Interference (13 page)

“Indie,” Jason whispered as he rubbed my back. His lips pressed against the top of my head. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

Groggy from my sex-induced sleep, it took me a moment before my eyelids fluttered open. Then I realized I was still in Jason's bed and I popped up, catching his chin with my head.

Jason's lifted his hands to his face. “Damn, Indie. You have a hard head.”

“Funny. That's what I was gonna say about you,” I quipped.

Jason blushed. He actually blushed. And I almost felt bad about my comment. Until he placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back gently onto the bed.

“I can't get enough of you, Indie.” He kissed my neck. “I'm perpetually hard when you're around.” He kissed the space between my breasts.

Every time Jason's lips touched my skin, I thought of a new word to describe him. Sweet. Thoughtful. Passionate. Responsible. His lips trailed down my stomach and I arched against him.

Every touch made me want to ride him one more time before I had to leave. To enjoy every single moment with him. I couldn't believe how wonderful it felt to be with an amazing man, who thought about me instead of himself. I wanted to wake up in his arms every morning, but I knew that couldn't happen.

Because responsibility trumps sex. At least in my world.

And the ancient, brown digital clock on his white bedside table told me it was past one a.m. I had to get home to Holden. My son eclipses everything. As long as I didn't have a job that had me working a crazy morning shift, I would always be there when he woke up.

I reached down and pulled Jason's head back up to meet my lips.

“You are a wonderful man,” I whispered. Leaning forward, I placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

With great reluctance, I slid out of his bed and crouched down to grab my clothes, lying in a jumbled heap on the floor.

Jason rolled onto his back and laced his fingers behind his head. “Do you want to wear something of mine?”

“I, um…” I glanced down, contemplating the wrinkled mess in my arms. “Maybe a long-sleeve T-shirt or something?”

The disgust of pulling on a pair of dirty underwear after I'd just had sex made my stomach turn. “And shorts?”

Jason smiled and jumped out of bed. The cop wasn't the type of guy to immediately search for his underwear. Nope. He strutted around in all his glory—serious glory—because I'd left him in a state of morning-wood excitement.

But Jason didn't care. Didn't hide. Completely comfortable walking around au naturel in front of me. He continued on his mission, opening the top drawer of a tall dresser and pulling out a pair of basketball shorts.

“Here.” He threw the shorts at me. “These should fit. They were from my skinnier days.”

Skinnier days? Jason probably wore a smaller pants size than I did. In my defense, I still had some baby weight to lose.

I dropped my own clothes and picked up the shorts he'd thrown me. As I pulled them on, a massive shirt whipped me in the face and got caught on my head. “Geez, copper!”

“Sorry!” Jason said through a snort.

I removed the shirt and give him a faux scowl. “What are you doing?” I asked, tugging the soft, gray T-shirt over my head.

I'd jump back into bed if I were him. His bed was really comfortable. And warm. But instead, he pulled another pair of shorts out of the drawer.

“Driving you home.” He tugged the bright-orange shorts over him, covering everything.

I sighed dramatically.

“Don't even.” Jason walked over and pulled me into his arms. “I gave you the opportunity.”

“I know.” I snuggled into him, placing my cheek on his chest and squeezing him. “You're just so damn sexy, Officer.”

Jason's grip tightened on me. “You make me want to cuff you to my headboard, Indie.”

My body shivered uncontrollably and I swallowed back rising bile. Even if Jason begged, I'd never give my permission to being tied up or cuffed to anything. By anyone. I gave away control once and I'd never let it happen again. That kind of behavior ended in mistakes.

I'm going to stay vanilla and be happy as a freaking clam.

“I don't really…” I began, my voice timid. But I found confidence and tilted my head to meet his eyes. “No. I don't like that kind of stuff.”

Jason's face lost all color. “I'm so sorry, Indie. I was kidding. Or, ya know, trying to be sexy.” He released me, clenched his eyes shut and grabbed his hair with his fingers. “It was a stupid thing to say. I've never done that, I swear. Fuck. I'm such a prick.”

I reached up and grabbed his hands. “It's okay. I know you didn't mean anything. But if you're into it, I just wanted to tell you that I'll never be the girl who likes that kind of stuff. I have control issues, it's…” I stopped rambling to take a deep breath.

Jason's arms stiffened and I cursed myself for even bringing it up. For bringing anything up. For agreeing to go on dates with him at all.

I deserved to be a spinster. Or spinster reimagined, I guess.

