The next morning Brutus strode into the locker room at Station Fifty-Eight. His cheery whistle died when he saw Wolfe planted in his path, arms folded and eyes narrowed.

“Hey,” he said cautiously, sidling past his partner to his locker.

Wolfe watched silently as Brutus stripped and put on a pair of gray shorts and a T-shirt.  Brutus looked at him. “I’m going to lift for a while before shifts starts. You want to spot me?”

“What makes you think I won’t let the weights drop and crush your chest?”

“We’ve been friends since Iraq.”

Finally, Wolfe unfolded his arms. “The twenty-fourth perfect game in baseball history.”

“I know.” Brutus looked down at the lifting gloves he was twisting in his hands. “I’m sorry you didn’t see it.”

Wolfe shook his head and led the way out of the locker room to the weight room. Brutus raised a hand to a couple of other guys working out. He and Wolfe were silent while they stretched and warmed up. It wasn’t like his buddy to be bad-tempered. Of course, he’d never missed seeing a historic baseball game by giving away his ticket. Would offering again to pay for it be an insult?

Brutus sighed. He loaded weights on the barbell, lay down on the bench, and lifted the bar. Wolfe braced to spot him.

“Look,” Brutus grunted, raising the barbell. “I sure am sorry you missed the game.” Another grunt as he raised it again.

Wolfe counted the reps, saying nothing else until Brutus set the barbell back in the holder. “You had a good time.”

Brutus wasn’t sure if it was a question or not. “Yeah, I did. Even if the Rangers had lost by twenty runs I would have had a good time.”

Wolfe grunted. “I could tell you were having fun by the way you kissed her.”

Was he supposed to feel guilty? “Look, everyone was revved up at the game, okay? I probably would have kissed you if you’d been there.”

A reluctant smile curved Wolfe’s lips. “For the first time, I’m glad I wasn’t there.”

Tension seeped out of Brutus. He and Wolfe were okay. His buddy prepared to spot as Brutus began his second set. Wolfe’s face wasn’t quite so stony now. “You really like this woman?” he asked.

“Yeah, I like her a lot.” Brutus blinked sweat away as he raised the barbell. “She’s great.”

Wolfe tossed Brutus a towel when he finished his second set. “Are you going to see her again?”

“Yeah.” Brutus sat up and wiped his face. “We’re going to watch the game at her place Thursday.”

Wolfe nodded, seeming to be in deep thought. “I think she’s good for you. You haven’t been in a fight since you met her.”

Brutus popped him with the towel. “I’m not in that many fights.”

“Only one a week or so.” Wolfe rubbed the red spot on his thigh from the towel. “Watch it with that thing. Now I’ll have to explain that to Cherilyn.”

“Tell her you were wounded rescuing a kitty from a tree.”

“Right.” He frowned down at the red spot, but he seemed unfocused, like he was thinking about something else. “I’d like to meet her.”

Brutus made a face of exaggerated surprise. “I’m pretty sure you know Cherilyn in every sense of the word.”

Wolfe snatched the towel from him. “I meant your new girlfriend. The little brunette.”

“Denise.” Remembering her quick kiss last night and the way she called him Brutie, Brutus grinned. “She’s not little; she’s just the right size.”

“I’d like to meet her. Me and Cherilyn were supposed to go out for supper with her sister and brother-in-law, but it turns out her sister has to be out of town. Our reservation is for four people. We’ve had it for over a month. You and Denise can come instead.”

His buddy liked to take his ladies to ritzier places than Brutus went to, the kind where you wore a tie, not a T-shirt. “When? Where?”

“This Friday night. The reservation is for eight o-clock at L’Ancien Vignoble.”

That didn’t sound Spanish, German, or Arabic, the only languages besides English that Brutus was familiar with. Anything he couldn’t pronounce wasn’t a place he’d enjoy. But it sounded fancy. Maybe Denise would like to go. “I don’t know. Denise is always busy. She’s a full-time student, and she works, and she’s in the National Guard. She might not be free.”

“Will you ask her?”

“Sure. I can send her a text, if you’ll tell me how to spell that place.”

