Page 21 of What Hurts Us

Falls Creek was about as small as small towns got. When the population of livestock to people was three-to-one, most folks knew everyone’s business. All that meant was that I had to be careful about who I asked for information when it came to MissMousavi. Especially if I was going to pull off this charade.

I drummed my fingers on the lip of the countertop on my side of the glass. “She checked in last night. I was hoping to surprise her this morning.” I lifted the bag from The Copper Mule I’d picked up on my way across town.

Janet raised a salt and pepper eyebrow. “Surprise her?”

I shrugged sheepishly as though I was a middle school kid trying to woo the love of his life with a wild daisy picked at the bus stop.

Apparently, the assumed romantic gesture was enough for Janet. She cocked her head to the left. “8B. Third room from the end. There was a ‘do not disturb’ sign hangin’ on the door when I went out into the lot for my smoke break.”

I mumbled my thanks and moseyed down the sidewalk, dodging the housekeeping cart, vacuums, and piles of linens dropped on the concrete.

8B loomed in front of me. And, like Janet warned, a warped do not disturb sign mocked me, daring me to test her goodwill.

She already shot you down for a drink, man. Cut your losses and figure this shit out some other way.

Instead of heeding the voice of reason, I ignored the sign and knocked on the door.

A muffled thump preceded a yelp and shattering glass. Two seconds later, the door swung open. Layla appeared in skin-tight shorts and a hoodie with a skull and crossbones design that read,Death smiles at everyone, nurses smile back. Silky black hair was tied in a knot on top of her head, and it looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.

Her murderous expression was replaced with surprise. “Officer Fletcher.” Her gaze cut down to my hip where, I assumed, she was looking for my badge.

I tipped my chin down. “Morning.” It was all I could get out. I’d rehearsed this speech twenty times since watching her apartment complex get raided, but one look at her—all strong muscles, tight ass, full lips, and wide eyes—and my brain turned to gravy.

She crossed her arms, pushing her hip out to the side and crossing one ankle over the other as she leaned against the doorframe. I could see the lower curve of her ass peeking out of those shorts.My God.

I forced my eyes back up to her face. If I couldn’t keep my eyes and hands to myself, this plan would never work. “Do you have a minute to talk?” I asked.

Layla took a step back, ushering me into the dungeon-like room. Sunlight poured through gaping holes in the rattan shades. There was an overflowing ashtray on top of a mini fridge that was sputtering like a lawnmower. Buzzing light bulbs were exposed overhead, and shattered glass was scattered on the swatch of tile by the kitchenette.

Her laptop was open on the bed, a page full of apartment listings on the screen.

“Please tell me that you’re here to say my apartment is livable, and I can go back today.” Her plea nearly unraveled me.

I was a cold son of a bitch, but I wasn’t so much of an asshole that I wanted to flaunt her pain. I also didn’t want to crush her hope. Instead of answering, I pointed to the pile of glass shards. “What happened?”

Layla looked at the mess, eyebrows drawn in like a distressed puppy. “I was about to make a pot of coffee, and a roach ran across the floor and touched my toes.” I looked down and caught her instinctively curling them in. Her feet looked like Barbie doll feet. High arches and delicate toes all painted pink. She had the legs of a gazelle. Long and graceful, yet incredibly powerful.

I looked around at the room that seemed to have absorbed the smell of every occupant who had crossed the threshold over the last seventy years. “It, uh…” I couldn’t come up with a single nice thing to say about it, so I shut my mouth.

“Please tell me I can go back to my apartment. I can’t find a single place that’s available right now. The ones that do have openings coming up say it’ll be at least two months before the current renters are out.”

I scrubbed my palm down the side of my cheek, feeling the abrading stubble I hadn’t bothered shaving off this morning. “I’m not here on official business.”

Layla’s face fell.

“But I came by because I might have a solution to your housing problem.”

Hope flooded her face. She looked at me as if I held the sun in my hands. That look did something funny to me. I wanted to see it again.

But I couldn’t get distracted. I needed Layla to agree to a certain degree of calculated insanity. In return, I’d solve her apartment crisis.

My brows furrowed as I crossed my arms and looked her in the eye. “I need a fiancé.”

Layla stared at me as if I had just said I liked to cosplay as Lara Croft—midriff tank top, double thigh straps, and all—and burst into a gut-clenching fit of laughter.

I stood there, unwavering, until she got it out of her system. Finally, after she’d wiped her eyes and composed herself, I explained my conundrum. “Look. I’ll be the first to admit that it’s a big ask. Hell it’s downright nuts.”

“Nuts?” Layla said in a tone that was a full octave higher than her usual raspy timbre. “You think this is nuts? Officer Fletcher, that isn’t nuts. That’sinsanity.First, I tell you I don’t date cops, so you think the next step is to show up andpropose?”

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