Chapter Four

 

Sometimes all you want in life is to cuddle up on your couch and binge-watch your favorite shows, taking the occasional break to eat or jerk off to fantasies of last night’s rescuer until you feel better about the world.

And sometimes shitheads trash your apartment and you realize that isn’t going to happen for a while.

If you cried, this would be the perfect time.

“Why you, Mr. Lumpy?” I whimper, leaning back on my slaughtered, stuffing-oozing couch and petting it pathetically. “Why did it have to be you?”

I catch Carter—aka my new bodyguard—out of the corner of my eye, and I’m not surprised to see he’s still steaming mad. Things are bulging and pulsing that don’t normally bulge or pulse on the human body. It’s intimidating and wildly erotic, but still. “Why are you mad? They didn’t stab your ugly couch and steal your ancient PlayStation.”

But of course Carter is mad. My protection is his main priority. At least, it has been since last night. And let me tell you, he’s taking his job seriously. So seriously I’m kind of losing my mind over it.

This morning was a good example. I’d woken up in a strange bed to a whole new world. My clothes had been washed and neatly folded so I’d have something to wear after my shower. Then I’d come downstairs to the smell of Italian sausage and scrambled eggs so fluffy they practically floated into my mouth.

I wallowed in the five star service, trying to ignore how guilty I felt for putting Carter to so much trouble. Then he started poking and prodding my injuries, interrogating me about my apartment’s security, and all the guilt was gone. When the answers I gave didn’t impress him, he’d insisted on driving me home and following me inside to check things out.

I wasn’t sure why he was bothering, but I wasn’t going to argue about spending more time in his company. Not when he’d looked even better this morning than he had last night.

I didn’t expect what we found when I opened the door. Who in the hell would expect something like that? But Carter’s reaction didn’t give me the opportunity to slip into shock. I was too busy watching him.

He’d stared at the mess for a full minute before turning around and making a few angry sounding phone calls in the hall—leaving the door wide open to keep an eye on me at all times.

Like I’m five.

By the time police arrived, I was vacillating between irritation at his high-handedness and sexual attraction for the pacing, controlling, overprotective beast. Yeah, I know, but I can’t help it. Everything about Carter does it for me.

“This happened after they attacked him last night and after we filed the report. Are you telling me they aren’t in custody yet?”

He wasn’t yelling, but he had his, “Drop and give me twenty” face on and the young officer on the scene looked like he might piss his pants. “Not yet, sir. We’ve managed to get a hold of a cousin, but he hasn’t heard from them and thinks they might be staying with an unknown friend. Laying low.”

My sigh is loud enough to draw their attention. “What about Toni?”

“Your neighbor? She’s missing too. Her apartment looks like it got hit by the same tornado yours did, but half the clothes in her closet are gone, as well as most of her toiletries. That gives every appearance of someone packing to leave in a hurry.”

At least he let her take her clothes. From the stories she’d told me, he wouldn’t have wanted to see anything she’d gotten without his explicit approval. Asshole. “Any signs she left against her will?”

Dark eyes snap to me but I keep my attention on the cute cop. “We can’t rule it out, but with their history and her hand in last night’s attack it doesn’t seem likely.” He offers me a sympathetic smile. “I know you’ve said she was a friend, but in long term abuse cases like this, people rarely act in the best interests of their friends and family. It’s not a conscious decision. Just survival instinct.”

I know that, but I don’t want to believe it, especially not about Toni. “I wish I knew if she was alright.”

I wish I’d been able to see what was happening before it was too late.

“You’re a good man.” He moves forward to pat me awkwardly on the shoulder. “I guarantee we’ll do everything we can to find all three of them.”

I’m about to thank him when his hand disappears and a wall of flexing back muscles encased in another snug t-shirt obstructs my view. Does he buy them a size smaller on purpose or something? Showoff.

“If you’re done here, JD needs to pack a few things so we can go.”

