Was he hot? Is the equator hot? Is boiling oil hot?
He’s still hot,
Laurel typed against her better judgment.
YOU’RE blonde. LOL.
And puppies were cute, but neither point was relevant. Laurel bit a big hunk of the muffin.
Hot, but insufferable. Sort of like the good-looking English teacher everyone has a crush on, but he’s oblivious to it because he sees you as kids…Russ spent the whole time telling me how stupid and naive I was for making plans to meet a man I don’t know.
And there lay her irritation with Russ Evans, besides the fact that his face had drained of blood when she brought up sex between them. His concern showed her that he was a decent, caring guy who took his job seriously. But she didn’t want him to lead her through a preschool Safety Town lesson on the dangers of the big, bad world.
She wanted him to look at her and want her. Want her like a woman. Want to drag her off into a corner and rip her clothes off. She’d come up a little short on that one.
well, screw him,
Michelle wrote.
Laurel licked a crumb off the tip of her finger and groaned. That was the problem. She wanted to do just that.
Shifting Ferris off her lap—she didn’t need any more heat down there—Laurel stood up, ripping her ponytail holder out in agitation. Wild. She was supposed to be wild.
It was time to take charge of her own life, her future. Have fun before she needed prosthetic parts.
So what would a wild woman do? Make Russ see her as a woman.
Maybe I will.
She IM’d Michelle. Then added a little devil emoticon at the end for good measure.
Being sweet was overrated. All it had gotten her was a boring wardrobe and a possible place in heaven.
Time to shake things up a little.
Chapter 4
He was starting to fixate on Laurel Wilkins.
A little poking, a little prodding, and Laurel’s address had fallen into his hands. One drive-by, and Trevor decided it had been a mistake to stand her up. But his excuse and apology appeared to have been accepted, and they were back to chatting casually again. It hadn’t been his intention to keep in touch with her or to reply to her suggestion that they meet again.
But a couple of days later and three more compulsive drives past her mini-mansion, Trevor hadn’t been able to resist e-mailing her again. Charming, cajoling, I promise I’ll be there this time, yes, definitely, let’s meet. You pick the time and place.
She hadn’t responded yet, and Trevor was feeling unusually impatient.
Even after he moved in with Jill on Saturday, he couldn’t get Laurel out of his mind. He’d bet his Cayman Island bank account that house was worth seven hundred thousand. Which meant there could be much, much more to be had in assets.
Trevor stamped his cigarette out in the metal ashtray on Jill’s faux oak coffee table. The room was cold, the windows drafty, and Jill stingy with the thermostat. She was cooking dinner for him in the tiny kitchen, slapping pots around and swearing under her breath at regular intervals. Burnt spaghetti sauce smell hovered in the air, clogging his nostrils.
He was better than this. He deserved more than this.
A million bucks in his pocket, he could leave this frozen city and lounge around Florida, take some time off. Buy some new clothes, a flat-screen TV. Quit living out of his car when he was between girlfriends.
Trevor stood up, reached for his jacket.
It was time to get to know Laurel Wilkins even better.
“Jill, honey, I’m going out for cigarettes. You need anything?”
“Get out of the car.”
Russ stared at Jerry as his partner about fell into his lap trying to pull the latch on the passenger door, opening it. “What the hell is your problem? Get off of me.”
“Get out.” Jerry reached toward his thigh.
Knocking Jerry’s hand away, Russ shifted toward the door, a little unnerved. “Anders, touch me and I’ll be forced to hit you.”
Jerry snorted and unlocked Russ’s seat belt. “You can only wish I’d cop a feel off you. Now get out of the car before I shove your dumb ass in the snow.”
Russ was clueless as to what the hell was going on. He’d just been staring out the window minding his own business, listening to Anders yap on and on about the hard time his girlfriend had given him over going to a bachelor party, when suddenly he was being tossed out of the damn car. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“You’re making me crazy, that’s what. Every day you make me drive by Blondie’s house three, four times while you stare out the window, drooling. Get out of the car, knock on the door, ask her out. Get yourself laid, before I smack the shit out of you.”
Jerry was giving him a stern look, his jaw set. He’d forgotten to shave, thick black whiskers spattered across his chin and upper lip, and his eyes were bloodshot, the result of the contentious bachelor party. Jerry was the sort of guy who was neither good-looking nor ugly, just a decent build, no major flaws, and a sense of humor that drew your attention away from the thinning hairline.
“You’re kidding, right? You don’t really expect me to go knock on her door.” Though the idea had stolen over him repeatedly during the past few days. He was having trouble shaking it. It stuck to him, like lint.
It had occurred to him, once the altruistic determination had worn off, that he couldn’t exactly just stroll up to Laurel and announce that she was going to have sex with him, and it would be for her own good, damn it.
“Yes, I do. It will save us a trip to the ER.”
Russ snorted. “Yeah, when they have to revive you when I beat your ass.”
“I could take you.”
“Bullshit.” Russ looked at Laurel’s brick house again, poised silently, staring down at him like a rich grandfather. Who disapproved of a cop wanting to put the moves on Laurel. He couldn’t tell if her car was in the driveway or not, and he wondered where she worked, what she did with herself.
“See? You’re doing it again, mooning over her with that sappy look on your face. What are you waiting for? Afraid she’ll turn you down? That is a legitimate concern, since this is you we’re talking about.”
“Bite me,” Russ answered, although he wasn’t putting his heart into the mock fight. He did want to knock on Laurel’s door. He wanted to assure himself that she was all right. That she hadn’t run out and done something stupid like hook up with a guy she didn’t know.
And he wanted to talk to her, get to know her, tease her, make her laugh a little. He wanted to tug on her pink scarf, pull her over to him, give her a soft kiss.
Oh, Christ, he was mooning. He was so unfamiliar with it, he hadn’t recognized the symptoms. Annoyed, he opened the door a crack and biting air whistled in, freezing the sappiness right out of him.
“I’m just concerned about her, that’s all. She’s very trusting.”
“How brotherly of you.” Jerry shook his head. “Get out of the car, Evans. Jesus H. Christ. I never took you for such a wuss.”
He was being a wuss. Damn, that pissed him off. He was dancing around the truth of what was going on like a running back dodging a defensive lineman.