Muffin Top

“That seemed to be what really broke things up, at least according to what I overheard my mom telling her friends during one of my very rare trips to visit her in Harbor City. It’s why she always kept her distance, why when I did visit we never went anywhere but her apartment, and why the only photos she had of me were always cropped so you never saw all of me beyond my face shot from an upward angle to slim me down a bit. Could you imagine having a child you were that ashamed of?”

His gut clenched as he watched her chin tremble. Then she quickly turned her face away from him and began to blink away the moisture in her eyes that she hadn’t been fast enough to hide. Frankie knew it wasn’t right to think ill of the dead, but Lucy’s mom was a right royal bitch for ever putting that thought in an impressionable girl’s head. He was up before he thought about it, standing next to her and drawing her up.

“Their divorce wasn’t your fault,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

She laid her head on his shoulder, and a small sigh escaped. “But I didn’t help.”

“People’s actions and reactions are on them, not on you,” he said, pulling her in close and holding her tight for all the times her mom should have but didn’t. “Your dad was right. You can’t change other people, only yourself.”

They stayed that way long enough for it to turn from comforting to something else as her nimble fingers snuck under the hem of his shirt and started to explore his lower back. “Smart and sexy, you’re a double threat, Frankie Hartigan.”

“Correction,” he said, picking her up and carrying her inside. “I’m a triple threat—and the fact that you failed to mention that means I need to give you a reminder course in the bedroom so you don’t forget again.”

And they almost made it all of the way there before they’d lost all their clothes.

…

After their breakfast, which had left her kitchen a disaster, and her day-long lesson in orgasms, flirty text exchanges were pretty much the highlight of her days at work. On the nights he wasn’t on shift, the texting usually ended with Frankie knocking on her door, armed with dinner or his Netflix password. They never seemed to make it out of her apartment, but considering how quickly they usually got naked, she didn’t give it much thought.

She’d had to cancel tonight, though, after Zach Blackburn, got arrested for punching out a fan—well, not one of his, obviously—and Lucy had to go earn the big bucks. Well, medium-sized bucks. Peon bucks compared to the millions Zach was bringing home if she could get him out of his latest snafu—which put her at odds with Frankie’s schedule, since he was still taking a few extra shifts to cover for the guy who’d gotten injured.

Frankie: Still on that bed with your legs wide?

Lucy: I wish. I’m still in the office. It’s gonna be a really late and professionally frustrating Friday night. Sorry.

Frankie: They never should have signed that jackass.

Lucy: Don’t you start, I need someone in my corner.

Frankie: I’m always there.

Lucy: xo

Frankie: See you at Gina’s and Ford’s party Saturday?

Lucy: With bells on.

Frankie: That gives me some new ideas to curl up with while I’m missing you.

Lucy: Got a lot of those?

Frankie: So many I had to start a list. Hope you have the next few months open.

Lucy: Perfect motivation to get Zach back on Harbor City’s good side.

Frankie: Good luck with that.

Lucy: My six-pack of Mountain Dew just got here. Armed and ready to go do battle.

Frankie: Kick their asses and leave them scared.

Lucy: Always.

Okay, not always, but her track record was solid.

“One of your media sources send you good news?” Zach asked from his spot in what he called the naughty chair in the corner of her office farthest away from her desk.

“No, why do you ask?” she asked, checking the messages on her phone again in hopes of a silver lining to this shit cloud.

“Because you usually only look that happy when you’ve fixed whatever I fucked up.”

Lucy focused her attention on the tatted-up, bearded player who, despite what the tabloids said about him, was actually a big teddy bear—one with a mean right hook and an even worse temper. Okay, so maybe teddy bear was the wrong description. Maybe grizzly bear napping? Very cute until someone woke it up, then a fucking nightmare.

“Maybe, Zachary Elliot Blackburn,” she said, using his full name, which always managed to stop even her most pain-in-the-ass clients in their tracks, “if you stop being such a jackhole, you wouldn’t be needing my services so much.”

He stuffed almost the entire white cheddar rice cake into his mouth. “Can I just buy you season tickets instead?” he asked, the words coming out barely understandable.