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Knock. Knock.
I turn to Paxton, trying to stop the panic rising in my chest at an alarming rate at the mere sound of a knock on the door. Calm down, Kali, the bad guy won’t knock on a cop’s door. “Expecting someone?”
He nods and pushes off the chair, offering no explanation. He’s been giving me space, not sitting right beside me, not touching me, and keeping the conversation formal. The distance feels strange, but I appreciate it.
I curl up in the blanket, my nerves still raw. Riggs walks in sync with him and sits when Paxton opens the front door. My position on the couch hides the visitor from view, but when Paxton closes the door, he’s holding a brown bag. I tilt my head, questioning, but he returns the gesture by holding a finger in the air. Riggs settles at my feet, my silent guardian.
“I’ll be right back,” he says with a devilish grin.
He disappears into the kitchen, and I listen as he opens cabinets, hearing the subtle clinks of silverware. The paper bag crumples, and I assume, by the sound, that he’s taking out whatever was in the bag. I hope he didn’t order dinner. I’m still stuffed from the pizza.
In the ten minutes we’ve been here, he showed me around his small two-bedroom apartment, and we only settled on the couch right before the knock. This is the first time I’ve been here. On one of our dates, I asked him if he was hiding away a wife, and that’s why he never brought me here. Now, sitting here in the typical bachelor pad, devoid of any personal effects other than the one photograph of his grandparents, it tells me where his priorities are. The ranch and his work, not this small temporary space he stays at during the week.
“What are you doing in there?”
“Still not into surprises,” he teases, sticking his head out from behind the kitchen wall. I wrinkle my nose at him. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss this. He’s still wearing his security shirt.
“Why were you working security if you got your job back?”
“A buddy of mine has a used car lot. He’s been having his cars broken into at night, so he asked me if I could work a couple shifts off duty until he can get something permanent in place. So, Liam and I were working tonight,” he explains from the kitchen.
“Sorry I took you away from your job.”
He peeks out again. “Don’t be. They knew we were there. They might be shitheads, but they aren’t dumb shitheads. They weren’t going to touch the cars tonight.” His head disappears again.
“If I’m going to stay here, we need to talk about things.” The panic from the night is settling, leaving behind a dust of unanswered questions and wondering if I made the right decision to stay here.
He comes strolling into the room holding a plate. Riggs’s head lifts, his nose in the air. When Paxton settles next to me, I see what he’s been up to, and my tension eases. He hands me a spoon, understanding my weaknesses too well. I stare at the cherry pie with a dollop of vanilla ice cream on top and glance up to him with a smile.
“A pie is not going to fix everything,” I say.
“No, but it’ll make you feel better.”
It already does.
Only the people close to me know the key to my heart is cherry pie. I hold the spoon out to dive in, but then pause. “We need to talk,” I repeat, making sure he heard me this time. No amount of pie will erase his lying. He has some explaining to do. He nods in agreement but still waits for me to grab a spoonful. When the warm pie hits my taste buds, my eyes close in bliss. Damn, that’s good. So, so good.
“What was it you wanted to discuss?” he teases.
I shake my head, chewing. It can wait. He’s not going anywhere. I take another generous bite, and he chuckles. “Are you not going to eat some?” I ask, gesturing to the pie that has more than enough for two people on the plate. If he doesn’t, I’ll eat the entire thing. And I’ll have zero shame. So much for being stuffed from the pizza.
“I’m almost scared to take a bite,” he confesses, watching me devour it. “You’re like a bear eating to stock up for hibernation.”
I roll my eyes, paying no attention to how I appear as a pig—or bear—and continue to take another bite. “You can’t like pecan over this perfection,” I mumble, covering my mouth with my hand since I forgot all my manners. Wait a minute. I point my spoon at him. “Admit you made that up because you didn’t want me to figure out you were the pie guy.”
He takes a hefty spoonful and puts it in his mouth, eating it with an exaggerated shrug.
“No, you don’t get off that easy,” I say, elbowing him in the side.
“Actually, with you, I do.”
A thrill of arousal travels down my spine and settles between my legs as his words carry a hint of something more, throwing me back to a month ago—to the first time I experienced him losing control, when his eyes would squeeze shut and his jaw would tighten and he’d roar “fuck” as his orgasm ripped through his sweaty body. It was raw and real. It was exhilarating. Until everything changed. He lied.
I shake from the memory, and reality slams into me.
Dammit.
This is why I should’ve found somewhere else to go. “I need a drink,” I blurt out, rushing to get up, not wanting him to see my flushed cheeks. I snatch a bottle of water from the fridge and press it against my cheeks before opening it and taking a long drink.
