Selling Satisfaction (21 page)

If he is going to surprise me with breakfast, I'll lay here a little longer. I reach back down, pulling my purse onto the bed. I dig through it until I find a brush to get the knots out of my hair, then I look into my compact to glance at the mirror, making sure I don't have black smudged under my eyes like some mornings, despite removing my makeup last night.

I look fine, except for the puff around my eyes. Probably because it's been so long since I cried myself to sleep. I'm embarrassed I cried in Everett's arms, but thinking back on the overall feeling it gave me, I can't help but to smile. No one has ever shown me love that like, at least not since my parents.

Digging through my purse a little more, I try to look for some gum but can't find any. Glancing around Everett's room, I'm hoping he'll have a pack on the dresser or something. My mouth tastes like ass, so I'm sure it smells the same. I don't see anything minty, so I reach over to his nightstand, pulling the drawer open. I push a few papers aside, to see if he possibly has anything to mask the smell of morning breath.

I spot an oval leather shell with a brass clip attached to it. The familiarity of it spins my stomach in circles. Picking it up, I look at the front. The pain that hits my stomach is undefinable. The front is all in gold, with the words etched boldly into it.
Detective. Protect. Serve.

As quick as I can, I dig through the rest of his drawer, looking for any hints that tell me this is a lie- because frankly, I don't want to believe it's the truth. However, the paperwork I find, with the name Detective Everett Burke all over it, tells me it's the truth. He's a cop- a detective at that.

I hate that it upsets me. Less over the fact he's a cop, but more so that he lied to me. I hate it because... I've been lying to him, too. I know now that I have no choice except to either continue my lies, or walk away.

Closing the drawer, I lay back on the bed, covering my face with my hands. I let out a loud grunt of frustration, hoping my hands will mask the sound. I'm not sure how I was so stupid about all of this. I hardly know anything about Everett. I don't know his age, or if he has kids, or what his favorite color is, or if he's ever been married, or any other random facts that I should know after falling this hard. I want to ask him, but I don't know how. I want to mention that I know he's a cop, but I'm scared it'll ruin us. In fact, I'm not even sure how much of an
us
there is, due to the fact that we both are in the dark about each other’s lives.

With a deep cleansing breath, I decide that I'll keep it to myself… for now. Maybe he'll tell me when he can trust me a little more. Today I'm going to commit to getting to know him better before making any rash decisions, and hopefully we can get on a better starting line than this.

Because if I'm being honest, the idea of having to walk from Everett- or having him walk from me- is probably the most gut wrenching thing to date, besides my parent's death. Maybe for the first time in my life, I'm actually, truly starting to fall in love.

I manage to fry up
some bacon and eggs, and cook toast without burning any of it. There are a few things I can cook, but it's embarrassing to admit how much I actually suck for being over half way through my twenties. However, I wanted to do something special for Brenna after she showed up last night, opening her emotions up to me, even if a little bit.

Scraping everything onto a plate, I walk down the hall to my room. She lays there, looking over at the window with a sense of despair. Her body flinches when she realizes I'm in the room. "Morning," I whisper, walking towards the bed.

She sits up a little more in bed, flattening my comforter over her lap. "Morning," she answers back. Her smile precious, but I can tell that whatever had her in tears last night is obviously still bothering her. "Order out or burn down the kitchen?" She eyes the food, her grin spreading mischievously.

"Well, I can't promise not to give you food poisoning, but the kitchen is still standing."

She reaches over for some bacon. "Smells delicious."

"Sleep well?"

"I did, actually. Thank you." With a pause, she adds, "I'm sorry about last night."

"Would it be harsh for me to say it made me happy?"

"So you're sadistic?" She nods her head playfully. "I wouldn't have known."

I can't help but to laugh. "No, that is far from the truth. I just... I enjoyed making you feel better."

That adorable blush of hers I have fallen for splays across her cheeks as she looks down at her new piece of bacon. "Where is this going Everett?" She asks. It takes me by surprise more than it should. She peeks up at me, the question eating at her.

Not sure how to answer, I ask the only thing I can think of before I can continue. "Where do you
want
this to go?"

Brenna shrugs. "I'm not sure. I've never had this. I've never felt like this before. But I don't know you, Everett, we don't know each other. How can any of this happen if we're still in the dark about parts of our lives?"

I hate how true that statement is, probably more than she even realizes. I want to tell her the truth, but I can't right this second. In time, once I'm a little more trusting, once I have more of a hold on my assignments and the new department I'm working for. In due time, I'm going to let her in entirely, to all my life, but for now, I'll give her what she needs to know. Who I am, aside from my profession. It's all I can do.

