“Okay.” Still I held on waiting for her to give up. When she blew a breath of air, curling her top lip and lifting her hair, I knew I had her.
“For the dishwasher, since you’ve got it and all.” Remi got the hint, finally backing up, walking off to the next table, her rag slung over her shoulder, leaving me behind. I had to take a tentative step sideways because the angle of my hard dick was bent awkwardly in my jeans, making it difficult to move.
“I’ll take that back.” Mumbling, I turned, leaving her to finish her job refilling the salt and pepper shakers, her back arching over the table to reach them. She was over the table at the perfect angle, her rear curved, showing that lickable crease of skin and nope, nope, nope, I wasn’t going there in my head, even if my cock had gone there, imagining all the things I wanted to do to her.
A cleared throat forced me to tear my eyes away, growling and mentally pontificating the why-nots.
“I got that, lover boy.” Andy Easton, the co-owner of Easton’s Pub, a good friend I shared a great deal of history with, helped me out by taking the bucket in the back. I had it so bad for her there was no hiding my physical evidence with the bucket gone. It took a second to adjust myself before I followed him, giving me something to do, and to keep my dick from getting any ideas like jumping out at a lovely redhead, who was clearly off limits to me.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, watching him drop off the bucket to the dishwasher before we circled back out to the bar. The kitchen area was clean and small, but it didn’t need much, considering the bar menu was small, serving appetizers to an after-dinner and weekend crowd with home-brewed beers and local wines. The back door was open, letting in cool air while Paddy, the chef, served up bowls of beer chili and potato boats.
“Doesn’t the department pay you enough, Officer Rooney?” David Easton, Andy’s older brother, was sitting at the bar nursing a soda and flipping through some paperwork. I didn’t think he looked up once, but the steel hunch of his shoulders let me know how aware he was in the moment. It was a holdover, obviously from his military training, one I was familiar with having attended the state police academy. My training wasn’t anything as extensive as David’s, who was a decorated war hero, and I appreciated what it took to serve our country.
I shrugged. “Maybe I’m looking for some part-time work.” My answer was bullshit, but I needed something to cover the affliction I was calling my attraction to Remi. These guys would take me out back, David especially, and beat the feelings out of me for sure if they even suspected I was sniffing around their little barmaid.
“Pretty sure you can’t work with alcohol while you’re on the job and we’re not hiring.” David’s voice was gruff, and I could only see a partial profile of him from where he sat at the end of the bar. His hawkish features were backlighted, giving him a terrifying appearance that was made worse by his scars. It was truly a face only a mother could love or a very interested woman if the gossip about his latest hookup was anything to go by.
Andy leaned over the bar, wiping it down. “What my charming brother is trying to say in so many words is stay away from Remi. Please. That girl has been through enough, and as far as we’re concerned, she’s not available.” Andy nodded to David, who mumbled to himself, resuming flipping papers, and I got the message loud and clear. What happened to Remi wasn’t exactly a secret around town, even if I didn’t know all the low-down dirt on it.
“She isn’t my type.” I was bullshitting. By type, I should have prefaced it with—she wasn’t easy; she was sweet in the down-home sort of way that made me think of Sun
day dinners and grits. If anything, I wasn’t her type. I was kind of a man-slut according to my best friend with benefits and had no business starting something I couldn’t put a ring on. I could hear my father’s latest sermon echoing in my head, condemning me to hell for even thinking about Remington Kennedy in a scandalous way.
“See that she isn’t.” David’s glare would have withered a lesser man, but I had no ill intent toward her and no motives unless jacking off in secret, imagining her lush late pregnancy curves was pervy. Okay, it was totally pervy, but Remington was banging in the fine department even before her bun in the oven, and I was a hapless admirer.
“I wasn’t… I didn’t…” But I was caught looking. David grunted and ignored me while Andy gave me a side-eye and continued cleaning up the bar, rubbing the polished wood with vigor that said it’d be my neck next if I wasn’t careful.
