignored it up until Cody, but now she had to get more discerning, and the ability to spell seemed a good a line as any to draw.
“Oh, this guy seems sweet. He likes quiet nights at home and staying up to the wee small hours talking.”
Tucker snorted. “Hard pass.”
“Why? It’s a change from the I like to party till I puke guys.”
“Because what he means is, he’s too poor to go out and he’s a raging insomniac.”
Della sighed—man, this was complicated. She looked out the window as they passed the goodbye from Credence sign. The landscape was looking greener as spring sprang all around them. Trees were growing leaves, and buds were blossoming.
“Where are we going?”
“To the old abandoned industrial estate on the way to the lake. Past the old red barn. Its deserted, and there are roads and a couple of parking lots. It’s a good place to learn the basics before you go on the open road.”
Deserted.
A thrilling kind of frisson slid down Della’s spine. They’d be alone out there. In his pickup, which was already gloriously warm and smelling like the coffee from Deja Brew and the bagels from Annie’s he’d handed her as she’d got in the vehicle. She’d shed her coat—it was on the bench seat between them, along with his well-worn Stetson—and bitten into her bagel before she’d even buckled up.
Glancing at Tucker’s profile, she felt her heart give a little flutter at the strong set of his features and the scruff at his jawline. He was in denim and plaid, his shirt sitting flat against his stomach and rolled up at the elbows to reveal thickly muscled forearms. His thigh nearest her was hugged to perfection by his Levi’s. His hair was damp at his nape, like he might have stepped out of the shower not too long ago, and Della tried really hard not to wonder what Tucker would look like in only a towel.
She wondered instead what it’d be like to unbuckle, slide across the seat, snuggle her head into his shoulder, and slip her hand onto his thigh. Like she’d seen in about a hundred country music videos. Unfortunately, she didn’t need to wonder what his response would be if she did make such a move. He’d go all tense. Probably stop the car and get out and pace for a bit before he said anything to her, because Tucker always chose his words so carefully and he’d be kind and gentle and patient in his rejection.
But the driving lessons would be over before they’d even begun.
Which was why Della wasn’t going to risk it, because riding in Tucker’s pickup felt very grown-up. Very independent. Deliciously…adult. And while he might not be attracted to her, she could at least indulge in spending time alone with him and pretend, even for a little while, that they could be a thing.
If she was looking for a thing. Which she was not.
Determinedly quashing the urge to snuggle into him, Della returned her attention to her phone, swiping left on faces, occasionally checking out bios. “I don’t get half these acronyms they use. Like…what’s BDE?”
When he didn’t answer, she looked at him, just catching the bob of his Adam’s apple. His expression left her in little doubt he wished he was anywhere else but here right now.
“It’s okay, Tuck. I’m a big girl.” She wasn’t some nineteenth-century ingenue. “I can deal.”
“It’s…big dick energy.”
Della blinked. What in hell did that mean? Was it a comment on the size of a guy’s package or its stamina? “Okay…think I’m going to need that clarified.”
“It’s a guy who knows what he brings to the table without having to brag about it. So for example, in this case, that guy does not have BDE. If you have to tell people you have it, you don’t have it.”
Della glanced at the picture of twenty-three-year-old Zack. Nothing about him said BDE. Tucker, on the other hand…
“What about—” She searched her memory for some of the shorthand that had been bothering her the last little while. She’d made do without explanation, but since she had a Tinder regular here in the truck with her, why not? “GSOH?”
“Good sense of humor.”
“MBA?”
“Married but available.”
Ugh. Each to their own, but…ugh. “SD?”
“Sugar daddy. Could be single daddy.”
“FBO?”
“Facebook official.”
Della blinked at his rapid-fire responses, impressed. “So you’re…what? The Merriam-Webster of dating acronyms?”
He shrugged. “I pay attention.”
“I was looking at someone’s profile yesterday that said he wasn’t interested in mermaids. I assumed he wasn’t talking about Ariel.”
“Ahh…yup.”
“Because Ariel is awesome.”
“Okay…” Tucker frowned. “Sure.”
“Are you saying Ariel isn’t awesome?”
He glanced at her. “She gave up her voice for some drowned dude she barely knew.”
What? Della gaped at him as he turned his attention back to the road. Well, yeah…she supposed that was true. “I didn’t realize you had opinions on Disney princesses.”
“Sure. Arlo, Drew, and I have regular deep and meaningful conversations about them.”
Her first instinct was to laugh, but Tucker seemed serious. “I don’t think that’s something you should admit out loud.”