"That's what people do, Brenna. They start falling in love by the simple things, like the way a woman blushes or laughs, how hypnotizing her eyes are. They slowly fall in love with kisses and touches. They connect both with personalities and interests, and how well they can handle being around one another. The rest of it slides into place, and before you realize it, you're loving someone for their everything, flaws and all."

She cocks her head to the side. "Did you read that in a book or something?"

"Actually… it's similar to something my mom said to me when my first crush dumped me at fifteen. I thought I was in love. Mom's words always stuck with me, although I had to change things around a little, because I
have
fallen in love with things you do. The way when you're listening to music on the beach you move your foot around to the beat, or when you try to prevent a smile by biting down on your lip, or the way you're always blushing when I’m around. I love your eyes and lips more than one man should. I love each second you allow me to see beneath your shell. I'm falling in love with everything I do know about you."

I was hoping for a response where she threw her hands around my neck, kissed me with need, and repeated back everything she also loves about me, but that isn’t the case. Instead Brenna stares at me, a look of fear evident in her rounded eyes.

After a painfully long, silent moment, I ask, "Are you... going to say anything?"

"I..." She hesitates for a moment, blinking through some sudden tears. "I can't tell you how I feel yet, Everett. I need time."

Her words- or better yet, her lack of words- slice through me. I'm understanding that she needs time, I'm just scared that I told her all of my honest feelings, for her to turn around and not feel an ounce of what I do. I am nervous I'm running her off for good.

As if she can read my mind, she adds in... "I'm not saying I don't have feelings for you, because I do. It's that I can't express them
yet.
I need time. I want to know you more. I want to be with you more."

Closing the space between us, I sit next to her on the bed. Cupping her face in my hands, I lean forward to brush my lips against her. She lets out a pitiful groan, which confirms the fact she enjoys it. "All the time you need," I whisper.

Brenna leaves for over a
couple hours to shower, and whatever else it is that females do that takes so long to get ready. I hop in the shower, get dressed, make my bed, and sit in front of the television to watch the Cubs take on the Red Sox. Half way through the third inning, I hear her knock before opening the door. Standing from the couch, I look over at her tight jean shorts and a hippie styled white shirt that shows off a portion of her stomach.

She has glasses on her head, her purse hooked to her shoulder. "Thought we could do lunch somewhere," she suggests- as I was about to ask her if she was planning on going somewhere.

Knowing I can't say no, I pick up the remote to turn the TV off. Grabbing for my phone and wallet on the coffee table, I walk towards Brenna. She's still eyeing the TV.

"Who was playing?"

"Oh, um, the Cubs and Red Sox. You watch baseball?" If she says yes, I'm falling to one knee. It's about the only sport I actually follow religiously. My dad used to love taking me to games.

She lifts one of her shoulders up in a shrug. "Sort of. I don't hate it, but if I'm going to watch it, I'd rather it be in person. On TV it's a little boring. I love basketball though, I actually try to get in on some of the bets now and again."

"What teams do you like?"

"Miami Heat, of course. It used to be the Bulls, because who didn't love Michael Jordon as a kid? I started liking the Heat years ago, when they got all the better players. I've actually met Dwayne Wade and LeBron James before, and got to sit three rows back during a game last year."

I think I'm both envious and in love. "We should go to a game together then," I tell her. "I've been to baseball and football games, but never basketball. Unless you count high school sports."

"I'd love that," she says with a gorgeous grin.

"Good. So where are we off to?"

"Lunch." She turns to head back out the door. "I don't care where." Typical female response.

"Remember, I'm not from around here. I don't know my restaurants. Olive Garden? Do you like going there?"

We're half way down the hall when she gives me a glare. "Not on dates. I have an idea." She continues walking, and it takes me a minute to catch up. Mainly because she said this
was
a date. Then I saw her ass sway perfectly side to side while she stormed ahead of me. I try to be a gentleman about it, but with an ass like that, it's hard not to stare.

I expect her to head towards my truck, but instead she heads towards her BMW. The roof is already down, and it's a gorgeous, sunny day outside. Maybe even a little too hot for my liking. She slides into the driver seat, pulling her glasses down over her face before putting the key into the ignition. I'm a little hesitant on getting into the passenger seat, mainly for the sake I don't exactly feel manly about having a woman drive me while we're on a date. I know it may sound sexist, but I was raised that way. To be a man, to take charge.

Tupac comes on the radio, thumping the speakers. She reaches over for the radio to turn it down. "Sorry," she murmurs. "You can listen to whatever you want."