It had been too long since I'd been in an intimate situation with anyone. Way too long. Instead of enjoying the moment, I'd blurted out my baggage like a crazy idiot. I didn't even have enough dating etiquette to know when to shut the fuck up.

He'd never ask me out again. Never. Ever. Ever ever ever.

Poor Jason.

“Sorry.” I bent down to gather my dirty clothes off the floor. “Oh my gosh, I'm sorry.”

My mind raced with my options for getting home, because I sure as hell wasn't sitting in a car with Jason after I'd just made a huge fool of myself. I could call Damien, but wouldn't that be the most embarrassing walk of shame? Making him pick me up from his hockey coach's house after we'd screwed the daylights out of each other.

Worst sister ever. Worst date ever. Worst mom ever.

This is why I hadn't dated since Holden. I'd rather save my overreacting for important things—like if I damaged my son for life by bottle-feeding him instead of breast-feeding.

“I don't need that kind of stuff, Indie.” Jason placed his hands on my hips and pulled me in to him. When I straightened, our bodies were molded together. “I'm so sorry I made that stupid proposition.”

“I'm sorry for freaking out.”

“You don't have to apologize, Indie. I like what we have. I don't want you to run away or be scared of me.” He rested his chin on my shoulder as he held me tighter. “Can we start again?”

I nodded.

“What I meant to say was, I want you naked in my bed again,” he whispered. “This should be sexy and fun. Not scary. I want you to want to be with me.”

I nodded again, this time with the song “I Want You to Want Me” running through my head.

He pressed his pelvis into my backside and ground into me. Every pressure point in my body tingled. I wasn't prepared for Jason's reactions.

From previous experience, I know that Tim would have rolled his eyes and told me to shut up. How sad that I'd been programmed to be surprised by Jason's apology and his concern for my feelings.

“Ya know, copper, for being the most responsible man I've ever met, you sure make me feel like being irresponsible.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the side of my neck. “Wanna be responsibly irresponsible in my truck?”

Instead of answering, I twisted to look at him. His eyes shone bright and mischievous, complementing the sexy smile on his face.

“I can't help it. Every time I'm with you I want to fuck you, Indie. Then feed you grapes and fan you until you're ready to go at it again.”

My knees buckled at his words. Relief shot through me as Jason tightened his grip on my hips, catching my pending collapse.

“You're a dangerous man,” I whispered.

And I meant it, but not in the sloppy teenage way that Tim brought to mind.

I'd never been this attracted to someone. I'd barely even thought about sex before meeting Jason. Family, work, school; everything else came before a relationship.

And sex? Sex hadn't even been on my radar. Sex and kids were synonymous in my head. And I wasn't ready for kids again now—if ever.

“Dangerously sexy?” Jason asked.

“Dangerously scandalous,” I added.

“You said the magic words,” he whispered. His hand swept across my stomach and into the waistband of the baggy shorts I'd borrowed from him.

“You're sure Holden doesn't scare you away?” I asked as Jason drove me home. I should have left well enough alone and basked in the postcoital happiness on our way to my house from his. But the overwhelming need to be with someone who could handle a child consumed me.

“Not at all.” Jason scanned my face before his eyes flicked back to the road. “Were you afraid it would?”

“Some guys don't want to get involved with someone who already has a kid,” I explained. “And I vowed not to bring random guys into Holden's life. I need to know there's potential.”

“Potential?” Jason glanced at me. “What are we talking about here?”

“I just mean a future, maybe.”

“Indie, I can't promise anything. I like you. You're sweet and honest and I have so much fun hanging out with you. But I can't promise a future right now.”

“I'm not talking about marriage, Jason,” I explained. “I'm just talking about someone who's not going to walk in and walk out. We don't need that in our life.”

Jason rubbed his eyes. Judging by his reaction, he didn't think now was the best time for this conversation. “I just…I can't promise anything.”

The butterflies, which had been permanently swirling in my stomach since the first time I saw Jason, dropped dead. My heart slowed to a normal beat, something it did only when I'd been asleep next to him.

“Then what are we doing?” I asked. My stomach churned. We spent every free moment we could carve out together. He'd taken me and Holden on an overnight trip to meet his parents. In my mind, it meant he saw a future with me.

“What do you mean? We're dating.”

I knew my next question would push me back into crazy-lady territory. “Well, I only date people that I see a future with.”

“You have to date people to get to know them.” Jason held the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“I'm a good judge of character.” I couldn't help the icy tone. “At least, I used to be.”