He grinned but continued. “Drew’s a Snow White fan, but we’re pretty sure it’s because he has glass-casket envy. Arlo’s more of a Rapunzel fan.”
“Of course he is.”
“No, no. The kickass Tangled one. He loves a chick who can wield a frying pan as a weapon.”
“And you?”
“I’m more of a Mulan guy.”
Della wasn’t sure how they’d found themselves here, but it was official—this was the most bizarre conversation she’d ever had with an adult male. And she could have run with it if she wasn’t convinced that Tucker was trying to deliberately drag the conversation off track from her original question.
Screw that. “Tucker Daniels, are you stalling?”
He nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Quit it.”
“Della… You know there’s this thing called the internet that you can find out a whole heap of information on, right?”
“And what do you think might come up if I google ‘what does mermaid mean on Tinder’?”
“Oh, yeah, right.” His fingers unwrapped, then wrapped around the steering wheel. “Don’t do that.”
She nodded in satisfaction and waited for him to continue. He did not. “Tucker.”
“Fine.” He huffed and did the wrapping/unwrapping thing again. “A mermaid is a woman who is fine with…stuff above the waist but not…below.”
Della frowned. That was it? “So…she only wants to go to second base?” Della had suspected it was something very unflattering to do with fish.
“Yes. Exactly.” He nodded vigorously, his face a picture of relief, like he’d been petrified she was going to ask him to draw a freaking diagram or something.
It was kinda cute how much this stuff made him squirm, and she laughed despite her irritation. “You’re really not comfortable with this, are you?”
“Talking about bases with my friend’s little sister? I’d rather set fire to the bar.”
Della suppressed the urge to scream. Little sister? She’d been twenty-two when she came to Credence, and she was twenty-five now. She’d never been Arlo’s little sister.
“I’m an adult, Tucker. I may be lacking in areas of knowledge a lot of women my age aren’t, but I’m not going to blush, stammer, or…faint if you tell me something a little risqué. You’re supposed to be my wingman, for God’s sake.”
“Right.” He nodded. “You make a good point, and I’ll take it on board, but oh…look…we’ve arrived now, so let’s change the topic.”
Tucker turned left, and Della glanced out the windshield. She’d been driven past here many times on the way to the lake but hadn’t ever really paid it much attention. The estate was dominated by deserted concrete shells that had once housed businesses. They’d been abandoned one by one twenty years ago as the town experienced a series of downturns.
There was a general air of decay. Peeling paint, broken windows, pockmarked exteriors. Even the graffiti was faded. Aged burnout tracks stained streets that nature had taken back. Weeds thrived in the cracks of the road and the sidewalks and even the walls of buildings.
Della half expected to see a tumbleweed rolling along.
After a few more lefts, Tucker pulled the car up in a parking lot, letting the engine idle. “Okay. Your turn.” He unbuckled, grabbed his hat and her coat, and said “Scoot over” as he opened his car door and exited. Cold air invaded the warm bubble for the beat or two it took for him to shut the door.
Della watched him absently, utterly distracted by the way he moved, the breadth of his frame, the confident, easy strides he took as he rounded the vehicle to her side. She was staring at him through her window as he pulled up outside her door. He quirked an eyebrow. “Changed your mind?”
His voice was muffled, but she heard him well enough. She shook her head absently, distracted by the way the window framed his shoulders.
“I’m freezing my ass off out here.”
His warm breath misted into the air, galvanizing Della into action. “Shit, sorry.” She fumbled with her seatbelt, finally releasing it and sliding across—just like she’d fantasized about—until she was sitting behind the wheel of the idling truck.
Tucker opened the door. “Seatbelt,” he said as he climbed in. Della reached for it as Tucker shut the door. “I’m going to sit in the middle for a bit.”
He announced it with a degree of trepidation in his voice, like he was about to cross the Rio Grande, not three feet of bench seat. Della swallowed. “Okay…sure.”
“Just until you get a hang of the gear changes. You should take some lessons in Denver with a stick shift, but the foot/hand coordination is the same with a column shift, and that’s always the tricky bit when you’re first learning to drive.”
“Okay.” Her voice sounded weird, and it took Della two attempts to get the seatbelt clicked into place as Tucker slid across.
All the way. Until he was sitting right beside her.
Sure, there were a good couple of inches between them—he wasn’t touching her at all—but heat from his body blasted like a furnace, and her pulse skyrocketed regardless.
“Right. You ready for this?”
Della nodded. “Bring it.”
She listened carefully as he talked her through the gear positions, getting her to engage the clutch as he demonstrated them, then getting her to cycle through the gears over and over—from one to two to three to four and then reverse—until he was satisfied she knew them by heart.