“Go where?” I’m not sure what he’s talking about. I’m too busy being mesmerized by his exceptional…trapezius? Is that what it’s called? Whatever it is, I like it. I think I need to take an anatomy class or three so I know exactly what I’m drooling over. Maybe he’d donate his body to my research.

“R-right,” the poor guy stutters. “It’s pretty clear who’s responsible, even if we didn’t have witnesses in the building who’d seen the men coming and going. We’ll update the APB, and I’ll need Mr. Green to make a list of anything damaged or missing.”

He’s already told me the likelihood of getting anything back is negligible. Why do I have to make a list? Salt for the wound? Way to rub it in my face that when the two imbeciles hadn’t been allowed to hit me as much as they wanted to, they’d taken their thwarted angst out on my furniture. And my dishes. And my television…

I stand and move around the obstacle that is Carter Willis with my attempt at a grateful smile. “I’ll do that first thing. Thank you for the fast response.”

His grin is relieved. “Anytime, Mr. Green. By the way, I love your work. I never miss your column, or any of your diaries. It’s amazing how you can manage to be so funny and compassionate at the sam—”

Before he can finish, Carter is herding him out the door. “We’ll be in touch with the list and for an update on the manhunt.”

That was rude.

And hot.

But rude.

“Is it the uniform?” I ask lightly as I pull the irritating hair away from my face with a rubber band, grab a garbage bag and start to pick up pieces of broken plate and glass.

“Is what the uniform?” He leans against the door, rubbing his palms over his face as if he’s still tired.

“Do you see a uniform and need to make it cry out of some deeply ingrained training, or is it something else?”

He glares balefully in my direction. “This is a crime scene and he wasn’t taking it seriously.”

“My couch was murdered, how serious is that in the grand scheme of things? And I think he was taking you seriously. Especially after you name-dropped the old chief of police a few dozen times.”

“He was about to ask you for an autograph. Or a date.”

“He was about to ask for advice, Zeus. Flattering me about my writing was the first clue. My work is funny and compassionate? He never misses a column?” I curl my lip. “Yeah, he’s got sex on the brain, but I’d bet good money that he doesn’t want it with me.”

I’d also bet he wasn’t gay. Hetero guys ask for advice all the time. Usually a friend turns them on to my column, and they like it enough or are desperate enough to ask me for help. I don’t mind and I love a challenge. As they say, love is love.

“Someone asking for a date wouldn’t flatter you?”

I can’t stop my snort of disbelief. “Not like that.”

“How then?” 

I’m not reading anything into that question. He’s not asking for himself. Nope. But the topic he’s broaching is a sore spot for me, so it isn’t likely I’ll keep my mouth shut either.

“You want to know about the mating habits of today’s gay bachelor? I’ve spent the last six months researching the subject. As far as I can tell, it consists of Photoshopped dick pics and Grindr hookups. Screw pointless praise not pertaining to the peen. They get right to the point and ask if you want to cum over.” I emphasize. “If it’s yes, you go back to their place. If you’re not feeling it, you move on to the next dating app—and there are dozens—or you can play it safe and phone a friend. Fuck buddy,” I clarify. “But that’s more like a break glass in case of emergency erection situation. Never a date.”

Carter’s face mirrors the disgust I feel.

“I know,” I say with a gusty sigh. “And don’t get me started on the well-meaning coworkers and matchmaking hobbyists that have set me up since I started the diary, not thinking I need to have anything in common with their choices other than my orientation. This is why the Dry Spell Diaries exist in the first place. When you start to look for a genuine connection to go with your booty call? That’s when it all goes to hell. The deeper I’ve gone down this rabbit hole, the more I believe that dating is the root of all evil.”

“None of what you described sounds like dating to me, Green. Dick pics? Fuck buddies? I’m not saying I haven’t had a few a one-night stands in my life, but they shouldn’t be the norm. What happened to dinner and conversation? Hanging out and letting nature take its course?”

Sounds good to me, but I’m discovering I’m a dating traditionalist. “Nature apparently takes too long. You have no idea how many men I’ve met in the last few months who told me that all their previous long-term relationships started as random hookups. Sex was their introduction. Finding out if they could have a conversation with each other came after.”