"I don't think I've heard a Tupac song in years." I look over at her, surprised once more by Brenna. She is in that stage between adolescence and adulthood. She is mature beyond on her years, yet she’s still such a kid when it comes to certain things. "How old are you?" I ask when we round the corner heading parallel with the coast line.

"Um." She pauses, fidgeting with the steering wheel. "I want to tell you the truth, but I don't want to scare you."

Please for the love of God say at least eighteen, I think to myself. Fuck, that'll be a kick in the damn balls if she is anything under that. "I need to know the truth." I'm sure my voice comes out a little ruder than I had intended, but I have to know she is of a legal age. I'm a detective, I can't have sex with someone under age.

"Twenty," she admits after a moment. "I'll be twenty one next month though." She eyes me quickly before facing the road once more. It's relieving, except it's not. She is under the legal drinking age and I've given her beer... in my home at that. However, now that she says it, I realize I should have known better before now. "How old are you?"

"Twenty six. My birthday is on New Year’s Eve."

"Really?"

"Yeah. When is yours?"

She sighs. "August ninetieth."

"Why is that such a bad thing?"

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"You made a loud sigh, like the idea of your birthday was annoying or something." I probably shouldn't give hints as to how easily I pick up on things, but I honestly want to know. The way she looked, it was almost painful.

Pressing her lips together, she takes a wide turn, pulling into a parking spot, killing the engine once she’s parked. She picks up her purse by my feet, throwing her keys into it. "My eighth birthday was the same day my dad killed my mom, then himself."

She opens the door, slamming it shut before heading towards a hole in the wall restaurant.

I sit here for a few added minutes running my hands through my hair as I try to register what she said. That's fucked up. No wonder she doesn't like to talk about her parents. Her history is more fucked up than I thought.

Climbing from the car, I head into the restaurant too, trying not to think any more about what she said. I'll have to look up the case later this week. I’m at a point where I
need
answers, and I have a feeling she does too. However, if I continue to think on it right now, it'll cause a thick tension between us we don't need. I'd rather enjoy our time together.

Brenna stands at a counter looking over a giant white board that has a menu scribbled over it. An old Italian man stands opposite to her, ogling her body in a way that immediately pisses me off. I stand next to Brenna, placing my hand on her backside as I search the menu over. "What are you thinking of eating?" I lean in to ask softly.

She looks up to me. Her glasses are off, and somehow the green in her eyes have intensified. The corners of them lift as she smiles sweetly. "I'm thinking a burger and fries. I'd ask what you're eating, but I think you're already full on yourself." It takes some effort on her part not to laugh, I can tell by the way she holds her lips together.

"What? What did I do?"

Her eyes point to her backside, where my hand is placed. "Trying to lay claim on me, all because some sixty year old man gets a little riled up over my body."

"He's a pervert. I'm just trying to advert his eyes."

"It's not working," she whispers. "And he'll probably spit in your food now."

"It'd be worth it."

"Oh yeah, why's that?"

"Because my hand is on your ass, and it feels incredible."

She slaps it away with a hint of amusement radiating on her face. Stepping forward, she leans in. "Giovanni, could I please have the bacon burger, extra pickles, no tomato? Oh, and add mustard. With a side of seasoned fries and the coleslaw."

"Anything for you, Miss." He scribbles it down. I have a feeling she comes here a lot. I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with that idea, but I bite my tongue. I think I've made enough of an ass of myself.

I step forward with her, still wondering if I dare eat here. Seeing how impatient he is, I decide not to give him any other reason to spit in my food. "I'll take the Chicken Parmesan Sub, with fries as well."

He doesn't say anything, instead he scribbles it down and goes into the other room. Brenna giggles softly. "He doesn't like you."

"You a regular?" I ask.

"Maybe. Not because of Giovanni though. Not even because of the food, although it's amazing. You'll see."

Glancing around the restaurant, I don't see anything appealing about the place. There is only one other set of people in here, and they're older than the cook. "I'm trusting you," I tell Brenna.

"Good."

Once our food is given to us, Brenna tries to pay, but I don't let her. I need to allow a bit of my ego to be intact by the end of the night. With a thanks- although I'm not sure if to me or the perverted old man- she walks towards the back of the restaurant. I walk with her, and we go through a set of doors. Outside is a covered gazebo directly on the beach. It's a little bit of a walk when you're wearing sneakers in sand, but we're the only ones out here so it's worth it.

She sits down with her tray and I sit next to her. "So it's the view?" I ask.