 

Denise didn’t even look at her phone until she was through with classes and in her car ready to drive to the shelter. Seeing a text from Brutus made her smile. The smile faded while she read. A double date with his partner from work? At L’Ancien Vignoble? Holy crap, that place was expensive. She’d never been anywhere like that in her life. Even if she’d had the money, she preferred places like Rick’s. But he must want to go or he wouldn’t have invited her. She chewed her lip, calculating. Thursday night was already cutting into her study time, but what the heck. She texted him.

Love to.

He responded immediately.

Great. See you Thrs. Talk then.

Five hours later, Denise dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment. She had been peed on, puked on, and bitten. She wanted a hot shower, some supper, and a couple of hours of quiet to read her textbook. Stella met her at the door with a blinding smile.

“Guess what, Sissy?” She noticed Denise’s scowl, and her smile faded a bit. “I mean, Denise. I have good news. The Pink Pussycat Club hired me on the spot. I start tomorrow night.”

Denise tried to dredge up some enthusiasm. “That’s great.” It was. It meant that Stella was a little closer to moving out. A little closer to Denise having her place to herself again. “It really is. Congrats. That’s over in the West End, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Her sister’s smile came back, bigger than ever. “I’ll be in training all this week, and part of next week. Then I start fulltime.”

“Great. Hey, let me take a shower, and then you can tell me everything while I eat.”

Stella took in the stains on Denise’s jeans with a wrinkled nose. “Alright. I made spaghetti and meatballs. I’ll heat that up and fix a salad while you shower.”

Stella could sure cook, Denise reflected, twirling spaghetti around her fork thirty minutes later. Normally after a long, crappy day like this, she would have had a bowl of cereal or a sandwich., and eaten with her text book open beside her. Now Stella sat across from her, chattering happily about the interview. She stopped suddenly, and looked at Denise with a serious expression.

“I won’t be able to move out right away. I mean, it will take me a couple of months, depending on tips, before I can save enough for deposits and rent for my own place. I hate to impose on you.”

Guilt poked Denise. She waved her fork at the spaghetti. “It’s okay. You are pulling your weight around here. My place has never been so clean, and you cook almost every day.”

“I like to cook.”

“Well, you are a champion cook, Stel, and I appreciate all the work you do around here.”

Stella’s blue eyes welled with tears. “You called me Stel.”

“Sorry!”

“No, I like it. That’s what Daddy calls me.”

Denise’s back went straight. “Oh.” She tried to look relaxed, but she was sure she didn’t succeed.

“Sorry.” Stella wiped her eyes. “He’s your daddy too.”

“Biologically, he’s my father.” That sounded cold even to Denise. She cast around for a new topic. “Brutus is coming over on Thursday night to watch the game on TV.”

“Oh. That will be nice. I work on Thursday from three thirty to midnight.”

Perfect, Denise thought. Me and Brutus will have the place to ourselves. “And on Friday, he’s taking me out to supper at a fancy place called L’Ancien Vignoble.”

“Oh.” Excitement lifted Stella’s voice. She picked up her phone and keyed and scrolled for a minute. Her eyes grew wide at what she read. “Oh,” she said again, with respect in her voice. “That’s a nice place. What are you going to wear?”

“Good question.” Denise considered. “I have a couple of dresses.”

“Let’s go look at your closet.”

Denise was dragged off, protesting ineffectually, to her bedroom. Stella examined her three dresses with a critical eye.

“None of these will do,” she pronounced. “What else do you have?”

“Jeans.”

“Nothing else?”

Denise pulled out her only pair of pants that weren’t denim. “These khakis.”

Stella shook her head decisively. “No. Let’s look at my stuff.”

Denise mentally measured he sister’s generous bust, narrow waist, and wide hips. “We’re not the same size.” And, she added to herself, we have very different tastes in wardrobe. As in, I like to keep my boobs inside my clothes, not popping out over the top.

Stella held up one scarlet-tipped finger. “Just wait.”

She vanished into her room and came back in two minutes with an arm draped with clothes. Denise tried to hide her misgivings. Stella laid three outfits on the bed. She pointed to a strapless gown of champagne colored silk with an overlay of cream chiffon.