He shakes his head. “I must be older than I thought.”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up.”

“What a sweetheart,” he quips.

I start tossing things in the trash, trying not to smile as he throws back my sass from last night. It’s helping. I need something to distract me from what used to be my happily cluttered apartment.

They’re only things, I tell myself. Cheap things and I didn’t have much of them to begin with. Nothing that can’t be easily replaced.

I can’t lie. I am a little upset that my laptop was smashed.

I set it gingerly on the couch and Carter’s brow furrows. “I’ll call Tanaka again. He can salvage what’s in there and set you up, good as new.”

“That’s a nice thought, but I think this one is a lost cause.” I don’t want him to know how close I am to losing my shit. “I already have everything backed up on the Cloud anyway. Online,” I say when he frowns in confusion. “All my work is backed up online.”

Speaking of work, I’m going to have to tell my editor about Toni. He’ll be shocked when he hears what happened. He knew her background and worried about her as much as I did.

Maybe she’s already called him. They used to talk on the phone all the time, so at this point he might know more than I do.

Carter joins me in my trash collection, studying the room as if looking for a place to start. “How long have you lived here?”

I glance up and know what he’s seeing. One room. One Mr. Lumpy. One narrow bed that doesn’t look like it could fit two people, let alone five like his. And before it was kicked over and destroyed, one giant ass flat screen. Because priorities.

“Home sweet shoebox? I’ve been here ever since I moved to town two years ago. I didn’t need much space and the price was right. It helped me pay off my student loans a few months back, so now I’m rolling in…well, I don’t like to brag. Let’s just say I could buy a new television today if I wanted to. With enough change left over to do my laundry.”

Yeah, I’m still a broke-ish twenty-something and college was expensive. There were scholarships, but in order to survive with a full course load so far from the family fridge, I’d needed help. By the time I graduated I had enough debt to choke a miniaturized pony and two degrees that at first glance didn’t translate into high paying jobs.

I think I managed okay.

“You’ve already paid off your loans? I thought you were still in school.” Carter lifted the shattered screen back to its stand so he wouldn’t step on it. “Fiona mentioned something about a class you took together last semester.”

I go to open the cabinet under my kitchen sink, the one where cleaning supplies are usually stored, and I’m grateful to see all my old textbooks still present and accounted for. I wait until he’s looking my way and show off my collection.

No, I don’t have bookshelves. Did you miss the part where I live in a shoebox?

“We’re perennial study buddies,” I answer. “Technically I graduated a few years ago, but I can’t seem to give it up. It’s my one true vice. Other than Netflix. It could be worse, right? Some people are addicted to porn.”

I notice his eye twitch. “Is that face you’re making because I’m a nerd, or are you one of the people addicted to porn? It’s okay to tell me. I’m a professional. I get paid not to judge.”

“Neither,” he says severely. “Yes, to be honest, hoarding that many textbooks under your sink could qualify as nerd territory. And I have watched more than my share of porn because there’s not much else to do for entertainment on the base. But that’s not what I was thinking about.”

Can I ask what kind of porn?

No. No you can’t.

“But you were thinking about…?” I press instead.

“I’ve considered going back to college once or twice myself. Not for a degree or anything, but because I wanted to learn something new. I was thinking that’s something we have in common.”

This intrigues me more than I can properly express. “Name something you’d want to study if you could.”

“Art history, maybe?”

“Really?” That was the last thing I was expecting him to say. How can the man keep getting sexier? It’s got to be a statistical improbability.

Carter nods slowly, gauging my reaction. “I’ve seen some beautiful things in this world. Carvings in the middle of the desert. Cave paintings and museums that are older than our Constitution. I always wanted to know more about them.”

I find myself wishing I’d traveled more and seen some of those beautiful things with him. I want to sit him down and make him describe every one in detail. I want to rewind the moment and record that wistful quality in his voice when he tells me about his secret love of art again.

