Lucky Baby (Crescent Cove 11)

I just had to reach for them.

“Tish, I’m not going anywhere.”

My hands fisted against his back, but he didn’t let go. Finally, I relaxed against him, silent tears replacing the storm.

Gently, he rocked me until the sky started to lighten. Then he simply laid down, taking me with him.

His fingers were a tender brush along my naked back. And again, I fell asleep.

Except this time, I was wrapped around him.

Thirteen

The ride home wasn’t exactly what I expected. After the previous night, I’d thought we were past one of the blocks between us.

I was very wrong.

She didn’t say much more than five words to me. Three of them declaring her need for coffee. McDonald’s saved the day again. After a belly full of coffee and tasty McMuffin sandwiches, we spent two and half hours listening to Asher Wainwright scare the crap out of us with his podcast.

I turned onto her road. We’d been halfway home to start, and she’d nudged me to leave barely past dawn. It was early enough that mist was still clinging to the lake. My eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, but my body was charged on truly excellent sex and Mickey D’s.

I drove around to the barn. Before I even came to a stop, she was unclipping her belt and grabbing her bag.

“Gonna jump out before I put her in park?”

She shot me a guilt-filled look over her shoulder. “I’m tired and need a shower and a real bathroom.”

I turned toward her. “I’m ready to find a shower too, but you don’t think we should talk about last night?”

This wasn’t my usual role. Typically, I was the one strolling away before a woman could ask if I wanted to talk about “where we are.” I never did.

Overnight, I’d become a man eager to discuss feelings and crochet tea cozies.

Or beer cozies. Was that a thing? I could start the trend, assuming I could figure out how to crochet. There was always YouTube.

“It was what it was.”

I knew she was still embarrassed about crying. Didn’t make her words any less of a direct hit. “It was more than just a tumble and you know it.”

Her shoulders hunched.

“Didn’t take you for a

coward, Tish.”

She swung open the door and slid out. “You don’t know me.” She shook back all that viking red hair. “Let’s just keep it business.”

The jab cut deep. “You got it.”

She’d barely closed the door before I was reversing and kicking up gravel in my haste. My fingers throbbed with my grip on the steering wheel, and my tires chirped as I turned onto Lake Street. I fishtailed, gunning my engine to get away from her place.

If I’d been paying fucking attention, I would have caught Crescent Cove’s finest before blasting by. The whoop-whoop of a siren was followed by red and blue lights flashing in my rearview. “Goddammit. Just what I need.”

Throwing on my blinker, I pulled over to the curb. I slapped open my glove box and Ruby’s trail mix tumbled out. I tossed it in my backseat with a growl and dug out my registration and insurance.

When I straightened, the newest addition to Crescent Cove’s police department was standing by my window.

Deputy Brady McNeill’s usually affable expression had been replaced with stern lines. We’d hung out a few times on the rooftop of Caleb’s place, but a job was a job. I was driving like an asshole, and that was on me.