“That one would be beautiful on you.”

It was elegant. Too elegant. “I don’t have the right kind of bra for that,” Denise said. “And no extra money to buy one.”

Her sister nodded, and moved her finger to indicate the second dress, a sheath of burgundy velvet with a wide boat neck outlined with rhinestones. Denise studied it. Except for the rhinestones, it looked too sedate for her flamboyant sister. She picked it up and stared at the back. There was no fabric, only a few ribbons that would cross over her shoulders and waist. The front had cups built in to hold the breasts, but they were clearly too large for her figure. She carefully put it back down.

“Not my size,” she said, relieved to have a good excuse to pass over that one.

Stella held up the third dress. “This one is actually the one I like best for you.”

Denise examined it with interest. The sleeveless wrap dress in chocolate brown seemed less glamourous than the other two at first glance. A second glance showed the weight and gloss of the satin and the flirty flare of the skirt. The crossover on the bodice was outlined in gold, and there was a narrow belt at the waist in the same gold.

“I never wear it, because brown isn’t my color,” Stella said. “But it would be great on you.”

Denise took it and looked it over. It had a back. The skirt had a built-in petticoat of stiffened brown netting. The V neck was deep, but she had one bra that plunged. Her grandmother’s gold locket would hang at the perfect length in the V. Would her black military pumps work? No, those horrible shimmery gold stiletto heels she’d had to buy for a friend’s wedding would be better.

“Try it on,” Stella commanded.

Almost eager now, Denise crawled into her closet and found the gold shoes, then dug in her bureau for the bra she never wore. Stella helped her slip the dress over her head and settled it around her before zipping up the side. The bodice was slightly loose over her breasts, but the diagonal lines of ruching helped hide it. The waist was snug but not tight. The hem of the skirt hit her just above her knees. She slipped on the gold shoes and immediately remembered why she hated them so much.

Stella squealed. “It’s perfect! You look awesome in brown. And those shoes! Oh my God, they are to die for.”

A warm glow of pleasure spread through Denise. “Die for? Yeah, these shoes are going to kill me.”

“Come look in the mirror.” Stella tugged her over to the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. “See? You are beautiful in that dress. The brown makes me look dull, but see how creamy your skin looks against it? The neckline makes your throat look elegant, like Audrey Hepburn.”

Denise looked. She blinked. “It does look nice.”

“Nice! It looks fantabulous. And if we do your hair like this, drawn up in a roll at the back of your head, we can show off your long neck. A lot of curls wouldn’t suit you. I mean, it would suit your face, but not you. You like things a little more classy. That’s why this dress suits you too. A little flirty, but in a classy way. Not stuffy, not too formal, not too flashy. Just pretty, with an understated elegance.”

Denise caught her breath. Her flirty, gaudy-dress-wearing sister did understand. “Thank you.”

“I’ll do your makeup and hair on Friday before I go to work. I don’t have to go in on Friday until 7:30.” She must have sensed Denise’s alarm because she laughed and slapped her lightly on the arm. “Relax, Sissy. I can do understated elegance just fine.”

Denise stared at herself in the mirror, too enthralled by the sophisticated woman looking back at her to protest being called Sissy. “Alright. Thank you.”

Stella winked. “Just wait until the muscle man gets a look at you in this!”

“It will be a change from the shorts and T-shirt I’ll probably be wearing on Thursday night.”

“You’ll knock his socks off.”

 

On Thursday night after a quick shower, Denise put on a T-shirt and cutoff jeans. The beer was in the fridge. Thanks to Stella, the living room was vacuumed and dusted. And, maybe best of all, Stella was at work.

The buzzer rang at five minutes after six. Brutus identified himself and soon was at her door, a large pizza box balanced on one broad palm. There was a dark shadow on his jaw. Dirt? She took the pizza and craned to examine his face. The shadow was swollen.

“Oh, no,” she said. “What did you do to yourself?”

He waved his hand. “It’s nothing. Ready to eat?”

“Please tell me what happened.”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing to worry about.” He lifted the pizza a little higher. “Where should I put this?”

“In the living room, on the coffee table. I’ll be right there.”