The more I learn about him the more he confounds me. Every time I think I have him pegged, he throws me for a loop. A manly, heroic, art-loving, Kung Fu-quoting, neat-freak, barbecue-infused loop. “I’d take that class with you.”

“Yeah?” His grin is contagious.

“Absolutely. It so happens I hoard textbooks and always have an opening in my schedule for a new class.”

“Nerd.”

We’re smiling at each other, but after a second or two I need to look away or I’ll start begging for a hug. Or a backrub that could lead to dry humping. Some sort of physical contact with this man who pushes buttons in me I didn’t even know existed.

I shouldn’t go there. I’m having a hard enough time as it is—pun intended—trying to hide my reaction to him. The one that won’t go away, no matter how bruised I am or how ransacked my apartment is.

I really need some alone time with my hand to sort out my feelings.

“Damn it.” Thinking of masturbation reminds me I’ll have to throw my sex toys away. Whether they were touched or not, I’ll never be able to use them again without wondering. Thinking about that helps to turn down the volume of my sex drive.

Carter comes over to grip both my shoulders, offering me a supportive squeeze. “They’re going to find them, Green. Bet on it.”

“I’m good.” I try to shake off my mood and not collapse into a defeated heap on his chest. “It could have been worse. Shit happens, right?”

One big palm slides around to cup the back of my neck and I almost moan at how good it feels. “It shouldn’t happen. Not to someone like you. Someone who was only trying to help a friend.”

I look away to hide the need his words and gentle touches are creating inside me. “I hear good intentions pave a certain road.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Leaning into him like a greedy sex fiend?

“Every time you get a compliment, personal or professional, you brush it off. That’s a bad habit you need to break.”

I’m not as good at taking advice as I am at giving it. I know this about myself, but it doesn’t stop me from bristling. “Is this how you made the ginger giant sob? Empathy? Because I was imagining more of a Richard Gere, military montage scenario. A pushups in the rain, face in the mud, nowhere else to go kind of thing.”

Carter scowls, hand tightening reflexively on my neck. “You keep bringing that up. It was my job to help young Marines who’d never faced true violence survive the real thing and come out the other side intact. So yeah, I was hard on them. Pushing people to their emotional and physical limits had a purpose, but I wasn’t doing it for personal enjoyment, because I’m not a damn sadist. I’d like to think it kept a few of them alive. That was the point. To make sure they came home to their families.”

“I’m sorry, Carter,” I offer, guilt lowering my voice and tying my stomach in knots. “I’m being a jerk when all you’ve done is help me.”

His expression softens as he lets me go. “You’re allowed. You’ve been through a lot, Green, and you’ve managed to keep a smile on your face through most of it. And you’re still thinking about your friend, worried about her, even though you have every right to be angry. You’re handling all of this better than most would in your situation.”

I’ve got him fooled then. I don’t feel like I’m handling it. I don’t want to handle anything. In fact, I’d really like to hide from everyone involved for at least a year. Including him. Especially him. “Thanks to you. I won’t forget everything you did to help. And I’m never forgetting your grandmother’s delicious barbecue sauce. Once things settle down here, I’ll meet you back at Finn’s and ply you with the best in beer and peanuts until I can convince you to be my personal Mr. Miyagi and secret sauce supplier. Deal?”

It’s an obvious opening for him to leave. I’m giving him an out so he can go home and stop worrying about me. He’s earned it. There’s no reason for him to stick around and watch me try to sew Mr. Lumpy back together along with my pride.

If Matilda taught me anything, it was the importance of standing on my own two feet. Self-reliance. No man has the right to define me. No man needs to protect me. I’m a strong, independent woma—man. Independent man.

She had a hard time remembering to adapt her female empowerment speech for her horde of foster sons. Which might explain why we all grew up to be slightly confused, if well-educated supporters of womankind. Luckily Rick was around to… No. The history professor and unapologetic feminist was no help in that department either. Good man, though. Always had a smile on his face.

The opposite of Carter’s expression at the moment.

