It was Saturday night and North was going to get laid. He was done talking about it. Finished thinking about it. Since he’d been paroled a week hadn’t passed without some action. It was time to make it happen.

He decided he would pay a visit to Joe’s Cabaret—even if it meant he might have to run into Serena again. The place was easy if he was looking for a quick fix. He could also check in on Piper again while he was there. Two birds, one stone.

He’d worked later than usual at the garage finishing up a frame for a custom chopper his boss needed yesterday. He parked his truck in the driveway beside his bike. Faith’s car was already there . . . probably where it would sit all night. She didn’t have much of a social life as far as he could tell.

He’d just reached his front door when a gleaming black Audi pulled into Faith’s driveway. He hesitated, watching as a guy got out from behind the wheel. A loafers, chinos and polo shirt kind of guy. He wore a blazer over the polo shirt. Even at dusk, it was hot as hell to be wearing a blazer when you didn’t have to. He held a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Yellow roses. If that didn’t scream first date he wasn’t sure what did. Not that North brought flowers to any doors these days. He might not date, but he’d bought wrist corsages before—his junior and senior year. One might have even been yellow.

Fancy Pants spotted him and nodded a greeting in his direction, smiling politely even as his gaze skimmed and assessed North in his work clothes. Clothes that consisted of well-worn jeans and a grease-stained T-shirt with the garage’s logo on his chest. It was a cursory inspection, but one that seemed to say beneath me. Or maybe North was projecting because he felt that way? Because you are. He was good for fucking a woman and getting her off . . . but not dating. Not marrying. Not being the kind of man a girl took home to Mom and Dad.

North nodded back at him, jerking his chin up once in stiff acknowledgment. He shut the door but didn’t move away from it. He didn’t walk into his house and do his normal things like a normal human being. No, he turned around and peered through the living room blinds, straining to see as much as he could of the man walking up to Faith’s front door.

The guy moved out of sight, but that didn’t prompt North to move away. No, he waited. He heard the knock at her door. He heard the door opening. He heard the low rumble of voices. A man’s deeper voice followed by a softer female voice. His body tensed, leaning toward that sound—Faith’s voice. It was her.

And still he waited. Listening. He heard the door shut. Keys jangled in the lock.

Fancy Pants came into view, walking back down the driveway (minus the flowers) with Faith following him. North gazed at the back of her head. At the sleek fall of brown hair that fell a little past her shoulders. Still no view of her face. Damn it. How hard could it be to see what she looked like? The irony wasn’t lost on him that she had seen him. All of him.

She was wearing a dress. A little black number that looked like definite evening attire. Date attire. Not something she would wear to the office doing whatever it was that she did. Except those shoes. She still had on sexy shoes. Black heels with laces that wrapped around her ankles and tied off in a little neat bow. Her legs were still endless, still perfect, in his mind, for wrapping around a man.

Fancy Pants opened the passenger side door for her like a gentleman. Because he was a gentleman. That was the kind of man she would date because that was the kind of man she deserved.

She slid into the car with her face averted, impossible to see in the fading dusk. He still had no view of her face. Still.

North changed his mind. Instead of Joe’s Cabaret, he decided to go to Roscoe’s, his family’s bar, which Knox ran. Knox had offered him a job there when he got out, but he’d declined, feeling the need to distance himself from his brother and the rest of the family.

Two years ago, he had been angry at the world when he was paroled. And wrong or right, a lot of that anger had been directed at Knox. He’d needed time and space from his brother, who had somehow managed to build a pretty nice life for himself. Maybe he still needed that space. Maybe he always would. It was for the best. North had found his own path. He liked his work at the garage and the freelance projects he did on the side. He was his own man. No longer Knox Callaghan’s kid brother. He faced the world alone and stood on his own two feet. Just as he’d had to do in those last four years at the Rock.

He didn’t mind visiting Roscoe’s now and then though. His drinks were on the house. Knox, Aunt Alice and any of the other servers on shift never charged him. Saturday nights were always hopping. Plenty of pretty barflies for him to hook up with for the night.

