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To protect and serve. That’s my job. Okay, maybe I go out of my way to protect one little out-of-towner, but no one has to know that. She doesn’t have a clue how many times I check in on her, follow her to the bank, and make sure she’s locked up tight. She’s used to living in the big city, but that doesn’t stop me from being overprotective. And if I get caught, I can hide my excuse behind my badge.
Tonight is no different. After a half-assed workout, I saunter down Main Street. In case anyone’s watching, I check to make sure each storefront is locked up tight. When I get to In A Jam, I stop in my tracks. The front door is ajar, but the lights are off in the shop.
My gym bag slides to the sidewalk as I creep into the dark coffee shop. My heart races as adrenaline pulses through my veins. I hate this part of my job. We rarely have a break-in, but it does happen. I feel for my gun in my ankle holster to make sure it’s ready in case I need it. In all the years I’ve carried one off duty, I’ve never had to draw it, and I’m hoping tonight isn’t going to be any different.
The light from the street lamp casts shadows around the store. Anyone could be hiding behind the counter, or worse, in the stairwell leading up to Andie. I hear a stumbling noise on the steps, then another, and a string of curse words.
Slurring her words, Andie says, “Don’t make me use my weapon.”
“Put the gun down, Andie. It’s me. Gunnar.”
She staggers down the rest of the steps. My eyes adjust to the darkness enough to see her silhouette. I walk toward her until I am at the bottom of the steps, terrified that I might have to draw my gun and shoot her if she raises her weapon at me. I blink twice when she comes into full view, only wearing a tank top and panties. Shit.
“I was only bluffin’. Don’t have a gun.” She holds her hands out so I can see she doesn’t have anything in them.
“You left your front door open.”
“Oh. Oops. I went out for an... errand, and I guess I forgot.” She snaps her finger. “Did you know this is a dry county? I figured out where Mason County started.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “It’s that way about five miles in case you needed to know.” She giggles. “Then when I got back, I found Granny’s stash. Who knew?”
I let out a huge sigh. She flops down on the last step, and even with the filtered light from the streetlight outside, I have a clear view down her tank top.
She leans to the side. “What are you doing here? You scared the crap out of me.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
Andie leans forward, and I reach out to keep her from face-planting onto the floor. I shouldn’t have made contact with her. This is not going to end well.
“You’re trying to change the subject.”
I hold out a hand for her to take. After two attempts, she latches on, and I help her stand. There she goes with the leaning thing again. I take her by the shoulders and aim her in the direction of the stairs. “Let’s get you back upstairs.”
She’s putting me in a difficult position. If I keep this from her attorney, I could lose my reputation in the community. But if I let him know, she’ll lose her money, and I’ll lose a chance with her.
Her left foot goes up, then her right foot goes up on the same step. Then she sighs and rests her head on my shoulder. I prop her up, and together, we attempt another step. With each step, she leans more and more on me, and before I know it, she’s dead weight on my arm.
“Damn, girl. You’re heavy when you’re drunk.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Andie swings around so fast, I almost lose my balance. With her on the step above me, I can almost see her squinty eyes.
“Are you saying I’m fat?”
Oh boy. Even when she’s drunk, she’s as cute as all get-out, and I can’t help but laugh. “No, sugar, you’re not fat. Never mind.”
She points a crooked finger and sways. I catch her before she sends us both tumbling down the steps. “‘Cause if you think I’m fat, I can show you someone who’s fat. Peggy Shiflitt down at the Piggly Wiggly. Now she’s fat.” She wags her head, confirming her assessment of poor Peggy. “Peggy, Piggy.” She laughs at her own joke and snorts. “And for that matter, here’s proof that I’m not fat.” She crosses her arms and grabs the hem of her tank top then pulls it up over her belly button.
I quickly stop her. I’ve daydreamed about her doing this for me, but not on the steps and definitely not inebriated.
“Hey now. I believe you. This isn’t necessary.”
“Pffft.” Okay, that confirms the as-drunk-as-a-skunk assumption I had. I need to get her up to her room fast and make her brush her teeth. She misses a step and tumbles into her living room, crashing into the couch. At least we made it.
This is a bad idea, but I sit on the couch next to her, anyway. “You’re not supposed to do this, or you’ll lose all the money.”
Andie stares off, and when she looks me in the eye, I can see how glassy her eyes are. “Oops.” She laughs, which turns into a whimper, then a full-blown crying jag. She slumps down, rests her head on my shoulder, and pats my thigh. That feels too perfect.
“What’s the matter?”
After a beat of silence, she asks, “Do you think I’m lonely?”
Well, yes, I do, but she doesn’t want to hear that right now. “I don’t know. I don’t know you very well.”
She rubs her cheek on my shoulder, back and forth as though she’s trying to find the right spot. Her bottom lip sticks out. “Mrs. Cavanaugh thinks I’m lonely and that’s why I drink.”
Mrs. Cavanaugh is wise. “Is it?”
She bolts up and stumbles to the bathroom. With a toothbrush in her mouth, she mumbles, “I got lots of friends in Boston. Already made some here too.”
She spits in the sink, grabs a crumpled piece of paper off the kitchen table, and tumbles back into the living room. When she sits next to me, she melts into my side, and before I can stop myself, I put my arm around her and lean back on the couch. She snuggles in with me. It feels right, as if we’ve done this a thousand times before.