“Why wait? We can talk more about it tonight. Pack enough for a few days,” he orders.

I sit down stubbornly and cross my arms and legs, hoping to hide the tent my pants just made in response to his command. “I think I’ll stay and get the place back in order instead of heading to a hotel. My landlord is going to have a fit when he sees this mess and finds out about Toni’s apartment. I can’t afford to lose my deposit if he kicks me out.”

“I’ve already talked to him. He’s not kicking you out, but he is going to come in here with his maintenance guys tomorrow and fix anything that’s broken.”

“You talked to him?”

There’s not an ounce of guilt in his expression. “In the hallway while the officer was taking your statement.”

I’m thinking a normal person would be insulted instead of aroused. “A little presumptuous of you, Master Sergeant Willis.”

“I’m not denying that. Now do you pack your things, or should I?”

Gorgeous, bossy bastard. “I know where you’re going with this.”

He crosses his arms as well, biceps bulging and ready for the battle. “Where am I going, Green? Enlighten me.”

“You asked for it.” I give him my best side eye. “You feel responsible since you saved me, and guilty that you weren’t there sooner. The idea of leaving a bruised up kid in a trashed apartment is offensive to your sense of honor and decency. I can appreciate that, but allow me to alleviate your concern. I’m great.” I glance quickly around the room and correct my statement. “As soon as I buy a new television, I’ll be great. I’ve never had a problem looking after myself, so the care and feeding of Ken’s favorite columnist is covered. I cooked breakfast for a dozen people every morning for years before I graduated high school. After that, ordering takeout should be a snap.”

I don’t tell him who those people were, or that half the time Pop Tarts and frozen breakfast burritos were on the menu. He doesn’t need to know everything. “I’m good,” I repeat firmly. “You’re absolved. Released. Your karmic spreadsheet is balanced. I. Am. Fine.”

“But are you done?”

I chew on my lip, thrown off balance by his quick comeback and enigmatic expression. “For now.”

“You’re not fine,” he calmly corrects me. “And repeating a thing doesn’t make it true.”

I try to respond, but he holds up his hand, determined to make his point. “You told the police that Toni has a key to your apartment. You’ve admitted it’s possible she’s with the men who attacked you, who might have done worse if they hadn’t been interrupted.”

I really don’t want to think about that.

“They aren’t in custody yet, which means they could come back at any time and there wouldn’t be anyone around to stop them.”

“Bet you’re a joy at Christmas parties,” I mumble bitterly.

Carter shoots me a stern look. “You want a bright side? Let’s say they’re smart and they stay away. You’d still be here on your own. You said you’d be fine as long as you had a new television. How exactly would you manage that? I know you won’t take pain meds, but there’s no way you could drive responsibly when you’re banged up like this. That is, if you had a car. Do you have a car, JD?”

“No.” Am I shrinking? Can he still see me on the couch or do I look like a smallish speck of lint? “I was planning to call for one.”

He nods grimly. “Sure, that would work. And would you trust a stranger who pimps out his car to help you back up the stairs while carrying your purchases? Would you let him in your apartment? I’m curious, since I already know you wouldn’t ask a friend.”

“How do you—”

“You haven’t called anyone since last night, Green. Not at the police station and not this morning. And judging by your stubborn insistence that you can take care of yourself, I doubt you’ll send up the bat signal once I’ve gone.” His breath comes out in a gusting sigh. “So your plan is to sit on your murdered sofa that’s surrounded by broken glass, with nothing to distract you from worrying about your neighbor and what part she may or may not have played in what happened to you. Did I miss anything?”

“You forgot the takeout.”

“Shit, I did, didn’t I? Nobody’s perfect.”

“Is this what I do?” I mutter, uncomfortable at being so easy to read. “I don’t think I like observant people.”

“Well I don’t much care for the fact that you were right about what I was thinking either. Most of it,” he amended. “I do feel guilty for not getting to you sooner. My friends and I are the reason you didn’t leave at a decent hour, so one of us should have made sure you were safely on your way home. And anyone with an ounce of decency would hesitate before letting you deal with this mess alone. But I don’t see you as a kid, and I don’t think you’re incapable of taking care of yourself. I’m not asking you to come with me out of pity or a sense of obligation.”

