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But fuck, Fletcher—how will it look to everyone else with you walking through that door with a girl ten years younger than you? Stupid, nervous thoughts keep rushing through me head. It’s like my damn brain won’t accept that this ain’t a first date.
Everyone knows how close I am with Harry, so maybe it won’t look strange to anyone in town, but I can’t help but feel guilty, like I’m doing something wrong. Brittany comes bouncing downstairs with her outfit to go bowling.
Her dad’s asleep in his room upstairs, passed out from his medication and the supper Brittany promised she would feed him. Fucking guy needs a break, I swear, and he’s so worried about Brittany missing out on fun young folks activities ‘cause she’s so busy taking care of him. He doesn’t deserve to go through any of this. Harry’s the most decent man I’ve ever known. He’s good people and he would absolutely flip if he saw Brittany in this outfit.
“Are you seriously wearing that?”
How the fuck could she imagine leaving the house like that? If her dad could see what the hell she was wearing, he would have a heart attack. Britt knows how the guys around here act and she can’t go somewhere public dressed like… that.
“You’re not my dad and I’m twenty. Yes, I’m wearing this fly ass outfit. Ready to bounce?”
I’m not her dad. I know I’m not her fucking dad, but I’m taking her out to get her mind off things, not to have the whole town watching her prance around with her butt hanging out of dangerously tight shorts that accentuate the curves of her warm, almond skin. She drives me up the fucking wall and we’re not leaving tonight until she listens to reason.
I have to approach this calmly even if she’s lighting a fire under me and I want to drag her ass upstairs to stuff her into a pair of jeans and maybe a hoodie.
“Britt…” I start as calmly as possible despite the outrage building on her face. “People are going to think–
“Think what, Fletcher?” she huffs, folding her arms and daring me to question her grown-up outfit. That little girl I pushed on the swing when my gym buddy needed a nap or time to grab a damn coffee is all grown up and she is stubborn as hell.
I could pull rank on her, order her as Officer Sweeney to get her ass out of those shorts and into something even the slightest bit appropriate, but knowing Britt, she’d storm upstairs and sentence me to a week of glaring and rude comments when I visit her dad.
She’s going through a lot right now. I should be patient with her.
“I’m taking you out, Britt. You don’t want people in a town like this to get the wrong idea about us.”
Taking the calm, patient approach doesn’t work with Britt either. Fucking hell.
Her voice rises several pitches and I’m just happy she hisses instead of yells so she doesn’t wake her dad up. The old man needs rest.
Brittany tears into me, “You are so old-fashioned, Fletcher. This outfit isn’t for you, anyway.”
Right. She probably dresses like this for herself.
“It’s for Rob,” Brittany finishes and it’s like a fucking punch to the gut that I want to ignore, but I can’t. Rob Wheeler. That fucking dick. This town is filled to the fucking brim with losers like Rob who can sweet talk women but can’t make up their mind about what they want. One day they want a family, one day they want their freedom. One day they have a job, the next they don’t. He’s a drifter and Brittany deserves better.
If she loses her dad, which I hope to fucking God doesn’t happen, but if it does, she needs a man who can take care of her. Rob ain’t that guy. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to have a woman who turns your head every time she walks into a room. It doesn’t matter if I’m consciously aware of her presence, when Brittany enters a room, the energy in the place bubbles with excitement. She doesn’t need cut-off shorts with her ass hanging out to get the right man’s attention.
She says the three words like it’s fucking nothing to her.It’s for Rob. She’s wearing the tiniest fucking shorts I’ve ever seen and a crop top that pushes her boobs together. I can see her cleavage and her smooth brown stomach and that stupid butterfly navel ring she got when she was fourteen, nearly killing her fucking dad when he saw it. Only now, she’s not a rebellious teenager. She’s a grown ass woman, and she’s fucking… beautiful.
“I didn’t think it was for me,” I reply, sounding more snappy and defensive than I mean to.
I feel weird out of my cop’s uniform right now, like maybe she would give a fuck if I had the uniform and she could see me as someone more than Harry’s dorky younger best friend—more like a grown-up friend trying to help another grown-up friend.
Fuck. I guess there’s no way for me to stop this from being weird. When she was a kid, we would hang out with her dad all the time. This is just… I can’t see her in those clothes, but I suppose there’s no getting her to change without starting a fight.
Can’t guarantee I’ll get through the night without starting a fucking fight over her. Not with Britt dressed like that.
“Good,” she says lightly. “I need your help to distract Rob’s so-called girlfriend tonight. I’m going to confess everything to him and make him an offer he can’t ignore.”
It doesn’t exactly sound like a foolproof plan. I have this powerful urge to jump in front of this obvious, future train wreck but once Britt sets her stubborn ass mind on something, there’s nothing that can change it.
“What exactly do you see in Rob Wheeler?”
“He’s everything,” Brittany says with a far off tone of voice. “He’s everything a girl in a town like this wants. Plus, he has a truck.”
That’s it? He has a truck? I have a truck. Everyone who can get a fucking loan in this town has a truck. Fuck that shit. I’ve gotta find something on this kid and get his ass out of the way. I can’t let Brittany ruin her life by messing with a loser like that. I have to prove what my cop instincts know deep down. The kid is bad fucking news.
“He’s everything, you say?”
