“What are you doing?!” I practically screeched.

Sam Martinez’s eyes widened as if I were the mentally unhinged one in this scenario. Couples surrounding us halted mid-dance, aiming curious gazes our way. Only the music continued as if nothing was happening.

Will’s face had turned to the shade of spackle while his arms remained pinned behind his back by Martinez. The officer wore jeans, a short-sleeved gray t-shirt, and a pissed-off expression.

“You were pushing him away and he was ignoring you. I’m just teaching the kid a lesson in manners.”

He directed a scowl at poor Will, who at this point was undoubtedly regretting his foray into cougarland.

Riya materialized at my side. “Are you okay?” Then she spotted Will on the floor. “Oh my God! Will!”

I advanced, taking Riya with me. “Let. Him. Go.”

I could practically hear the officer’s jaw click with tension. He still didn’t release Will.

“You’re not even in uniform. You look like a crazy person, and the bouncer will be here in about two seconds to kick us all out!” I ground out through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the stares directed our way.

Only then did he relent and pull Will back up to his feet. I sent a pained smile to Will and then shot daggers at Officer Crazy Pants. He ignored me, stepping between Will and me and turning to face my unfortunate dance partner.

I bit my lip and looked at Riya, but she was too busy listening to Martinez as he leaned in and spoke in a low threatening tone to Will. “If you know what’s good for you, kid, you’ll be in your car and on your way home in the next thirty seconds. After you apologize for overstepping with the lady, that is.” I rolled my eyes at that. Will looked like he’d rather just skip to the going home part, but he wasn’t stupid. He glanced over Martinez’s shoulder and focused on a spot about two feet to my left.

“Sorry, Jenna,” he mumbled and then backed away. I squeezed Riya’s arm and she took the signal, following Will out the door to make sure he was all right.

We were still attracting way too much attention. Officer Martinez reached into his pocket and withdrew his badge. He held it up to the crowd. “Nothing to worry about, folks. Get back to your evening.” And that was it.

Oh, except for the part where he had not only butted into my private business, but managed to call me “lady” in the process. Good God!

I stalked off the dance floor and back to the table, not needing to look behind me to know the bastard was close on my heels.

I picked up my glass of Diet Pepsi to suck up the dregs and wipe the residual disaster-kiss aftertaste from my mouth, but it was roughly swiped from my hand before my lips could reach the straw.

“Oh, for the love!” I actually stomped my foot.

“You can’t drink that. It’s been sitting here unattended for who knows how long.”

I swiped the air with my hand. “Fine. I’ll wait till I get home and drink something there. I’m relatively certain nobody has broken into my house to spike the contents of my fridge.” I stalked past him and headed to the door, hoping that Will had vacated the premises and wasn’t still in the parking lot. Lord knows what Martinez would do at this point. My Tempted by the Young Stud evening was turning into Stalked by the Undermedicated: A Horror Story.

“I’ll walk you out.” Came the way-too-calm voice behind me.

I swung on him, finger poised to poke him in the face if necessary. “No way. Of all the people I’ve encountered tonight, your behavior is by far the most worrisome. You were totally out of line!”

His hands hit his hips and he leaned in. “That guy was mauling you and wouldn’t take no for an answer!”

“I kissed him!”

That sent his head jerking back. He squinted in confusion—or maybe he was trying to remember if he’d taken his meds today. “Why?”

“Why what?” It was my turn for perplexity.

“Why did you kiss him?” The dark stubble on his chin caught the light as his jaw clenched.

I let out a humorless laugh. “The usual reasons, Officer.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s Sam, not Officer. And I’m not even sure that kid was legal!”

This guy was unbelievable! “Oh my God. What is it with you? How old do you think I am?” We were in a standoff at this point.

Martinez shrugged. “I don’t know, but old enough to date a grown man, that’s for darn sure.”

My jaw dropped. “Will is a grown man, and a nice one, for your information. He just happened to be an appalling kisser.”

He couldn’t hold back his grin at that. “Wait a second. You were pushing him away because he was a bad kisser?”

My face flamed. “If you must know.”

“Shit. Now I feel kind of bad.” He tilted his head to the side in thought.

I punched him in the arm without thinking. “You should feel terrible!”

He considered that and shook his head. “Nah. He still had it coming.”

