Page 54 of The Contractor's Rose
“What?” he asked, suspicious.
I cleared my throat and fought the grin threatening my face. “I think I need a ride, and do you not wear underwear?”
He narrowed his eyes. “To your apartment? And sometimes.”
“Yep. And then …” I held up my phone, flashing the screen at him. “To go pick upmycriminal.”
“‘G’s D,’ huh?” he said, smirking and crossing his arms.
I was going to kill Elodie for this, because right now I would definitely like a replay of ‘G’s D.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
GAVIN
I’d picturedthe morning after finally getting my fill of Rose a hundred different ways. Most of them ended with her in my bed, my mouth somewhere between her thighs, and breakfast on a tray that I’d happily set aside and let get cold just long enough to make her come again.
Not one of those fantasies included hauling ass out of the house before I could even make her coffee—just so I could go bail my adult daughter out of jail.
With her ex–best friend.
Who just so happened to now be best friends withmy… what? Girlfriend? Lover? The woman I was balls-deep in less than twelve hours ago?
This wasn’t normal. Not even close. But as I pulled into the sheriff’s station and glanced over at Rose adjusting the hem of her sundress—still flushed from our quick detour at her apartment—I couldn’t help but laugh to myself.
What the hell was my life?
She’d been nervous we would run into her parents at the office when we stopped to change her clothes. But in classicCarter fashion, they weren’t there. Was she always so … alone?
We did spend a few minutes walking through the store before we left, though. I wanted her to see the progress. The fans were gone, the space was aired out, and most of the drywall was already cut and hauled out. My crew had started sealing the interior framing and laying insulation. They’d told me the longest part would be refinishing the floors and resetting the walls—but if everything stayed on track, the bookstore should be fully restored in another three weeks.
That was a damn miracle, considering what it had looked like the day I walked in and found her crying on the floor. And the day after that … yeah—maybe I should’ve told my guys to start drying the place out that night. Maybe we’d be further along if I had. But the truth was, I didn’t give a shit about the floors or the walls. Not then.
I cared about her.
I got out first and circled around the front of the truck, opening the passenger door for Rose. On the walk up to the station, my hand found the small of her back out of instinct, but I kept it brief. Just enough to guide her inside the building without lingering too long.
No need to give Monson a reason to squint at us harder than he already would.
The second we stepped into the station, Sheriff Monson’s eyes flicked up from behind the desk. He gave us both a once-over. Not the casual kind, either. The kind that said he knew exactly what we’d been doing last night.
Fuck.
“Morning,” I offered, keeping my voice neutral.
He nodded in response. I knew he wasn’t a morning person from all the years we’d been friends. He was a man offew words but when he spoke, we all listened, because there was no man who cared more about his people and small town than him. He lifted a bag from the counter and tossed it to me. Teagan’s purse and phone.
“Figured I’d give her the full experience since she was the drunk, unruly one,” he said drily. “Let her sweat it out without her comforts. You’re welcome.”
“Appreciate it,” I muttered, adjusting the bag in my grip.
Rose stepped forward, a wrinkle between her brows. “And Elodie?”
Monson tapped a button on the phone sitting on the front desk.
A second later, a familiar voice crackled through the speaker. “You've reached dispatch. This is Deputy Anderson. Go ahead.”
Rose nearly choked on her laugh and I had to turn my head to hide mine.