“Then why?”

I feel more than see him move closer. When I lift my chin his eyes are already on me, clear and honest. “I enjoy your company, Green. And despite you being stubborn as hell about accepting help, I wouldn’t mind a little more of it. You already know my place has enough room for you to spread out and spend a night or two. At least until you get your locks changed. It seems like the smartest solution to me.”

What he’s saying makes sense. He has the room and he wouldn’t mind the company. Those are reasons I can understand, even relate to.

When I don’t respond right away, he brings out the big guns. “I also thought it might be nice to have Fiona and the guys over for barbecue tonight, since my recipe got rave reviews. I haven’t had anyone over for dinner since I moved in, so I’d appreciate the extra set of hands. You’d be doing me a favor.”

I squint at him, my injured eye throbbing in time to my rapid pulse. He’s wily. I wasn’t expecting that. “You’re using Finns, Fiona and your grandmother’s magical sauce to get me to do what you want? That’s manipulative. That’s bribery.”

“That’s friendship. Particularly when your friend is being too damn contrary to do what’s in his best interests.”

He sits down beside me and I suck in a shaky breath when his hip grazes my thigh. I can’t dismiss my reaction to him when he’s this close, and it doesn’t have anything to do with friendship. It could be an issue if we spend more time together. Who am I kidding? It’s already an issue. “I’ll be honest, Zeus. I’m not sure staying with you is what’s best for me.”

Carter lifts his hand, gently tracing my sore jaw. “These are the facts. I’m not leaving you alone until the idiots who did this are in police custody. Simple as that. It’s not happening. So either I’m staying here and sleeping in…” he looks around dubiously. “On the floor. Or you’re coming back home with me.”

His gaze drops to my lips and something flares to life in his eyes, making our situation harder to deny. Since I woke up, I’d been trying to defuse my reaction to him. Telling myself he reminds me of my foster parents. Those two would bend over backwards to save a troubled child, and I think Carter would get along with them. They’re practically the same age.

But despite his reasoning and mine this—his touch and the way he’s been treating me? It feels like attraction. As in not parental. As in mutual.

As in still delusional?

Maybe. Either way, what in the hell am I supposed to do with that?

I give my trashed apartment another quick glance and shake my head. The facts, he said. The fact is I don’t want to stay here alone just to prove I can. He’s right. I’m not in any shape to accomplish more than brooding over what’s already happened. I’ve got no computer, no flat screen and no one I’m willing to call and whine about my life to.

Usually, I’d suck it up and deal, but when it comes down to it, I think I’d rather exist in a state of semi-permanent arousal from his heated glances and constant attention than cuddle up for the night with nothing but my wounded pride.

Screw pride, anyway. At least for another day or two, give me a protective Alpha male that smells like sex in the woods and wants to make me dinner.

Sorry, Matilda.

“Only for a night,” I finally concede. “Two tops. And we’ll be making a few stops before we go back to your house. There are things I need.”

“What are we getting?” He doesn’t conceal his surprised smile. I think he was expecting more of an argument. “I already have a television, so you don’t have to worry about that right now.”

“I’m getting a new laptop and a few gallons worth of Moose Tracks,” I tell him. Maybe some lube, if I can sneak it by him. “And I’m buying the groceries for dinner. It’s the least I can do and it’s nonnegotiable.”

I can tell he wants to argue but he wisely decides against it. “As long as I can carry the bags and there’s a pint of pistachio, I’m in.”

“Our friendship is over. Pistachio?”

“Like Moose Tracks sounds so appetizing?” He counters with a chuckle as he stands there, hands on his hips like my own personal superhero.

I’ll convert him. He’ll be as obsessed as I am by the time I’m through with him.

Are we still talking about ice cream?

Maybe. All I know is my sex drive is back with a vengeance. In case anyone was worried about that.