Andy growled and if he didn’t stop cleaning, the varnish was going to come off. “We’re very protective of our staff, Officer Rooney.”
I wasn’t pursuing Remi. I knew better than that, and the gentle roundness of her belly told me she was already involved with someone or rather a symbiotic someone she would be welcoming shortly by the looks of things. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen a boyfriend or any guy coming here for her. I didn’t need any more complications since my longstanding, on-and-off-again “friends with benefits” had broken it off with me for her loser boyfriend. I wasn’t heartbroken in the least, but my bed was empty, and considering I went from regular fucking to nothing, it was a change I wasn’t totally comfortable with, if I was honest with myself. I was, in fact for the first time, fancy free, so there was no harm in looking right?
I’d heard plenty of the rumors, her getting knocked up by the local football star and left behind while he chased his dreams of the NFL. I hoped he would bust a knee right after they drafted his ass. Since then, I never saw anyone claim Remington Kennedy. Yes, I knew she was named after a gun and being a cop the irony wasn’t lost on me. She was cute as button, my mother would say, and much too good for me. She had the wholesome look from behind, but once she turned enough to see her rounded profile, most guys either ran or tried to give her a one-liner at the bar.
It frustrated me to keep my distance from Remi. Last time I got close enough to count forty-seven freckles over her nose and cheekbones, and the moment was short-lived. I wanted more time with her that didn’t involve my drink order, but I didn’t think the stars were aligning for us.
I had been, and continued to be, a monogamously serial dater. Heck, Kristen Calloway had been on my speed dial for years in between women because we got along so well. Since she finally sported Damien Hart’s ring I had been left high and dry. Remi wasn’t a girl you played with, and I wasn’t in the market for commitment. It was in everyone’s best interest that I leave her alone, even if I couldn’t get the feel and taste of her lips off my addled mind.
Remi
Nine months and a football season earlier…
I sipped my cherry cola slush as Ryder West scored the winning touchdown. He was the most promising quarterback the school had seen since Chase Calloway bungled his University scholarship. At least that was the football folklore I had been told as I stood in line earlier for the guaranteed student seating. I tugged my jacket tighter around me and adjusted my scarf in school colors, a splurge with my tips, which did nothing to keep out the evening chill under the bright stadium lights.
The crowd went wild, cheering and booing between our rival school filling the stadium and crazy parents who made the drive up to watch. They blew horns, waved flags and cheap finger hands from the stands. Ryder waved from the field, and I imagined it was me he saw, with his face still covered by his helmet and his teammates clapping him on the back for a job well done. I sat in the free seats the school gave away to students and staff, meaning I was also the farthest away from Ryder, my secret crush. I screamed loudly, my voice drowned out by the crowd and flying confetti. My heart melted and my panties dampened, thinking about him running down the field in his tight white pants scuffed with turf stains and sweat. He was the stuff of every girl’s dreams.
Athletic.
Popular.
Wealthy.
Good-looking.
Basically, Ryder West was everything I wasn’t. I never worked out unless you considered lifting drink trays and buckets full of dishes. I was too quiet and wary to be popular. My wealth consisted of a saved bus ticket the moment I was old enough to get out of Bama with a small merit scholarship to school there. And good-looking? If you liked bright red hair and freckles that stuck out like a sore thumb, then sure I was cute in an odd duck way.
I scraped by to get an education, have as little debt as possible, and find someone who wouldn’t mind a dog and maybe two kids with a house—picket fence and midsize sedan optional—but I wasn’t being overly specific was I? A girl could dream, couldn’t she?
I bounced down the stadium bleachers, watching my clumsy feet on the silver stairs, hoping to catch a glimpse of him before he disappeared into the locker room behind the flash of cameras and sportscaster speculations about the coming season. Luckily, I didn’t have to work the bar tonight or the janitorial gig I worked out with the school. Odd jobs here and there allowed me to save my money and attend a few non-matriculated college courses that weren’t covered by my small scholarship. Someday, I wanted to be a teacher, but for right now I made ends meet.