He dropped his hand and looked at me with tired eyes. “What does that mean?”

“I thought there was something real between us.”

“There is.” Jason pulled into my driveway. He shifted the truck into park and scooted closer to me. “But we've only been seeing each other for, what? Two months? I can't promise forever right now. I didn't realize I had to.”

“You don't. I…I don't know why I said anything.”

Jason glanced at the silver watch on his wrist. “I need to get going.”

“Of course.” I scooted toward the door.

“Don't be like that. I have less than three hours before I work a double shift and I have to get some sleep. This isn't over, Indie. We're going to talk about it.”

“It's fine, really. I need some time, too.”

Time to stop being such an idiot. There was no reason to unleash the crazy on him, but the situation felt like an after-sex brush-off. And it hurt. Especially when he knew my history. He knew I didn't want guys coming in and out of Holden's life. Or mine.

I sounded annoying and needy, so I tried to smooth it over. “Really, Jason. I'm sorry for freaking out. I'm not used to feeling so much for someone. I'm not used to dating and I reverted back to sounding like a stupid teenage girl. I'll go in the house and get my mom to smack some sense into me.”

“Indie, stop. It's okay.” Jason slid his hand through my hair, stopping behind my ear and brushing his thumb over my cheek. “I'm not good at this, either. I didn't mean to upset you. I do see a future. I just need to take it slow.”

I nodded. It's exactly how I thought I'd feel about a relationship before I met him. Now that I found him, I had to rein in my feelings and play it cool. Which was an alien concept for me, because I hadn't played it cool in forever.

You don't have to play it cool when you're a mom to an infant or toddler. I handle the crap people throw at me, but don't mess with my kid. Everyone expects the protective mama bird to come out and peck the shit out of anyone who messes with her son.

“Thanks for a great night,” I said, though I couldn't really smile.

“I'll talk to you later.” Jason released my face and checked his watch again.

Which was my cue to get the fuck out of his truck.

The way I left things yesterday with Indie had me down. She was so pissed when I dropped her off at her house. I hadn't meant to sound like such a jerk, but it was early, and I'd been half-asleep. I wasn't ready to discuss the future.

I needed to make it up to her. To prove I wasn't trying to push her away. To prove I wanted to be part of her life. And it needed to be something awesome.

The microwave beeped, alerting me that my breakfast was ready at the same time my phone rang. The screen showed Carlos “Los” Torres, my roommate for three of our four years of college.

“Los! Hey, man!” I answered, holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I grabbed the steaming bowl of oatmeal from the microwave. “What's up?”

“Busier than a strip club on payday, but I can't complain. And no one gives a shit if I do,” he responded in typical Torres fashion.

“Truth.” I carried my oatmeal to the table and sat down.

“I just had the weirdest thing happen and I had to call you. Remember that cold case you had me look into a while back? Name was Berezin?”

“Yeah?” I asked. My shoulders tensed with anxiety. How could I forget? As soon as Auden had told me our mom had been killed, I'd called Torres, because, as the third generation in a family of city cops, he'd gotten a spot on the Detroit Police Department straight away.

“So, I'm working on this other case, right? Typical junkie robbing someone at gunpoint-type shit. Only, when they run his prints, they come up on evidence from another case. The purse stolen from Valerie Berezin.”

The spoon slipped from my fingers and clanged against the porcelain bowl. “What?”

“Yeah. It's crazy, right? After what? Fifteen years? This dude's prints show up again.”

“So does that mean you'll open the Berezin investigation back up?”

“Can't.”

“You can't? Why not? I mean, matching prints are enough to take another look at an unsolved case, right?” I leaned back in my chair and pushed away from the table, too revved up to eat.

“Yeah, they are. But the guy's dead, so we can't.”

“He's dead?”

“Found in a house off Faust and Seven Mile with a needle in his arm. Sorry, man.”

“It's…” I paused before speaking and followed a different train of thought. “Looks like he moved to the west side in the fifteen-year gap, eh?”

Los didn't speak and I knew he was trying to find words to console me. “Sometimes solving shit is anticlimactic, eh? We want there to be some big story to justify all the pain, but…” He stopped. “Give your friend my condolences, eh?”

“I will.” There was another moment of silence as I fought to sort my thoughts. “Hey! How's Maria feeling?”

Torres's wife had sent a mass email to friends and family a few weeks ago to announce that she was pregnant with their first kid. I'd called to congratulate him, but I hadn't talked to him since.