He was eyeing his choices when Knox started in on him. “Hey, man, what about dinner. Tomorrow night? Briar will cook up something good.”

Of course she would. His brother’s wife was Betty effing Crocker. North was on his second beer, eyeing a petite blonde dressed in a micromini denim skirt that alerted the world she was wearing a pink G-string—the polar opposite of his uptight neighbor, and that was a good thing. He didn’t need to think about Faith Walters with her nice clothes out on her date. Maybe Fancy Pants would take her back to his place and they would have polite, nice-people sex. Lights off, missionary-style, quiet and civilized, those long legs of hers probably flat on the bed, neglected and unappreciated.

“Hey. Earth to North?”

North grunted, watching as the blonde lifted the bottle to her lips. Instead of drinking from it like a normal person, she played with the mouth of the bottle, circling it with her tongue as she stared at North. It didn’t particularly do anything for him except convey that she was DTF.

“Oh. I see you’ve spotted Mindy. She’s been a regular here since her divorce last year. She’s steadily working her way through the regulars. Loves the hardcore bikers. Looks like she’s taken a shine to you tonight, brother.”

North took a deep swig of his beer, staring at the girl on the other side of the bar who was nothing like Faith. Faith, who was on a date. He wondered where Fancy Pants took her. He snorted. Why should he care how his stick-up-her-ass neighbor spent her nights? He was spending his exactly how he preferred.

The blonde made eye contact with him and nodded for the door. Invitation sent. He nodded back. Invitation accepted.

He started to get up, but Knox stalled him, dropping a hand on his arm. “You can do better than this.”

And by this, he knew his brother wasn’t simply talking about the girl. She was just part of it. Another anonymous woman for him to lose himself in for a night.

Knox continued into the silence, “When is it going to stop, North? You’re thirty-two. You gonna be one of those tired old men who comes to the bar and drinks himself past pain every night? You won’t be young forever. There will come a time when hooking up won’t be so easy and you’ll really be alone.”

“I’m alone now,” he returned, his voice empty, without inflection, as he held his brother’s gaze across the bar top. A bright Budweiser light from behind the bar haloed his brother in red.

“By choice,” Knox shot back. “You don’t have to be.”

“Don’t try to make me into something I’m not. I’m not you. I’m not going to find some nice girl that’s gonna make me forget everything. I can’t do that.” Couldn’t forget even if he wanted to.

Knox stared at him a long moment, looking helpless and not a little guilty, and North regretted that. He didn’t want his brother to feel guilty. North wasn’t his brother’s responsibility.

He shrugged his arm out from beneath his brother’s hand. He jerked his head toward the door. “She’s waiting.”

“We’ll see you for dinner tomorrow?” he called, the hope still there, hanging in his voice.

North looked back. His brother’s gaze searched his own, looking for something. Something that wasn’t there. Not anymore.

“Sure,” he agreed, not sure if he meant it or not, but it was easier to agree at the moment.

He stepped outside of Roscoe’s into the warm night and inhaled. He glanced left and right, looking for the blonde. The blonde who was nothing like Faith.

He walked down the wooden porch steps leading to the bar and caught sight of her. She stood in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of a truck, her elbows propped behind her so that her chest was thrust out.

He moved toward her, burying one hand in his back jeans pocket. “Hey,” he greeted.

“Hi there, sexy. Thought you changed your mind about joining me.”

She wasn’t as young as he first thought in the dim confines of the bar. She was at least his age. Maybe older. Out here with Roscoe’s perimeter lights and the sporadically situated parking lot lights, he could see the heavy application of makeup on her skin. It was like a layer of beige primer that failed to hide the drawn and tired flesh of her face. No amount of makeup could disguise the lines and heavy shadows that resembled bruises under her bloodshot eyes.