I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Can’t you get in trouble for pulling stunts like that?”

A noncommittal noise escaped his throat. “I don’t anticipate any problems.” He gestured to the door. “Let’s get you to your car.”

I raised an eyebrow. “About that. I’m fine on my own, thanks. I think you’ve done plenty tonight, Officer Martinez.”

“Sam,” he corrected me again. “And my job isn’t done until the lady is home safe.” He repeated his gesture.

“For God’s sake, ‘lady’ is almost worse than ‘ma’am’! What year were you born?”

He put a hand to the small of my back to guide me. I tried to ignore it. “I can’t help it if I was raised right.”

I scoffed, but I did get my butt moving to the door. As we passed by the bouncer, Officer Martinez—Sam—bumped fists with him. I should have known.

“If I turn up as a corpse on Unsolved Mysteries, I’m blaming both of you.”

This earned me a couple grins and it was all I could do not to flip them off on my way to my car.

* * *

“Holy shit. He totally likes you!”

“He’s totally annoying; that’s the important part,” I responded to my sister.

She picked up a gallon of paint and transferred it to the kitchen counter. “And I think it’s kind of cute he’s a bit old-fashioned. Mom would definitely approve.”

I stopped what I was doing and turned to face her. She looked annoyingly adorable in her painting outfit, complete with a jaunty kerchief covering her dark hair. “Okay. First of all, I’m not looking for a boyfriend—one who would get Mom’s stamp of approval or otherwise. And second, he said he liked my ‘spunk.’” My lip curled involuntarily.

Jill’s face soured. “Eww. Okay, I may have to talk to him about that one.”

I sent her a glare. “There will be no talking to the man. I forbid it! Now help me spread this tarp.”

We’d decided on the green paint, and Jill volunteered to help me paint the kitchen. I was confident in our abilities to do the interior spaces, but the house’s exterior was another story. That would involve a ladder and a probable tumble to an untimely death. Luckily, I’d found a crew of local college students who were earning extra money over the summer by doing painting projects. The price fit right into my budget, so I’d hired them on the spot. With any luck, the house would be repainted by the middle of next week.

I was excited but a little nervous. Part of me was afraid the girls would react negatively, that they’d feel hurt I altered their home while they were away. But I hoped if I presented it as a fun surprise, they’d be on board. If not, I might have to buy a pig.

“Fine,” said Jill. “But, at least tell me this: is he hot?”

I considered outright lying, but she’d see right through me. Our hands grasped the corners of the tarp as we shook it out and brought it to the floor. “He’s not … unattractive.”

Jill snickered. “Ha! I knew it! He’s smokin’.”

My lips twisted. “I wouldn’t say smokin’, but there’s definitely something about him.” I shook my head, trying to force the memory of his hand on my back out of my mind. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m not interested.”

Jill’s hands went up as a preface to what was surely a comment I wouldn’t like. “Just one more thought. Why couldn’t he be your summer sex slave? Sounds like he’d be more than up for it.”

My chin dropped and I shook my head emphatically. “No way. I haven’t even given him so much as a crumb and I already can’t shake him. You want me to give him the whole pie?”

“Only if it’s cherry.” She winked. “Which it probably is after all this time!” She guffawed at her own stupid joke.

I threw a roll of painter’s tape at her and nailed her in the forehead.

“Dammit! That hurt!”

“Serves you right, talking smack about my pie.”

I didn’t want to admit it to Jill, but thoughts of Officer All-Up-In-My-Business had been plaguing me since the other night. It wasn’t really like me to be so outspoken and brash with anyone, let alone an officer of the law. But he kept catching me by surprise and my filter all but disappeared in response.

When I let myself go back over the scene at The Corral, the image of him in street clothes made my girl parts take notice. He filled out that t-shirt quite nicely, and the absolute confidence he’d exhibited was pretty damn sexy, I had to admit. And then there was that thick hair and those eyes. Hmm.

But I wasn’t comfortable having someone focused so intently on me. Especially a virtual stranger. I mean, one phone conversation and the guy had come barging in on my pseudo-date and hauled a poor cowboy to the floor. Okay, so Will wasn’t really a cowboy, but for the sake of my fantasy he would have been.

