Twelve of Roses

“Motherfucker,” I muttered as the bell chimed again. Angrily flinging the heavy oak door open, I planted a hand on my hip, not giving a flying fuck that the only thing I had on was a thong and tank top. They were the ones at my door, after all.

All that boldness disappeared the instant I saw who it was.

“Max?”

Now wide awake, I stared at him, taking a quick inventory of the coffee carrier in his hands and a small brown bag. I’d expected to see the guy around town a time or two, maybe. He wasn’t supposed to show up at my doorstep.

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” he drawled, a huge grin on his face.

He smelled amazing and looked even better, wearing a simple white T-shirt that fit him like a glove, and dark denim jeans. But not even his good looks and southern accent could ease my discomfort.

“How do you know where I live?” I questioned, peering over his shoulder.

“Oh, I live across the lane.” He jerked his head in the direction of the large house, his smile never faltering.

“Just wait until you see the guy next door,” were the exact words the realtor had said.

“Oh my god.” I couldn’t help but laugh. What better way was there to meet the neighbor than letting him bend you over the hood of your car?

“I saw you pull the sign out of the yard the day you moved in. I was getting ready to head to work,” he confessed.

“And you were all the way at Gooskis because…?”

“It’s the only dive in town.”

His reasoning was the exact same as mine; I couldn’t find fault in it. We eyed one another for a few silent beats. He looked at me like the sun was orbiting my face. I wasn’t sure if I was flattered or uncomfortable.

“Come in.” Shaking my head, I turned and headed for the kitchen, peeking over my shoulder to make sure he was following. Of course, his eyes were locked on my ass. He quickly looked away when he saw me watching him, glancing everywhere else but back at me. Smothering a laugh, I shook my head, deciding not to make a big deal about it.

I knew it was impossible not to notice the major lack of furniture, the walls that desperately needed painting, and the overall depressing state of the house, but Max, being the gentleman I pegged him for, didn’t say a word.

“So, why didn’t you introduce yourself sooner?” I asked as we entered the kitchen, gesturing to the round wooden table for us to sit at.

“I didn’t think I’d see you at Gooskis,” he replied with a shrug, leaving out the rest of our nightly festivities.

“This is for you.” He sat one of the coffees in front of me and pulled a large blueberry muffin from the brown bag.

“Thank you.” I flashed him a smile, happily accepting my coffee and sweet.

“You don’t want to put some clothes on?” he checked, eyeing me with a smile.

An unladylike snort flew from my nose. “You just saw my bare, naked ass on the way in here. Is it bothering you all of a sudden?”

“No, you have a great ass. I was just making sure.”

This guy.

“So, what is it you do, exactly?” I inquired after swallowing my fifth bite.

“I’m a detective.”

Seriously?

I choked on my muffin until my eyes watered, cursing the hot coffee that burned my tongue as I desperately attempted to wash it down.

“Since when do detectives fuck girls in parking lots?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I must have missed the memo that said I can’t like pussy,” he deadpanned.

I laughed at his bluntness. He was kind of a cocky asshole. “Isn’t that a little bit cliché? A small-town cop a detective of all things?” I asked, playing off my surprised reaction.

He gave me an amused look.

“Isn’t it just as cliché for a woman to move to a small town and fall in love with said attractive detective?

Fall in love? I fought the urge to crinkle my nose.

“That was actually pretty smooth, but I won’t be falling in love with anyone.” That’s for damn sure, I mentally added.

“It’s too late; you already are.”

He gave me a shit-eating grin, linking his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankle.

“Am I?”

“Uh huh. We’re well on our way to becoming best friends this very second. Soon, you’ll be spilling all your secrets.”

All I could do was scoff at him. He had no idea who I really was, and it had to stay that way.

“I kind of feel like you should have asked me all of this last night,” he joked. “I have my identification in the car if you want to see it. And if you still don’t believe me, you can call the station and ask about me whenever you want,” he stated lazily. “My last name is Harrison, for the record.”