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“What? Oh, pal, you’ve officially pissed me off.” Summer stepped forward and poked Chase in the chest, only to earn a sharp noise from the cop.
“Enough, lady. We’re going downtown. Save the editorializing for when we get there.”
“Don’t you mean across town?” Chase rolled his eyes before the cop pushed him toward the doors, then looked over his shoulder at Summer, mouthing two unmistakable words. “You lost.”
“Look, this is ridiculous,” she called to the cop. “We’re fine. No problems here. He’s actually an employee of this club, if you’d do your due diligence and stop harassing innocent people—”
“Summer, shut it,” Chase warned.
The cop gave her a hard stare. “Listen, lady. Either you come with us of your own volition, or I’ll come over there and get you. I guarantee you don’t want that.”
“I’m just saying, maybe if you boys in blue had shown up a little sooner, you could’ve gotten the real troublemakers, not Chase and me.” She gritted her teeth and planted her feet. Chase might think she was crossing the line, but if he only knew what she really wanted to say, he’d applaud her restraint. “We’re not exactly the criminal element, ya know?”
“You’re on my last nerve, ma’am.” Ma’am? Freaking ma’am? She’d gone from a playground attendee to a matron in under five minutes. “Start walking on your own steam or you’ll take a ride down to the station in cuffs like your friend here.”
The back door opened and Chris, one of the owners of the club, stepped out. Catching sight of Chase’s cuffs, he quickly started talking to the officer, which lowered the heat on her long enough to get her temper under control. Almost.
She did not have a good history with the police. Still, she didn’t need to be locked up or to screw up things worse for Chase. What she needed to do was shut up and go down to the station to sort everything out.
The cop pulled open the door of the club and jerked his thumb at her. Message received. Time to move.
Summer pursed her mouth and clasped the front of her shirt to keep it from flapping in the breeze. A trip to her locker for her jacket was a necessity now. She inhaled the icy air and strode forward, head held high.
It looked like she’d gotten herself a bodyguard.
And maybe an arrest record, depending how the rest of the night went.
Chapter Two
In the scheme of things, facing down a long, plush couch at two a.m. was not the worst thing she’d encountered that night. A fight breaking out in the middle of her concert? Bad. Being carried out like a screaming baby from said concert by a man you’d tongue-fucked—she might as well call a spade a spade—a few months ago? Equally crappy. Riding down to the police station to explain to the cops that you were “roughhousing” with the guy who’d somehow re-inserted his size thirteen boot in your life without any warning? Absolute suckitude.
But it was the sofa that broke her.
“I am not sleeping here,” Summer announced, clasping her arms over her fully zippe
d jacket.
“Let me get you some sheets.” Chase tossed his car keys onto the coffee table and walked down the dark hallway that led away from his spacious living room before she could complain some more.
Apparently he’d decided to break his vow of silence.
He’d been doing his best impression of a mute ever since he’d herded her into his super macho SUV outside the club and insisted she was staying at his place tonight. Actually, insisted was a nice way of putting it. Commanded was more accurate.
She stared at his keys in the weak glow from the light he’d flipped on by the door, wondering if she’d be able to get down to his truck before he could catch up.
He’s a professional athlete, dumbass. That means he’d catch you before you disarmed that pricey alarm system by the front door.
Since the flight plan had been mentally vetoed by her rarely heard common sense, she followed him down the hallway, noting the doors that branched off either side. Two appeared to be bedrooms. Guest bedrooms even, since she was almost positive he lived alone.
And he was sticking her on the damn couch? What next? Would breakfast be stale crackers and warm water?
“Why can’t I sleep in a real bedroom?” she demanded, coming to a stop in the doorway to Chase’s master bedroom. The space held one dominating focal point—the lake-sized, black-sheeted bed. No comforter, no pillows. Just a giant mattress made with silky sheets and held high off the floor on a cherry pedestal bedframe that required steps to mount.
Mount. She swallowed over the dryness in her throat. Wrong word for her current state of mind.
Silently, he walked over to the dresser and withdrew a set of crisp navy-and-white striped sheets, then gathered a plastic-wrapped pillow from a stack of them atop the chest at the foot of the bed. What was he stockpiling them for if he didn’t even use them on his own bed?
When he approached her without even giving a token answer to her question, she propped her hands on her hips and stared him down. “I asked you a question, Dixon. Why are you exiling me in the living room when you have perfectly good guest rooms?”