Next he explained the combo of clutch/accelerator action to move the car forward. He got her to repeat it back to him a couple of times until he was confident she had the theory right.
“Okay.” He blew out a breath and rubbed his hands together. “Want to try?”
Della nodded vigorously, her heart just about beating out of her chest. Partly because holy shit she was about to drive. Partly because holy shit she’d never been this close to Tucker for such a sustained period of time.
“All right, then,” he said. “Let’s go. Clutch in first gear, then clutch slowly out, accelerator gently down.”
Della drew in a steadying breath, nervous and excited all at once. She wanted to do this. Being able to drive was the first step in her independence. Also, if she was being totally honest, she wanted to ace it in front of Tucker.
She did not ace it.
She took her foot off the clutch too fast and didn’t give it enough gas, then overcompensated, which stalled the vehicle dramatically in a wheel-screeching bunny hop. Thank goodness for her seatbelt or she’d have been thrown into the steering wheel. Her hand jolted off the wheel and grappled for purchase on the nearest solid thing, which just happened to be Tucker’s thigh.
It tensed to granite beneath her palm. Even through the noise of her pulse thudding in her head and the scrambled state of her brain, Della was aware of that ominous tightening. Aware that she should remove her hand but also kinda paralyzed.
“Are you okay?” Tucker asked after a beat or two.
Dragging in a ragged breath, Della nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s fine.” His dismissal cut her off. “You’ll get better. It just takes practice.” He peeled her hand off his thigh and placed it back on the steering wheel. “Let’s try again.”
He gave her a smile, but Della didn’t miss how he eased away a little as she turned the key in the ignition.
…
Tucker was unsurprised later that day when Arlo was at Jack’s at two minutes after four—his official knock-off time. Drew had been holding up the bar for fifteen minutes, and they’d taken bets on how long it’d take Arlo to join them.
“How’d the lesson go?” he demanded as he strode toward them.
“And a good afternoon to you, too,” Tucker said.
“Two minutes on the dot.” Drew tossed five bucks down on the bar. “You win.”
Arlo ignored both of them. “Did she do okay?”
Preferring to let Arlo sweat a little, Tucker asked, “What’d she say?” He knew Della would have texted her brother, and he was curious what she’d thought about the experience.
“She said you were patient and”—Arlo mimed air quotes—“wonderful.”
Tucker grinned, trying not to let that go to his head. “That’s because I am. Wonderful.”
“She said you said she’s the best student you’ve taught.”
“I did.”
“And exactly how many people have you taught to drive?”
“None.” He grinned again. “But she was very good.”
“Yeah?”
Tucker suppressed a laugh. Arlo was more mother hen than tough guy when it came to his sister. “Yeah.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and handed it to Arlo. “She was shaky to start, but she picked it up quickly.”
“She was so nervous this morning. I was nervous for her.”
Tucker had been, too, but for an entirely different reason. Until Friday, he’d never been alone with her in such close quarters. Sure, he’d seen her plenty over the years, gotten to know her, but always in plain sight of people. Hell, in plain sight of the entire fucking town.
That changed when they were in his truck.
And the way she’d devoured that bagel, like it was the holy grail of bagels, had been fucking indecent. He’d had to think of his tax bill to stop his traitorous dick from misbehaving. But there’d been no hope for him when her hand had gripped his thigh.
Not even the thought of a full IRS audit had been enough to stop that hard-on.
Between her nearness, her cupcake aroma, and the way she ate like it was some goddamn erotic art, he was never not going to be nervous when she was in his truck.
“She did fine,” he assured, because thinking about Della eating a bagel with her brother right there was weird. And Arlo could sniff out weird better than anyone he knew.
“I could have taught her,” he muttered as he took a swig of his beer.
“Yeah,” Drew said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “That’d be a real treat for her.”
Arlo placed his bottle on the bar. “I’m a police officer. I know the rules of the road upside down and back to front. I’m the perfect person for the job.”
“True.” Drew took a mouthful of his beer. “But this way, you get to be her brother, and he”—Drew stabbed a finger in Tucker’s direction—“gets to be the bad guy. Nagging her about her speed and checking her rearview mirror. You get to be the bad guy all day, every day at work, let him do it for a change. Hell, dude, he gets to teach her to parallel park. No one in their right mind wants to teach anyone to parallel park.”
Arlo narrowed his eyes at Drew, then turned them on Tucker. “You get to be the bad guy. Hmm.” He nodded slowly. “I like that.”
Tucker shrugged. “I’m okay with being the bad guy.”
