Page 20 of Last First Love
His mouth twitches. "Try not to sound so enthusiastic when you ask questions like that." Then his head drops back and he sighs like his soul is about to leave his body. "Nah. There's nothing going on, so there's less than nothing to talk about."
I give him a hard side eye. "Look, we're going to talk about this later. You, me, and Elliott. Probably Abernathy too if he ever stops being so whipped by the Lieutenant."
Aaron laughs. "You'd like to be whipped by the Lieutenant."
I blow out a harsh laugh. "Definitely not my type. I prefer someone a little less like my boss and good friend's fiancée. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer to keep to my own woman."
"Your own woman huh? You'd better show her that."
I nod decisively. "You bet your ass I'm going to. I can definitely seal the deal with her now that I know about the Grand Gesture."
Aaron laughs, but well. He's kind of a jerk like that sometimes.
Lily
It's dinner time by the time the Girl Club breaks for the night. And it's mostly because people are trickling into Riddles and messing up our private semi-drunken celebration and commiseration session. I mean, big hooray for Darcy and true love and everything, but also, I want to go home and curl up into a ball and watch some bad television.
The other possibility is I could go find that asshat Daniels and punch him. At least, that was K.T.'s suggestion. She actually laughed at me when I told her I wasn't really the punching type and then she told me she could teach me how to become one.
It seems like she's sort of adopted me and is ready to indoctrinate me in her ways of badassery. Hopefully this means I do a better job of standing up for myself with the next guy who tries to boss me around and not in that fun way. I’d like to put a good scare into the next mansplainer in my life instead of having our interactions leaving me wanting to curl up in a little ball of sad.
But no. I'm not going to be a ball of sad about Daniels or his big stupid guy mouth with all the kissing in it. I'm amazing, and I'm not going to let any man convince me otherwise, no matter how bumpy his abs are.
I make it inside but am still debating about what bad television to watch when there's a scuffle at my front door. Well, that's more than a little creepy. I mean, it's still broad daylight and I'm about ninety percent sure my front door is locked, but there's no good reason for anyone to be at my place at this particular moment.
The closest guess I have is Elliott, but I happen to know he's on shift. That's half the reason we were supposed to have lunch together, because I wasn't going to see him until Sunday dinner otherwise. Well, that turned into a giant pile of crap. Crap with two legs, washboard abs, and a beard that was soft and a little bit ticklish against my face.
I press my fingers to my lips in memory of that scorching hot kiss. I'd been dying for him to notice me all those years ago, and I must not be completely over it because that's the only explanation possible for the way I ended up pressing myself against him and moaning into his mouth. Right there in Riddles in front of K.T. and anyone else who might have stopped in.
The only good thing about the entire trip to Riddles was the burger. Well, that and the newly founded Girls Club.
Darcy, it turned out, is absolutely amazing. She'd even told me that she didn't feel at home in her own skin either until Abernathy had shown her that she was absolutely perfect the way she was. Turns out that even beautiful badass women get the blues.
I listen extra hard for the sounds of more scuffling at the front door, but when I don't hear anything, I figure it must have been a raccoon. It seems a bit early in the day for all that, but stranger things have happened.
Time to pick out a serial killer documentary and curl up under a blanket for the night. I may not be a big ball of sad tonight over the idiot Ken Daniels, but I am certainly going to watch a little true crime on television. Just in case I need to dispose of a body.
Who would have thought that I'd be the type to watch murder shows? Well, anybody who talked to me for more than five minutes I guess. I'm an armchair detective in the making. Maybe I'll write a murder mystery where the local hot firefighter ends up going missing after he trifles with the pretty, extremely successful and intelligent female photographer.
I sigh and curl up smaller under my snuggly blanket. Not likely, but it does make me feel a little less sour about the whole thing.
Stupid Daniels and my entirely stupid hormones.
And then, the scuffling resumes, followed by a loud thunk at the front door. This time, it's followed by a creative burst of swearing in a distinctly male voice. Holy crap, am I being robbed? Am I about to be murdered or something? Surely my nosy neighbor Mrs. Stefnagel would have called me by now to warn me about any impending criminal activity.
My pulse is racing, beating furiously in my throat and ringing in my ears. There has to be something to do other than panic and feel helpless. I turn off the lights and slid toward the door to try to peek out the peephole.
There's definitely something bizarre going on all over my front porch. A big, tall man is facing away from me, his t-shirt stretched across the acres of muscles all over his sexy back.
I'd recognize that body anywhere, even if I hadn't taken shirtless pictures of it this morning. Even if I hadn't hungrily run my fingers all over it earlier this afternoon.
Ken Daniels is on my front porch. And he's definitely up to no good. But what sort of fresh humiliation is he cooking up for me now?
I pat my stomach, but it's behaving itself right now and is keeping quiet.
I guess I could slip off into my bedroom and pretend not to be home whenever he works up the nerve to let me know what he's doing out there. But chances are he's already noticed that my television was on and he definitely isn't the type of man to give up and go away easily.
I lean against the door and sort through my options. If hiding is out of the question, then maybe I could sneak out the side door and slide into my car. I could probably make a getaway before he even knew what was happening.