“C’mere,” she slurred, her hands reaching for him. She grabbed his shirt with two hands, twisting the fabric in her balled-up fists. “Wanna go back to my place?”

He opened his mouth to say yes. Yes. That’s what he wanted. That’s what going out tonight had been about. Find a willing partner. Down a few beers. Fuck like rabbits and then pass out. Sleep a dreamless sleep. The offer was here for the taking. It shouldn’t be so very difficult to find the words to accept.

He closed his hands over hers where they clutched at his shirt. “I . . .” The single syllable stretched long and then faded away.

Apparently it was difficult because staring down at her the only thing he could see was the defeat in her stare. It was a familiar sight. He’d seen it enough times in himself over the years.

He wouldn’t be one more thing, one more reason, chipping away at what remained of her soul.

She read his hesitation. “What?” she asked in her hoarse smoker’s voice. “You want to go to your place? Or we can do it right here in my car?”

He lifted her hands from his chest and dropped them away from him. “Sorry. I’m gonna call it quits for the night.”

“What?” Her face twisted with angry emotion, which only seemed to highlight the broken spirit within. “It’s not even that late yet. What did you follow me out here for if you weren’t up for it?”

“My mistake.”

She shoved off the truck and lurched past him. “Asshole.” Mindy jabbed a thumb at the building. “Plenty of guys inside there will be happy to tap my ass.” To emphasize her point, she twisted around and slapped her backside.

She walked away, her strides choppy with the frenzy of her temper, her shoes crunching over loose gravel.

“Hey,” he called. She stopped and glanced back. “You can do better than this.” He motioned to himself and Roscoe’s with one sweep of his hand.

Even as he uttered the words, he cringed inside to hear himself use his brother’s own words on someone else. And he didn’t know why he even bothered. He wasn’t anyone’s savior.

Red splotches broke out across her face. “What are you, a missionary? Fuck off.” She slammed back inside the bar.

He stood alone in the parking lot for a few moments before managing a laugh. A missionary was the last thing he was. He was not in a position to save anyone.

He couldn’t even save himself.

He moved to his bike. Straddling it, he felt especially grim. This was not the way he’d planned to spend the night. Heading home alone and it wasn’t even 10 p.m. yet. He bet his neighbor was having a better time than he was.

And that thought was the cherry on his already shit night.

The date was going well.

The encouraging thought ran through her mind on repeat. Almost like she was trying to convince herself of that fact, but it was true. Brendan Cooper was a gentleman. He never made a misstep.

She had liked him in all their previous interactions, but still, with her track record, buried deep inside, she had been braced for disappointment.

Over an appetizer of fried calamari he asked about her job. Over their entrées of lasagna and chicken parmesan, he asked about her family, voicing his respect and admiration for her father and brothers. All checks in the respect-for-family column. It was companionable and intimate and comfortable.

When he offered Faith a portion of his chicken parm, she offered him some of her lasagna.

“I’ll never say no to food.” He smiled as he handed her his small bread plate and she gave him a portion of her entrée.

He cut into her lasagna and closed his eyes as he brought it to his mouth. After he swallowed his bite, he pronounced, “Wow. Don’t tell my mother, but that puts her lasagna to shame. She’s half Italian and would take great offense.”

Faith smiled, certain those were just words. “I won’t say anything.” He surely didn’t mean that she would meet his mother. They weren’t talking that far ahead yet.

“Do you like to cook?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes. I love to bake actually.”

His eyes widened. “Uh-oh. We could have a problem . . . because I love to eat sweets.”

For a moment, she had a flash of North Callaghan texting her that he liked cupcakes. She knew he had not been talking about true cupcakes. In this case, she knew Brendan was talking about eating sweets. For some reason her chest sank a little. What was wrong with her? She wanted Brendan to be a little dirty? This was a first date. He was appropriate and respectful and she should appreciate that and not long for something else.

She fiddled with her lasagna. “Oh, do you? Then you might like my cheesecake.” Okay, so she was attempting to flirt a little. Not to the level of last night’s flirting with North Callaghan, but definitely flirting.

