Page 30 of Playing With Temptation

“Chels misread what she was seeing. That wasn’t sexual tension. It was evasion and annoyance.”

And now, after two days of thinking about nothing but Rainy, I was even more annoyed.

Annoyed with her. Annoyed with myself. Annoyed at both of us for being dumbass, immature idiots who let something great slip away.

“I don’t know, man, that’s not what Matt said. And what are the chances she shows up, days after you tell me about her? Honor thinks it’s a sign.”

Of course, Ethan told his wife about Rainy.

We hit the tree line and found a trail that wasn’t kept up by the county but instead worn down from the visitors who wandered into the woods.

“A bad sign,” I corrected, scanning the dense forest beyond the path. “She⁠—”

Something caught my eye.

My hand went to my sidearm. “Three o’clock.”

A man stepped out of the shadows—hood pulled up.

The guy’s gaze snapped to mine, and everything slowed down like a movie playing frame by frame.

I saw the silver barrel of a handgun pull free from his pocket, felt the stippling on the grip of my Glock 45, heard the scrape of my sidearm releasing from my holster. Muscle memory had taken over. There was no spike in my heart rate, no extra breaths, no panic.

By the time I stepped in front of Ethan I already had a clear sight picture of my target. It took less than a second for me to pull the slack out of the actuator, less than that for the trigger to break, and send my bullet.

Snap.

Snap. Snap.

I could almost taste the sulfur as I tried to suck in oxygen.

“Officer down!” Ethan shouted. “Officer down!”

Spots formed in my vision.

“Breathe, Jase.”

I tried to focus on Ethan’s face, but the world went gray.

CHAPTER NINE

I tossed my purse onto the couch and beelined it to the kitchen, deciding today was not the day I was giving up caffeine. I had a mile-long to-do list, and only six hours to check everything off that list.

Maybe I’d try again tomorrow, or next week, or next month when the shock of seeing Jase had worn off.

I set the coffee to brew, wandered back to the couch, and pulled out my cell.

Saturday night, in a moment of weakness fueled by nostalgia, I’d programmed Jase’s number into my phone.

Sunday morning after I’d had time to think about things, I deleted the number. It was a temptation I didn’t need. There was too much water under the bridge. The past was best left in the past.

Sunday afternoon while folding laundry with nothing to keep my mind occupied, it drifted back to Saturday night. Which was bad, very bad. Thinking about sitting across the table from Jase meant I remembered how much I loved his voice, his hands, the way his brown eyes weren’t really brown, they were more like an expensive cognac—warm and complex with a touch of sweet. And his hair wasn’t really brown either, it was chestnut—rich and bold with threads of mahogany. The silvering strewn throughout was new and it only made him look more interesting. Hotter. Infinitely sexier. Not to mention that salt sprinkled in his well-manicured beard was a whole new level of melt-your-panties-off. All of that made me remember how much I loved being close to him. Listening to him talk. How when we were growing up he was the only person I felt comfortable being myself with. How easy it had been to be his friend, to fall in love, to grow and mature alongside him.

In other words, I’d spent the whole weekend thinking about Jase.

So with all of that (and more) on my mind, after I’d put away my clothes and checked that Lucas had finished his chores, I’d programmed his number back into my phone.

Now I was staring at the device, remembering all the times Jase had made time to call me after he’d left for college. He was a full-time student plus he had a job waiting tables, yet every night no matter how tired he was, he called to check on me and ask about my day.