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“What kind of losers are you sleeping with?” Trevor emerged from the bathroom again, clad now in dress pants and a button-down shirt that hugged his wide chest.
She blushed, not really wanting to discuss her sex life with Trevor. “The nonexistent kind, at the moment.”
“I might be able to help you with that.”
She gasped and choked on her own saliva, coughing and sputtering while thumping herself on the chest. “No thanks,” she managed to croak out, shooting Lauren a “what the hell?” look.
Trevor laughed. “Not like that, although I’m flattered. I ran into a colleague of mine from the law firm earlier today, and I thought you two might hit it off.”
“Your colleague is here?” Ellie tried to ignore the suspicion creeping into her brain.
“Yeah, skiing with friends. He’s single, and I know he’s looking to settle down. I—” He glanced at Lauren, and they exchanged another knowing look. Ellie’s brain conjured up an image of Admiral Ackbar from Star Wars, warning her that this was a trap.
“He’s going to have dinner with us. Isn’t that great?” Lauren asked, tapping the tips of her fingers together.
“Uh, I guess. I wasn’t really expecting for tonight to turn into a blind date.” Ellie frowned, trying to muster up the appropriate response. She knew Trevor and Lauren meant well, but she’d been looking forward to just relaxing and enjoying the festivities without the added pressure of trying to impress someone. But she didn’t want to disappoint her friends. And who knew? Maybe this guy would be nice and boring and completely safe. As long as he wasn’t the real-life incarnation of Lionel Hutz, he couldn’t be that bad. “But, hey. It’ll be fun. The more the merrier, right?”
“Exactly.” Lauren glanced at her watch. “I need to hop in the shower. I’ll see you at dinner.”
After a quick hug, Ellie headed back to her room, her stomach swirling uncomfortably. She didn’t like blind dates, and she didn’t like being ambushed, but what could she do? It would cause tension if she made a stink and refused to play along, and she wasn’t willing to risk the evening she’d so been looking forward to.
Scrunching up her mouth, she pulled her favorite royal blue cocktail dress out of her bag, unsure if it was fancy enough now that what was supposed to be a fun evening with friends had morphed into a set up. She padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower, hanging the dress on the back of the door so the steam could smooth away the few little wrinkles that creased the fabric. She pulled her sweater over her head and walked back to the bed, digging in her bag for her contact case. Her hand scrabbled around through the bag’s contents, searching for the small, plastic case, but to no avail. She thought she’d packed it, but now, thinking back, she only remembered getting it out at home and setting it on her dresser, not actually putting it in the bag.
“Hope Lionel Hutz likes girls in glasses,” she muttered to herself as she stripped off her jeans and underwear and stepped under the hot spray.
* * *
Feeling a mixture of excitement and sadness, Matt eased his Jeep into the driveway of his little rented bungalow in Cheyenne, less than a mile from the Sheriff’s office. The green siding was peeling, and the roof over the porch was starting to sag, but it was comfortable and affordable, and it had been home for the past eighteen months now. Or maybe he was just seeing everything through graduation goggles—now that the end was here, a new beginning fresh before him, it was easy to look back and see the good in things, to already understand how he’d miss those things now that he was moving on to something bigger and better.
Yeah. Definitely a case of graduation goggles. Because the past two years . . . well, they’d been shit.
The cheating wife—now ex-wife—who’d had an affair with a firefighter. Goddamn firefighters, rescuing kittens, making chili, and dumping water on shit while cops did all the hard, dangerous, unpleasant work to keep people safe.
The expensive divorce. He’d lost the house, and then Leah had come after him for alimony, which, thanks to his lawyer, she hadn’t gotten. Alimony. He snorted, just thinking about it. He’d rather give the money to the lawyer than to a woman who’d broken his heart and humiliated him in the process. He’d loved her once. Had thought they had a future together. Had wanted it all with her—the house with the garden and picket fence, the dog, the babies, the happily ever after. Turned out she hadn’t wanted any of that. At least, not with him. The last six months of their marriage, they’d fought almost constantly, and then she’d decided the solution to their problems was for her to find a fucking boyfriend.
Not that he was bitter.
And then there was getting shot. As he walked to his front door, his hand absently settled on the left side of his abdomen, over the ugly souvenir of a scar there that still ached occasionally. Some of the old anger rose up. How many firefighters got shot, for fuck’s sake? Certainly not the one fucking his wife, although Matt had been extremely tempted to remedy that.
Swallowing against the acrid taste in his mouth, he turned his key in the lock and pushed the front door open, stepping into his quiet, dark, nearly empty bungalow. He flicked on the lights and took in the cardboard boxes that lined the walls, all neatly stacked and labeled, and the excitement began to outweigh the sadness. Most of the furniture was already gone, with the exception of a few key pieces, and the walls were bare. He was officially moving out and moving on.
It was about damn time.
He hadn’t dated much in the almost two years since he’d left Leah. He’d gone on a few dates here and there, had a handful of harmless one-night stands, but that was it. Nothing real. Nothing meaningful. At first, it was because he hadn’t been ready for anything real and meaningful. And then he’d started to doubt he was even capable of real and meaningful; maybe the scars from the divorce ran too deep. Now, it had been months since he’d dated or slept with anyone at all, preoccupied as he was with the career change and impending move from Cheyenne to Seattle.
He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and headed for the fridge. A cone of light sliced across the worn and scarred linoleum, illuminating the meager contents of Matt’s fridge. He pulled out a pizza box and opened it, giving the slices a cautious sniff. He’d been so preoccupied with packing, tying up loose ends at work and getting ready to move that grocery shopping hadn’t been high on his list. Glancing at his watch, he grimaced. It was New Year’s Eve, and most of the food delivery places would be slammed. His stomach grumbled loudly, reminding him that he’d missed lunch, so he decided to take his chances with the pizza. As he closed the door on the microwave and hit the reheat button, his phone buzzed from the pocket of his jeans.
He sighed and leaned back against the counter when his twin brother’s name flashed across the screen. “Hey, Luke.”
“Hey. How was your last day?”
He shrugged, even though Luke couldn’t see him. “Fine, I guess. Definitely felt weird to hand in my badge and uniforms at the end of the day.”
“You’ll have a new badge soon enough. Do detectives wear uniforms?”
“Nope. Suits.” Every damn day. It was the only part of his new job he wasn’t excited about.
“So, listen, did you change your mind about tonight?”