“I hope dating you doesn’t make me gain too much weight.” He patted what she could see of his flat stomach. Clearly he took care of himself.

They were dating now? A slow ribbon of pleasure curled around her.

“Weight gain,” she mused. “A natural side effect of being in a relationship.”

“True, but there are worse things than turning into a plump contented man in a relationship.”

“Such as?”

“Being single and skinny.” He mock shuddered and she laughed. “I mean, if you’re happy, that’s what’s important, right?” His hazel eyes held hers. They were nice eyes. Not probing or intense.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I suppose that’s true.”

For some reason a vision of North Callaghan’s hard body flashed across her mind. She couldn’t picture him ever being soft. Or being in a relationship, for that matter.

She mentally kicked herself. She did not want to be thinking about him right now when she was having a lovely dinner with a lovely man. He’d already intruded far too much in the course of the evening.

They shared an order of tiramisu and finished their bottle of wine. It wasn’t hurried. After wine, they ordered coffee and chatted. Still, mostly about work. There was a lot of intersection in their careers. He’d represented the city of Sweet Hill in several of her cases. Things in common. She should have loved that.

But after working all week, she almost wished they could talk about something else. Anything.

She brought up some of her favorite shows, but he didn’t watch much television.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I bring home a lot of my work with me at night.”

“That’s . . . admirable.” And a little disappointing, but maybe that would change if he had a girlfriend. Certainly, he wouldn’t do that if he had a wife and family. He would have other things, more important things, to occupy him. She stared at him across the table as though she could see into the future to whether or not he would be one of those men obsessed with his job to the point that he neglected his family.

It was close to ten by the time he drove her home.

She couldn’t stop herself from looking to see if her neighbor was home. North’s truck and bike were present when Brendan pulled his car in behind hers. He’d been home when Brendan picked her up earlier. It was a Saturday night. Surely he had things to do. Women to do . . .

Brendan walked around to get her door.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He smiled and gestured for her to proceed ahead of him. Her heels clicked softly as she made her way to the front porch. At her door, she stopped. This was always the awkward part.

She motioned behind her. “Would you like a tour?” They had talked about her new house over dinner. He was aware that she was a first-time homeowner and she was excited about it.

Anyone else might read the invitation to come inside as an invitation, but she had been working with Brendan for a while now, and it felt more awkward not to make the offer. They were already friends and she would have issued the invitation to any friend.

“Sure. I’d love to.” He stepped inside behind her.

She dropped her purse on the kitchen table and led him through the house, relieved that she’d tidied up the place—not that she was much for clutter. He remarked kindly about her attempts at decorating. She thought her place looked nice and homey, with copper pots hanging in her kitchen, and an array of pillows on the couches and her bed. Still, she knew it wasn’t like something out of a magazine. She didn’t really have an eye for that kind of thing.

“Thanks. Decorating is not really my thing. I’ve started watching HGTV though. Trying to pick up some tips.”

It didn’t take long to show him around. They quickly covered the downstairs: living room, kitchen, office/guest bedroom. She showed him her yard, mentioning she wanted to plant a garden in the spring. Her mother had loved to garden and it was something she wanted to try her hand at.

Next, she showed him the upstairs: the master bedroom and bathroom. The bathroom was her favorite with both a shower and a large spa tub.

Fifteen minutes later they stood in her kitchen again. The first-date-saying-goodnight awkwardness she had been hoping to avoid crept in then.

Thankfully he took it as his cue to leave. “I guess I’ll get going.”

She nodded and released a breathy sigh of relief, moving to open the door for him.

“Would you like to have dinner again? I’m really swamped this upcoming week with a trial. I’ll have several late nights. How about the week after? Actually I’ll cook and bring you dinner.”

She blinked. He would cook her dinner? “You cook?” He hadn’t mentioned that talent in their dinner conversation.