“You can still be lonely.”
She rests her head back, and all I want to do is kiss her neck. It’s there for the taking. Apparently, she can’t see what she does to me.
“Is that answer listed in the city manual?” she asks.
Andie makes me laugh, and I kiss her silky, fruity-smelling hair. I shouldn’t have done that. She should push me away because I want to do it again and again. “But it’s true.”
She shrugs and flips her hair off her shoulder, exposing more of her delectable neck. Crap. “Maybe she’s right, but until she started harassing me, I didn’t care. Can you arrest her for harassment?”
“No, sweetie, I can’t. But why do you care now?”
“Because when all my ‘acquaintances’...” She makes air quotes with her fingers and leans more into me then places a hand on my upper thigh. Jesus. “They’ll find out about the money; they will all want to be best buddies with me.” She turns abruptly, and her resting hand moves way too close to my groin. “When I needed a job, were they around? Nope. When I needed a loan, were they around? Nope.”
“And you don’t want to share with them.”
Andie runs her hand down the side of my face. I clear my throat.
“I don’t want to waste it on them.”
As much as I don’t want to, I take her hand away from my face and hold both of them. That seems to be the best place to have them so they don’t get any closer to my fun zone. She’s drunk, and I’m not going there again with any girl. “You could do something worthwhile with it.”
She groans and focuses on the floor. Then she wipes a tear from her face and licks her lips. “I don’t even like the taste of alcohol anymore.” All of a sudden, she doesn’t sound drunk. She sounds completely with it. She sniffles and holds up the wadded piece of paper with a pink gingham-checked border. “See what I found in one of Granny’s photo albums?” She smooths out the wrinkles and hands it to me. “A note from me to Granny.” She pokes at the page. “By the date on it, I would have been in middle school.” She shoves it toward me. “Go on. Read it.”
I clear my throat. “Granny, I don’t know why you hate my mother so much, but leave us alone. She doesn’t want to hear from you again, and neither do I.” I peek over at Andie, who works her teeth over her bottom lip. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. But there’s one little fly in the ointment. That’s the stationery Granny sent me one year for my birthday, but this note is typed, and the scribbled signature is not mine.”
“No way.”
She snatches it away from me and wads it into a ball. “Thinking back, that’s about the time Mom told me Granny was dead. She lied to us both.”
My heart breaks for Andie. She missed out on a chance to have a real relationship with her grandmother. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say. I’m angry with a person I’ve never met. I’m sad for Miss Mary Grace because she wanted to know her granddaughter in the worst way. And this selfish act, for whatever reason, ruined it for everyone.
“I’m sorry.”
Andie snorts. “Not your fault.” She stares off into the corner of the room and, for the longest time, stays silent. Then she takes a deep breath and turns back to me. “I am so lonely.”
She curls into me, and her bare leg brushes mine. I can’t hold back anymore. I cup her face in my hands and raise it until she’s peering into my eyes. I wipe a tear off her cheek.
Leaning in, I whisper, “You don’t have to be. I’m right here.” At first, my lips barely touch hers. It’s not nearly enough. My hands roam down her arms and rest on her waist. I slide a hand under her tank top to feel her burning-hot skin. She lets out a sigh and runs her hands up my chest. When she kisses me, it’s just another light, feathery peck. I can’t take it anymore, so I run my hands higher and pull her closer to me. My lips press against hers, and she moves with me. Suddenly, a skimpy tank top and panties are way too much clothing for me. My lips leave a trail down her neck, and I curse the days I’ve lost thinking about this moment. But it’s not supposed to be this way. She’s not supposed to be drunk.
Then I get a vision of her waving goodbye, leaving town with her convertible loaded down. Even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I push her away from me. Both of us breathe as if we’ve been running a marathon, and her lips are so perfectly swollen. Her hair is a gorgeous mess.
“We shouldn’t do this.” I stand up to put some distance between us. “Uh, we shouldn’t do this.” I pace the living room, trying to find the words, trying to keep myself from diving back in and pressing her into the couch with me on top of her.
She plays with a loose string on her tank top. “I’m sorry.”
It’s not a great idea to touch her again, but I hold out a hand to help her stand. “I’m not sorry in the least. It’s not the right time. That’s all.”
She bows her head and wipes another stray tear away. “You don’t want me like that, do you? You’re so perfect, and I’m a hot mess. I bet you’ve never even gotten a parking ticket.”
Her words make me freeze. She has no idea how imperfect I am. I turn around and hold her face in my hands again then give her one last kiss on the lips. Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that. “You are not a hot mess. And if your blood-alcohol level wasn’t so high, I would show you how not sorry I am.”
She chews on her lip. I wish I were doing that.
“I won’t tell anyone about your little slipup, especially your attorney. We all mess up sometimes.”
Some more than others.
I kiss her cheek. I have to touch her and kiss her. Leaving is harder than I thought it would be. “I’ll lock your door on my way out.”
She blows out a breath.
“See you soon, sugar?”
She clears her throat and paints on that fake, beauty-pageant smile. “Of course.”
I wave and jog down the stairs. If I don’t leave now, I’ll still be here in the morning, and that tank top will be ripped to shreds.