Page 22 of Best of Me

The rest of the evening passes quickly as I chat with parents and students alike, and by the time I flip the lights off and close my door, I’m so excited for the first day of school that even thoughts of a certain hot, broody cop can’t dampen my mood.

Apparently, it seems I spoke too soon, because when I get home and check my phone, there’s a text from an unknown number waiting for me.

Unknown: When can we meet?

I know it’s Duke, and my stomach churns. I don’t know if it’s anticipation, anger, or nerves that has me so keyed up—probably a little of all three. He kissed me—twice—and then has the balls to wait ten days before contacting me.Seriously, who freaking does that?Duke Kincaid, that’s who. Quickly, I save his number and reply.

Me: Did you get an enema?

Duke: …the fuck?

Me: I’m just saying. Your head was pretty far up there. I figure you had to have help dislodging it.

Duke: Ha ha, you’re a real riot, Cricket.

Me: And you’re a real charmer, calling me an insect.

Duke: Well, you do *bug* me.

Me: Who’s the comedian now? Oh, wait, no, not you.

Duke: I swear to God, you make me crazy.

Me: HA! You’re one to talk, Mr. Hot and Cold. How you can go from semi-normal to a raging dick in the blink of an eye is beyond me.

Duke: All I’m hearing is I’m hot and you think about my dick.

I almost drop my phone after I read his last text—but really, he’s only proving my point that he’s unhinged. I mean, who says that kind of shit to someone they hardly know? While he’s not unsolicited-dick-pic bad, his texting etiquette leaves much to be desired. I’m in the middle of tapping out a text, tearing him a new one when an incoming message pings through.

Duke: JFC, ignore that last text. Nate took my phone. Jackass.

Me: A likely story—or maybe your true colors are shining through.

Me: And by true colors, I mean, your CRAZY is showing.

Duke: You know what, never mind.

I sigh, knowing I’m going to have to be the bigger person, because while Officer Kincaid can dish it, he certainly can’t take it.

Me: Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m free all week and this weekend, just let me know when and where.

Duke: Saturday, my place, noon.

Me: Uh…your place?

Duke: Yes, Mallory. My place. I’ll text you the address.

I know sometimes tone can get lost in a text, but his annoyance is coming through loud and clear. The thought of going to his house kind of terrifies me. But walking into the lion’s den is a small price to pay for us to try to clear the air.

chapter thirteen

Mallory

As promised, Duke sent me his address this morning. Now, here I am, idling in his driveway, trying to convince myself that this isn’t a bad idea, that everything’s going to be okay, that it’s totally logical to meet here, where we’ll be secluded and alone.

From the safety of my car, I take in his house. It’s so different from what I imagined that I’m kind of speechless. In my mind, Duke lived in some kind of ultra-modern bachelor pad. In reality, he lives in a charming modern farmhouse. Painted white brick at the base gives way to wide planks of the same hue. The window frames and gutters are black, creating a pop of visual interest. The house also has a large brick paver-style porch that wraps around the left side of the house. The front door is a gorgeous mahogany color with a large transom window.

All too easily, a picture forms in my mind of Duke and me relaxing in oversized rockers, sipping on sweet tea while our children play in the generously sized front yard.What the heck? Where did that come from?

---