He shrugged. “I can make a decent pasta, bake some garlic bread and open a bottle of wine. Maybe you can make that cheesecake you bragged about.” He winked at her.

“That sounds great.”

He nodded. “Good. Six? It’s a work night.”

A work night. Because work is his priority. Where’s the passion? The spontaneity? She pushed aside the niggling little voice that wanted to be annoyed over this. “Sounds perfect.”

What do you want, Faith? Impractical and wild? Dirty-talking and irresponsible? A guy with a revolving bedroom door who has sex whenever he feels like it—any time, any day of the week.

She winced. No. She didn’t want that. That lived next door and she found him objectionable on every level. His body and face flashed across her mind. Well, almost every level.

Before departing, Brendan stepped in to give her a hug. She patted his shoulder and told herself that none of this was awkward at all.

Closing the door, she kicked off her shoes and moved upstairs, struggling with the zipper at the back of her dress. Finally able to grab it, she stepped out of the dress and tossed it in her laundry hamper.

She slid on a pair of pajama bottoms and a soft camisole. Making her way back downstairs, she spotted a text from Wendy demanding to know all the details of her date.

Laughing lightly, she moved into the kitchen. Opening the dishwasher, she started unloading it. She’d wait to reply to that one. There would be a lot of back and forth. Wendy was demanding that way.

Moments later, the phone buzzed again. She sent it a glance, assuming it was more from Wendy.

Speak of the devil. A smile tugged at her mouth. She snatched the phone up and stared at it one long moment before lifting her gaze to stare at her wall as though she could see through to the other side.

It appeared she wasn’t the only one listening at walls and staring out between blinds. North Callaghan was monitoring her comings and goings. He’d seen Brendan bring her home and come inside her house. He’d accurately surmised she was on a date. He knew. It should be creepy, especially considering what she knew about his background, but she couldn’t feel creeped out. She’d done her share of spying on him, after all.

Huffing out a breath, she succumbed and texted back. No. It was great.

Oh! Heat clawed her face. Not every date ends in sex. It doesn’t mean it was a bad date.

That was his definition of good chemistry? She lifted her gaze to the wall again and bit her lip. Was he right? The impulse to do that hadn’t even been there. Should it have been? She wasn’t saying she should have jumped into bed with Brendan, but shouldn’t there have been the desire? The chemistry? She hadn’t even thought about sex once when she looked at Brendan tonight. She dropped her gaze back down to her phone and typed. I hate you.

Very faint, laughter drifted through the walls. He was over there laughing at her.

She stomped her foot and resisted the urge to storm next door. Her phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced down.

Her fingers flew back with a response. I’m not angry. I just don’t like you very much Mr. Callaghan. Lust after him? Fine. There was that. But he didn’t need to know it. And fortunately (unfortunately?) Faith wasn’t the type of person who could go to bed with a person she didn’t at least like. She was attracted to him because he looked the way he did. Because he filled out a T-shirt with a body that looked like it could break granite. Clearly. No other reason.

Brendan Cooper was good-looking, too. An insidious little voice reminded her of that fact. Over half the women at the courthouse salivated over him. Wendy wasn’t the only one.

Her phone buzzed with another text. Back to being formal? A little late for that isn’t it?

Her heart pounded faster, harder as the memory of a naked North Callaghan flooded over her—not that the sight of him naked was ever far from her thoughts.

She stood there for a few moments, staring at her phone and wondering if he would decide to text her back despite his goodnight. She vowed not to reply if he did. She’d just had a date with a handsome, decent guy. Exactly the kind of guy she had been looking for. And, most importantly, there would be a second date. She needed to stop whatever it was she was doing here.

I bet you’re still seeing it.

The muscles low in her belly quivered as she stared at his previous text message. The words were branded on her. She closed her eyes and released a hissing breath. After a moment, she closed out the screen and moved into her contacts so that she could edit his name again.

She changed him from Giver of Orgasms to Arrogant Cock. She told herself he would be less appealing that way.