She grabbed paper plates and napkins, and two longneck bottles of beer, and carried them to the living room. Brutus had already claimed the pink chair, but when she came in, he moved to the couch beside her.

“You can stay in the chair,” she told him.

“Later. For now, let’s eat and watch the pre-game show. Hope you like meat lover’s pizza.”

“You bet.”

They finished off the extra-large pizza and two beers each before the game began. Brutus settled back in the pink chair and patted his thigh. “Come sit with me. The chair is big enough for both of us.”

There was a slightly nervous note in his voice, as if he was afraid she’d be offended by the invitation. She gave him a big smile. “Sounds comfy.”

He stood, scooped her up, and sat again, with her sitting crossways over his lap. She couldn’t resist smoothing her hand up his biceps, over his shoulder to his pec, and letting it come to rest over his heart. She could feel it throbbing in his chest. She raised her hand to lay it over the bruise at the edge of his chin. “What happened?”

He waved a hand. “Sometimes my job gets a little physical.” He dodged her gaze.

“Oh. I thought it might have been a fight.”

“A fight for me to give a victim oxygen.”

“Oh, poor Brutie.”

She touched a butterfly kiss to the bruise. She had this gorgeous man all to herself, every muscled inch of him. She skated her fingers down his throat to first button of his polo shirt.

“You don’t mind if I touch you?” she asked.

He coughed. “No. Would you like me to take my shirt off?”

The hopeful note in his voice made her laugh. “I know the air conditioner isn’t the best, but it’s not that hot in here, is it?”

“I am burning up.” He grazed his fingertips over her cheek. “It’s all your fault.”

She made as if to get up. “I’ll go turn the A/C up.”

He pulled her down. “Uh-uh. You stay here and watch the game. Look, the Rangers just got a hit.”

She couldn’t have cared less. “Good job, Rangers,” she murmured.

She turned so she was straddling him, her weight on her knees, her shins on either side of his thighs, and slipped her hands under the hem of his polo shirt. His belly was hard. She moved her hands higher, feeling the ridges of his six-pack clench. Her fingers tunneled through the crisp hair on his chest and circled the nipples hidden there.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this since that first night at Billie’s when you fell over my sister.”

“Really?” His voice was hoarse. “I’ve wanted you to touch me just as long.”

After playing with his nipples for a minute, she went back down until her fingers nudged past the waistband of his jeans. He shuddered beneath her.

“Still watching baseball?” she asked.

“Baseball?” he muttered. “What’s baseball?”

She laughed. “You’re funny.” She leaned over him and reached for the lever that that reclined the chair, and with a thump they were nearly horizontal.

“Nice trick,” he said, looking up at her with smoldering eyes.

“Yep.” With him in it, her pink chair had never looked better. “But, you know, you haven’t touched me yet.”

He batted his thick, stubby eyelashes at her. “I was waiting for an invitation.”

“Consider yourself invited.”

His hands were infinitely gentle when he cupped her face and pulled her down. “I haven’t kissed you yet, either.”

His kiss was as gentle as his hands, just a whisper of lips over hers. She braced her hands against his chest and kissed him back. The feel of all that taut muscle under her hands made her greedy for him. “More, Brutie,” she said against his lips.

His tongue nudged at the seam of her lips and the sensation sent heat flooding through her. She let him in. He moved in her mouth, not quite aggressive, but very sure, his tongue stroking along hers, his hands holding her face, the strength barely leashed beneath her.

She was completely lost in the kiss when the jangle of keys outside her door made her raise her head. Stella’s giggle sounded in the hallway. Beneath her, Brutus growled. The sound of a key being jammed in the lock froze Denise for a split second, but the clink of the key turning had her leaping off Brutus and onto the couch like an Olympic gymnast.  With a disgruntled expression, Brutus jerked the lever and the chair lurched upright. They sat primly apart, gazes fixed firmly on the TV.

Stella came in, still giggling. She gave Denise and Brutus a finger wave with one hand. Her other hand was clasped in that of the man who followed her in.

“Come on, baby,” she cooed at him. “This way.”

Stella’s bedroom door shut behind them with a snick. Denise stared at the door with disbelief. She turned to Brutus. He was glowering.

