Page 4 of Playing for Keeps
A giggle erupted and she slapped a hand over her mouth. Then she realized she was the only one in the room to hear it and pulled her hand away. His response was definitely not what she’d expected.
Rylan: That’s what relaxes you?
GCSports18: Yup. But I wasn’t finished. The beer and the paper bring me down from the day at work, but then the warmth of your mouth covering me immediately takes my attention away from the paper. And I look down to see your pretty face staring up at me.
Rylan froze. Well, she went totally still. She was already pretty chilly thanks to the drafty old windows in this place.
Rylan: You don’t know how I look.
She cringed the minute she typed those words because she realized how silly they were considering the tone of this conversation. Surely her looks didn’t matter in this fantasy they were developing. Not that she wasn’t pretty, but it just didn’t matter because they had never seen each other and had never discussed seeing each other.
GCSports18: We can change that. Let’s meet.
Why in the hell had he typed that?
Del ran a hand down his face and shook his head. He was sitting in the black leather recliner across the room from his king-size bed. It was quiet. That was the reason he’d purchased this house at the far end of town, away from the business of Main Street and the traffic of the highway. Normally, that was what he loved most about this place. Tonight, not so much.
He didn’t want to meet MercedesGirl926. His statement to her was ridiculous. Del wasn’t looking for a woman. Despite his friends’ crude jokes to the contrary, he was not in a perpetually bad mood because of his sexual drought. For one, not having sex in the last six months was a choice, not an affliction. His last affair had lasted exactly five dates, two of which ended at a hotel. After that, business had become the priority and there hadn’t been time—or the inclination, he admitted only to himself—to search for companionship.
Yet every night for the last five days he’d come home from the bar, taken a shower, grabbed a beer and sat down in this chair with his phone in hand. The conversations with MercedesGirl926 had become the highlight of his evenings. But they were only words on a screen, nothing more.
He checked the phone. Ten minutes had passed and she hadn’t responded. Del set the phone on the small table beside the recliner and stood. He took the few steps to the window and looked out to the tall trees just about hidden by the darkness. This was part of his nightly ritual too. If he thought about it too deeply, he’d admit that his personal life was as dark as the scenery. It hadn’t always been that way, but Del was a big believer in karma, so he’d resigned himself to take his penance in whatever form it came.
The piercing buzz of his house alarm being set off yanked his attention from what couldn’t be changed and Del immediately headed to the oak nightstand on the right side of his bed. He opened the bottom drawer and retrieved the Glock he kept there. In seconds he was across the room, his back against the wall, safety released on the gun held tightly in his right hand.
When the alarm continued to blare throughout the house, Del took the stairs, both arms held straight down in front of him as his hands gripped the gun. The moment his bare feet touched the floor in the front hallway, Del raised his arms and pointed the gun at the back of the person standing a few feet in front of him. Before he could make his standard, “turn around slowly with your hands up,” command, a sense of familiarity hit him.
Lance spun around with his gun drawn.
“Remember we used to cops and robbers in the backyard,” his twin brother said, a huge grin spreading across his face.
“I carry real bullets now,” Del snapped and relaxed his stance before re-engaging the gun’s safety mode. “Why the hell can’t you remember the alarm code? I made it simple enough that you and Camy could never forget it.”
He moved to the control panel beside the front door and punched in their mother’s birthday.
“Forgot,” Lance said from behind. “Got a lot on my mind tonight.”
When the alarm was once again engaged, Del locked the door and turned to face his brother. He didn’t bother asking Lance what was on his mind because he was certain he already knew. Their mother had loved the holiday season. The early years of their childhood were filled with huge Thanksgiving dinners with family coming from several east coast states to share with them and Christmas steeped in tradition and town festivities. After their father’s untimely death from pneumonia when Del and Lance were eleven years and Camy was eight, their mother had worked even harder to keep the same celebratory feel to the season. Sometimes it worked. More times it didn’t. Lance and Del both hated this time of year for similar, yet different reasons, but the common ground was their mother.
“Come on, let’s get some coffee,” Del said and headed for the kitchen.
“Don’t want any,” Lance replied. “I’m just going to accept the invitation to use your guest bedroom and pass out.”
Lance was already on the stairs, one hand gripping the railing tightly as he attempted to navigate lifting one leg after another, the other hand still holding his gun. Del shook his head and went to his brother’s side.
“You won’t make it to the bed without hurting yourself or shooting a hole in my wall,” Del told him as he relieved his brother of the gun.
“Hey, that’s mine,” Lance complained.
“I’ll tuck it in bed beside you,” Del told him.
He slid an arm around Lance’s waist and felt his brother lean into him as they took the stairs together.
“You’re a good guy, Del,” Lance said, his words slightly slurred. “Fuck those DOJ idiots for everything they said about you. They don’t know squat.”
“Yeah,” Del said even though the last thing he wanted to talk about tonight was the demise of his illustrious career as a DEA agent. “We’ll get you into bed and I guess I’m taking your early shift at the bar tomorrow.”
“The bar,” Lance echoed as they walked into the bedroom across the hall from Del’s. “Our bar.”