Except that conjured up all kinds of ways he could be bad, and Tucker could feel her hand on his thigh again. It had been so unexpected he’d actually felt it like a jolt to his chest, and for a crazy moment he’d wanted to cover her hand and shift it higher and higher so she could feel what her touch did to him. He’d wanted to grab her and haul her on top of him until she was straddling his thighs and push his hands into her hair and kiss her mouth deep and wet while he stuck his hands inside her panties and made her moan until she came her brains out.
But that was never going to happen. Besides the obvious reasons for keeping his distance, it didn’t take a shrink to understand Della needed a slow hand. Not a quick grope in a pickup.
“You told her I liked Rapunzel?”
“Yeah.” At Arlo’s grimace, he said, “What? We got talking about Disney princesses.”
“Now she’s giving me shit about having a thing for damsels in distress.”
Drew laughed. “You do.”
Arlo scowled. “I do not.”
“Bro, just take it.” Drew clapped Arlo on the shoulder. “You lost your leg rescuing a woman from a flooding car.”
“And you kicked down Della’s door and rescued her from her fortress,” Tucker added, although it had apparently been a shitty backwoods hovel and not a thorny tower. “Face it. You’re a damsel magnet.”
“Fuck’s sake, I’m a cop,” he grouched. “Damsels find me. And anyway, you’re supposed to be concentrating on driving.”
“Jesus.” Tucker shook his head. “It was before we started the lesson. And it beat the alternative topic of conversation.”
“Oh yeah? What was that?”
“Big dick energy.”
Arlo almost choked on his beer. “What?”
“She was having some trouble with Tinder acronyms.”
“Holy shit.” Drew thumped the bar as he let out a huge belly laugh. “You had to tell her what BDE was?”
“Yup.” Tucker nodded. “Among other things.”
Arlo shuddered. “Better you than me, man. Thanks.”
Tucker gave a dismissive shrug. “Sure.”
“And thanks for agreeing to be her wingman with the whole Tinder thing. I feel better knowing you’re helping her out. In fact…” Arlo put down his beer and eyed Tucker speculatively. “What are the chances you can get every second Friday off from here and go with her to Denver?”
Oh man. Tucker stared at Arlo. This was not good. “Well…I own the place, so I can get off whenever I want, but…” He did not want to do this.
“Please, dude. I’d owe you big time.”
Tucker was pretty sure Arlo would not be saying that if he knew the secret desires Tucker was harboring for Della.
Sure, on the spectrum of people Della could date, with Tinder dudes on one end and Tucker on the other—he should come out smelling like roses. Hell, he and Arlo had been lifelong friends. Arlo knew Tucker. He knew Tucker was a good guy who treated women with respect.
But he wasn’t exactly rational where Della was concerned.
Tucker and Drew were two of the few men Arlo had trusted implicitly with Della the past three years, and Tucker couldn’t help but think Arlo might see any admission of feelings as a violation of that trust.
“Damn.” Drew whistled. “He’s using his manners and everything. Reckon you could probably get that signed Yankees bat if you wanted to fuck with him a little.”
Arlo flipped Drew the bird. “I don’t have the nerve for it,” he admitted, addressing Tucker. “I’d want to go all cop on her date’s ass, and she’ll be pissed at me. Hell, I’ll be pissed at me. You’re better at that kind of thing.”
“At what?”
“At being hands-off.”
Yeah. Except he was starting to realize he didn’t want to be hands-off, so the less forced proximity, the better.
“Plus, you and her have a good rapport,” Arlo continued. “She likes you.”
Yeah. Della liked him. They had a rapport. She looked at him as a friend. As someone who could teach her to drive and pour her drinks. Not as a man. Not as someone who could be hands-on. Just some gender-neutral sounding board. Which was a good thing.
But depressing as fuck.
“And I’ll know she’s safe.”
Sure, he’d keep Della safe from the dickheads of the dating world. But who would keep him safe from Della?
“C’mon man, I’m trying real hard to step back here, but it ain’t easy.”
Tucker sighed at the desperation in Arlo’s voice. He really was trying hard, and Tucker knew that was difficult. Arlo Pike didn’t do passive very well. But Della deserved to have this time, to enjoy herself a little, to explore everything life had to offer. And if that meant he became some kind of human buffer zone between Arlo’s need to protect and Della’s need to explore, then so be it.
More than anything, he just wanted her to be happy.
“Fine,” he said on an exhalation. “If she’s okay with it.”
Arlo stood with a grin, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving him a shake. “You’re her wingman, dude, why wouldn’t she be okay with it?”
Because Della was smart, and sooner or later she was going to see right through him, see the things he’d tried to keep hidden, and she’d probably run screaming in the other direction.