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I finished my shower, and by the time I was dressed, I knew what I had to do.
This had to end. All of it.
I could not be around Marin Mendez any longer.
* * *
I walked out of my bedroom fifteen minutes later with a clear head.
And even clearer intentions.
“I have an early shift,” I said as I entered the kitchen, ready to do what was necessary. “Do you need a lift back home?”
Those dark brown eyes met mine, and all those clear intentions of mine turned to a pile of dust.
Fuck.
I swallowed hard as my mind quickly recalled every detail of the damn porno fantasy I’d just had in the shower.
“Uh, no,” she answered, smiling at me from where she sat at the island. “I can walk. I need the fresh air. Thanks though,” she said. She gestured toward her plate. “And thanks for breakfast. And you know, everything else.”
Does she have to be so damn nice?
I sort of shrugged, turning my head away to avoid those eyes on me. I didn’t deserve her kindness. “It was nothing. And you should be all clear now—the house, I mean. No fumes. But make sure to have that stove checked out. A handyman should be able to do it. I’ll give you a couple of names.”
“Handyman?”
I tried to make myself busy so she wouldn’t notice the tremor in my voice, grabbing a travel mug out of the cupboard. “Yeah, I realized my schedule is swamped over the next few weeks with the extra shifts and being on call. I’m not sure how much time I will have to do everything on that list, so I figured it’d be easier for you to just hire a professional. I’m not exactly reliable, you know? And I don’t want you to have to wait around for me.”
Silence filled the room.
“I understand if that messes up our deal,” I added, waiting for her to respond. When she didn’t, I went on, “I’m not much of a dancer anyway. You’re welcome to the tickets though.”
Say something…
Anything.
When she still didn’t respond, I went for that fatal blow. It was unnecessary. The silence alone told me everything I needed to know.
Finished filling my coffee, I turned and offered a forced smile, casually leaning against the counter. “And, hey, maybe by then, you’ll have sold the house, and your boyfriend can go with you.”
She looked up at me, wide-eyed. Both shock and disappointment painted her beautiful face.
Was I an asshole?
Yes.
But at least I was an asshole who wouldn’t be fucking up her life anymore.
Go home, I wanted to tell her.
Go home and be happy.
Far away from me.
* * *
Ever since we’d become a deputy short, I’d become accustomed to eating my lunch while hunched over my desk, working on a mountain of paperwork.