And, sure, I was a female with working hormones, so of course I’d had occasion in the past to work up imaginary scenarios with hot men in uniform—but never did they involve the situations I kept finding myself in with this man. It was as if Sam were playing the dual role of older brother and stalker at the same time. I’m fairly certain there’s a cautionary after-school special about that somewhere.

All I needed right now was a non-criminal with a clean health record and a working libido who was up for a short fling with no feelings involved. But I couldn’t allow myself to think too much about this uncharted territory or I’d chicken out. So, back to painting and assaulting my sister it was.

We finished the first coat and stood back to admire our work.

“Not bad. It’ll look perfect when we’re done,” Jill said, rubbing at a spot of dried paint on her arm. We closed the paint containers and took the brushes to the utility sink before I let Reggie out of containment. The last thing I needed was his floppy ears acting as rogue paintbrushes and redecorating my couch cushions.

He investigated the tarp, as was his canine right, and I noticed he’d liberated himself from his collar once again. Before I could find it and strap it back on, Reggie raced to the dining room window to bark at the neighbor’s dog.

“Reggie, it’s just Max. I swear you act as if you’ve never seen that damn dog before in your life.” The couple across the cul-de-sac had a German Shephard who loved to sniff crotches, and apparently this offended Reggie in some way. I went to close the blind and block his view, and I caught sight of our neighbor Greer sitting on his front porch.

Now, there was a man who’d be right at home on the cover of any romance novel. Too bad he wore a permanent frown and was intimidating as hell. Which was odd, considering he could be seen most days with a three-foot-tall companion riding a pink tricycle.

Greer Markson and his daughter had moved in a few months back, and the only things I knew about him so far were that he’d been through a hellish divorce and he didn’t seem to care for women too much. Understandable, I supposed. I remembered the anger phase after my divorce when I’m pretty sure I projected Mike’s behavior on every male on the planet. Not even the male meteorologist on Channel 7 could escape my wrath. After a prediction of rain, I believe I yelled, “It’s just like a man to summon a rain cloud to ruin my day!” and then directed several rude hand gestures his way. So, I was prepared to give the wounded Mr. Markson a wide berth. I felt it was the neighborly thing to do.

It took me a while after Mike left to transition from denial to anger, truth be told. I suppose if he’d had an affair or been abusive in some way, it wouldn’t have taken so long. But that wasn’t the case. He just sat me down one day and said he wasn’t in love with me anymore.

I didn’t even understand what that really meant. I can’t say that our relationship had ever been madly passionate or heavy with infatuation. Our love was a slow and tender thing, not a forest fire. At least, it had been tender to me. And precious.

“I don’t feel any spark with you anymore, Jenna.”

I’d looked across the dining room table, my fingers absently tracing the grain pattern of the polished wood. I didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t you want more from life?” He seemed almost exasperated with me, even though he was the one who’d obviously been giving this so much thought.

I forced myself to speak. “More than what? Two beautiful daughters? A loving family? A secure home?”

“Yes! I mean, of course I appreciate those things. But I’m looking for more excitement. More passion.”

I half-laughed. Had he just referred to our daughters as things? I pushed that aside and thought about the last part of his statement. I knew things between us had been lackluster at best—case in point, him falling asleep during sex, something we never did address. It was just swept under the rug as if it had never happened. I shared the blame, I knew.

“There are things we can do, Mike. We can schedule more alone time. We can see a counselor. Your parents are always asking to take the girls for a week over school break.” I didn’t dare bring up his workaholic tendencies and how they certainly contributed to any problems in our relationship.

He just shook his head. I didn’t let myself even try to comprehend what that meant.

“Couples go through this all the time. They even have a name for it—the seven-year itch! We’re just a couple years off, that’s all. We can fix this.” I heard the pleading sound in my voice and it made me nauseous.

“It’s too late, Jenna.” His eyes looked tired. I’m sure mine looked stricken.

“What do you mean?” Don’t answer. Don’t answer. Don’t answer.

He ignored my silent plea. “I want a divorce.”

No, anger wasn’t the first emotion that had befallen me. Devastation. Sadness. Inadequacy. Those came first.

It took me a minute to realize Reggie had stopped barking at Max. Instead, as if reading my mind, he was chewing on the leg of the dining room table. I didn’t even move to stop him.

“Hey, Jilly,” I shouted to the other room. “Do you know anyone who’d want a slightly battered dining room table?”