Page 25 of Man Cuffed
I don’t see Meg again for a couple of days. Or, rather, night shifts. Probably a good thing, too. There’s just something about her that makes me crazy. I don’t know if it’s her knowing smile, or her walk. She has swagger, with a side of attitude. I can’t get enough.
Every now and then, I imagine walking into my sister’s wedding with Trouble on my arm. In my mind, she’s wearing something silky and clingy and her nipples are alert beneath the fabric.
I shake that thought off.
And adjust myself.
Ahem.
Now it’s Sunday, and my day off. I’m drinking coffee out of a mug that reads:My bark is worse than my bite. My sister, Rosie, gave it to me for Christmas. She’s on some kind of mission to convince me not to be so grumpy.
By the time you hit thirty-five, though, I’m not sure these things can be changed.
These are my thoughts as I take my famous lemon coffee cake out of the oven and set it on the counter to cool.
The coffee cake is for my sister, at least indirectly. She’s having a bridal shower today. The wordsbridal showerpretty much make my balls wither and retreat into my body. But I love my sister so I promised to stop by.
The coffee cake needs to cool for ten minutes or so before I can unmold it from the bundt pan. That gives me just the right amount of time to make the glaze, except for one problem. When I pick up the canister, there’s only a trace of sugar left inside.
Fuck.
I suppose a coffee cake doesn’t really need a glaze. But it’s just so damn good with the lemony, sugary topping. My mouth waters a little just imagining it. But I really don’t feel like running all the way to the store right now.
There’s one other possible solution, though. A solution with long, tawny legs that have been walking through my dreams all week. And big brown eyes that are always wearing a sassy expression.
Before I can think better of this idea, I open the screen door to my deck, where the radio has been playing all morning. I’ve been vaguely aware of it as I make my coffee cake.
If by “vaguely” you mean that I’ve spent the last hour picturing my neighbor sunning herself in a tiny little bikini.
The truth is that my side of the fence has been awfully quiet this week. Nicole left three days ago, moving back into her freshly painted apartment. I never bothered to call her out on her extracurricular activities in my guest room. There was really no point. We shook hands when she left, agreeing that our thing had run its course.
I did vacuum really well, though. And thereweredog hairs, dammit.
Lately, when I’m trying to sleep at night, it’s not Nicole who’s keeping me awake. It’s a certain perky actor with boundary issues and a big attitude.
That attitude really gets me going.
So here I am standing on the deck like an idiot, wondering how to get her attention. “Hey, Trouble!” I call. “Meg!”
I hear the scrape of a chair as someone rises. With my luck, it will be someone else over there today. She probably has a big brother who is going to wonder why a guy is yelling over the fence like a loon.
But no. Her beautiful face pops over the top of the fence a moment later, earrings swinging, smile wide. “Officer? Is there a problem? I’ve been a very good girl.”
I choke back a groan. If only she could repeat that statement in my bed. Under me.
“Um…” She must be standing on something right now, and it bugs me that she’s now taller than I am. So I overturn a metal flower pot that my sister gave me and step up onto it. Now her bottomless brown eyes are level with mine. “Can I borrow a cup of sugar?”
Her smile grows mischievous. “Is that a euphemism? Please say yes.”
I laugh suddenly, and the sound is like a rusty engine coming to life. “No, it’s not a euphemism. I’m legit baking a cake and I ran out of sugar for the glaze.”
She sniffs the air. “Ooh lemons.”
“Exactly. You gotta use fresh, or it’s no good.”
Meg considers me. “You are a study in contrasts, Copper. I might have some sugar, come around to the front door while I check.”
“Yes ma’am.”