“Did she just bring a man home?” she hissed at him.

“Who cares?” he growled. “Why did you jump up like that? We’re not teenagers caught necking on couch when the parents come home early.”

“Well, no.” Denise shifted on the couch. “I mean, we’re adults.”

She was going to say more, when her sister moaned loudly in the bedroom. Her wide eyes met Brutus’s.

“I was enjoying myself,” he growled.

“Me, too,” she said mournfully.

The bed in the next room squeaked. Denise could feel the heat of a blush wash into her cheeks. She reached for the TV remote and turned up the sound. The bed settled into a rhythmic pattern of squeaks and thumps.

“Geez,” Brutus muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hasn’t that guy ever heard of foreplay?”

Denise slapped a hand over her mouth to keep the laughter in. “Maybe they did that in the car.”

Brutus heaved deep breath of disgust. “Idiots.”

Stella let out an especially loud, drawn-out moan. Short panting moans followed, accompanied by male grunts. Brutus placed his hand over his face and shook his head. Denise wanted to bury her head under the couch cushions.

When Stella screamed, “Bodie! Oh, yes, Bodie!” Brutus stood up and snatched the remote to click off the game.

“Head over to Billie’s?” he suggested tersely.

She grabbed her keys. “Let’s go.”

When they were in his truck and on the road to Billie’s, Brutus shook his head.

“I know that guy. Bodie. He’s with one of the other stations. The Five Seven, maybe. He’s a sleaze ball.”

“Great.” Denise leaned her forehead into her palm. “I can’t believe she brought a guy home. She’s been in Dallas less than two weeks, and she’s already found a guy to take to bed. I wonder how long she’s known him?”

Brutus glanced at her. “Does it matter?”

She shrugged. “I guess it’s none of my business. She’s a grownup woman who makes her own choices.”

Brutus pulled into the lot at Billie’s and parked before leaning a forearm on the wheel and looking at her. “How long do you need to know a guy before you go to bed with him?”

Some invisible speck of something got stuck in her throat. She coughed. “Me, personally, or just people in general?”

He leaned a little closer. “You, personally.”

“Oh.”

He reached out and ran one fingertip along the line of her jaw. “If your sister hadn’t come in, how far would we have gone?”

Denise suppressed an urge to squirm, staring at the thin spot in her jeans over the knee. She honestly wasn’t sure, but maybe all the way. Not that she could tell him that. Could she? “I liked what we were doing. We haven’t known each other that long, but I’m super attracted to you.” She drew a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet his. “I’d like a little more time to get to know you more. It’s only been a little over a week since we met.”

He nodded, face neutral until a small smile turned up his mouth. “You’re attracted to me?”

The slightly incredulous note in his voice made her frown. “Yeah, I am. Couldn’t you tell by the way I climbed on you in the chair?”

He smiled a little sheepishly. “I was too busy enjoying myself to catch that.”

The memory of the heat and strength of his big body beneath her made her catch her breath.  “Why wouldn’t I be attracted to you?”

He waved his hand at his face. “Not a pretty boy here.”

She made a rude noise. “Who wants a pretty boy? I want a man.” She opened her door. “Let’s go have a beer and watch the rest of the game.”

They talked about little things like dogs, the weather, and the game they watched the Rangers lose, and how they liked their steaks cooked. All the while, Denise was intensely aware of Brutus. The bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat when he drank from his beer bottle made her mouth dry. The play of muscle under his shirt made her want to touch. Did he honestly think he wasn’t attractive? Just sitting here watching him made her wish Stella had stayed away.

He drove her home and walked her to her door. “Good night, Dee.”

She smiled at the nickname. “Good night, Brutie.”

He bent to give her a long, gentle kiss. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.”

“Thanks.” She turned the key and eased the door open. The apartment was dark and quiet. She flashed a quick grin over her shoulder. “By the way, you are the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I feel like I’ve gotten to know you pretty well now.”

His mouth dropped open. She closed the door quietly and leaned against it in the dark.

From the hall, she heard Brutus mutter, “Hot damn!” A second later, she heard his boots on the stairs.