“Pregnancy sucks, Jay!” he said with a hollow laugh. “Maria's miserable. She can barely be at work because she's puking all the time. I don't know why people call it morning sickness. It happens 'round the clock for her.”

“Really?” Like anyone, I knew the basics of pregnancy, but I'd never been around a pregnant woman for any length of time.

My mind wandered to Indie and what her pregnancy had been like. Especially without the support of a partner.

“Yeah, the doctor said it usually goes away after the first few months, but she's still sick. Said it's been the worst experience of her entire life. She's happy. Don't get me wrong. But it's hard on her, ya know?”

“Which is hard on you,” I pointed out.

“Right? But I try to do my best to keep her happy. You know what they say. Happy wife, happy life.”

“That sucks, man.” I paused. “I mean, not the happy-wife part.”

“No, I get it,” he assured me. “I'm so happy she only has six more months.”

“Yeah, but then you'll have a little you running around. And that's pretty fucking scary.”

“Shut up, man!” Torres laughed, but he agreed. “It is scary. Who in their right mind would let me have a kid? Shouldn't there be a background check or a test before you can be a parent or something?”

“No shit. You were probably crushing beer cans on your forehead last weekend,” I joked.

I never missed the opportunity to tease Torres about our college days. His favorite party trick after he got shit-faced was to crush beer cans on his forehead. Fortunately, I witnessed the hilarious first time he tried it—when the can didn't crumple.

“Were you there?” he joked. “Seriously, though, I think we'll be fine. We've both got family close by to help out.”

“Has Maria said anything else about the job?”

Every cop who has ever been married or dated anyone seriously had heard the fears multiple times. Never coming home from a shift. Killed in the line of duty.

“It freaks her out, especially now, with a baby on the way. But she knew what I was before we got married, ya know? Giving up my career was never a choice.”

“I know,” I agreed.

“But she did tell me to ask if your department had any jobs open. Guess she thinks small-town life would be safer for me.”

“Safer from murderers and rapists, but you've got the extra hassle of helping chickens cross the road and lifting tipped cows. So it's a toss-up.”

Torres laughed, hearty and strong. We could make morbid jokes with each other about the dangerous reality of our job. We knew we put our lives on the line every single day by buttoning the uniform. We never knew what we were going to be involved in. It's the same for any cop—doesn't matter how big or small the city.

But the probability of being killed in the line of duty was substantially higher in Detroit. We both knew it. So did Maria.

“She'd rather me walk the streets of the D before she moved to the country.”

I glanced out of my kitchen window at the quiet road my house sat on. “It's not for everyone.” Not even me. “What's the situation look like there? Jobs opening up?”

“They're hiring now, man. Get your ass back here. We need all the good guys we can get.”

Torres knew Bridgeland was a detour to gain experience, and that it had always been my plan to move back to Detroit. He reminded me every time we talked, just like a good best friend should.

“How are you holding up in the boonies?” he asked.

“It's slow. But it's not bad, ya know? People are nice here, but I've been here two years and it's still hard to get used to. Only one movie theater. I have to drive an hour to get to the closest mall.”

“I didn't realize you cared about things like that, my man.”

“I don't. I just mean it's a different world out here. Christmas shopping was a bitch.”

“Well, that's two strikes against me getting Maria to move there. She hyperventilates if she's too far from a department store.” Torres paused, and I heard the static of his radio in the background. “I'm on my way.”

“I'll let you go, man,” I told him. I understood the importance of that radio as well as he did.

“Yeah, duty calls.” Torres's tone seemed almost apologetic.

“Thanks for calling, Los. I really appreciate it.”

“I knew it was on your mind.”

“Talk to you soon,” I said and hung up.

I set my phone on the table and picked up my spoon. The oatmeal sat in my bowl, cold and lumpy. I set my spoon down. It wasn't like I could eat after that call anyway.

I thought about calling Auden, but as much as she'd wanted closure, I knew the news would be another disappointing reality for her.

What did I expect? To save the day? Be the hero?

I wanted there to have been more to the story than a drug addict killing an innocent stranger in a robbery to acquire money for his next fix.

I wanted there to be a crazy backstory, some ridiculous reason, like the Russian mobster Auden had suggested.

But did I really? Did I want to believe my biological mom had been involved in shady shit? Maybe it was easier to see her death as just another senseless strike on the streets of Detroit.

No.

It would be easier to never have to think about things like this at all.