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Paul was so kind and welcoming, making me feel at ease rather quickly. At the time, I had no clue he was merely a predator tricking his prey. There was no way for me to know his offer to work with me on my writing was really a ploy to get me to trust him—an excuse to get me alone.
Movies and television shows taught me about all the boogiemen out in the world. I knew never to go to a party alone or take a drink from a stranger, and I was always extremely cautious walking to my car—my mace at the ready.
But I never knew to be afraid of a man like Paul. He was my hero. The hero of the story is never the villain. Or so I thought.
There are a lot of ways I could describe my experience with Paul—lucky is nowhere close. But Kim coming to me about this now, bringing up the one person who could remind me of all the reasons I shouldn’t call Spencer back, is like divine intervention. I got the message loud and clear.
Spencer
Every time the door chimes, I look up hoping to see her. It’s been weeks since Lori went running from my house. She hasn’t answered my calls or text messages. She’s simply disappeared—vanished. Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m still chasing after her. I’ve never gone after a woman like this before. I’m a strong believer that relationships, at least the right ones, should come easy. It shouldn’t be a constant battle. I don’t want to have the type of relationship my parents had. They were always at war.
There’s just something about Lori that makes me feel like she’s worth fighting for. So, here I am, sitting in the same coffee shop where we met, praying she’ll walk through that door. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I imagined the gravitational pull between us, but there’s only one way to be sure.
The door sounds again, and I look up from my paper to eye the new arrival. When my glare is met with a pair of big hazel eyes, I feel the sting of disappointment again. The woman attached to the hazel eyes takes notice of me, her full pink lips curving into a shy smile. Her cheeks blush as I grin, her eyes moving to the floor as she continues to the front counter. I study her as she orders her coffee, wondering if we’ve met before.
Her long, dark, wavy hair is gorgeous, and her tall frame compliments the extreme curves of her body. She’s wearing a Tennessee Whisky shirt with a black blazer over it, ripped jeans, and a pair of bright red Converse. She’s cute, though the complete opposite of the woman I came here wanting to see.
Once she has her coffee in hand, she begins to head in my direction, the same shy smile playing on her pouty lips.
“I’m sorry,” she says as she approaches my table. “I don’t mean to disturb you, and you probably don’t remember me, but I wanted to say hello.”
Giving her a warm smile, I shake my head. “It’s not a problem. You aren’t disturbing me.” I gesture toward the open seat, offering it to her, and her features brighten as she takes it. “You do seem a little familiar, but I can’t place you.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear with one hand, the other fidgeting with her cup. “Well, that’s understandable, it’s been a few years. We met at the hospital. You were there helping my sister Lizzy when she lost her husband. I’ll never forget how kind you were to stay with her, waiting until I could get there. I wanted to thank you again.”
I nod, remembering that night vividly now. It was the first time I ever had to tell someone their loved one was hurt and possibly dead. The woman’s grief was so severe, it reminded me of my mother when she got the news about my father. There was no way I was leaving her side until I knew she had someone who could take care of her.
“Yeah, I do remember that. Cat, right?”
Her cheeks flame red as she nods, the grin on her face growing so big it looks like it might split in two. “Yep, that’s me. Cat Shea.”
She updates me on her sister, and I’m happy to hear she seems to be doing well. My mother never recovered from losing my father. She let her grief consume her life. We talk about everything and nothing for the next hour. She’s easy to talk to, and running into her today feels like a sign. Lori made it clear she isn’t interested. Maybe it’s time I give up.
5
Lori
Six Months Ago
Cat’s stare heats my skin as I hang up the phone, and I nervously swallow as my eyes slide over to her. This place is packed tonight, but even my hushed tone and the noise of the bustling restaurant couldn’t keep her from eavesdropping on the conversation with my editor.
Her elbows slide across the wooden table as she leans in. “What the hell was that? Why on earth would you give the story to someone else?”
My cheeks flush, making me thankful for the low lighting. I roll my eyes and pick up my frozen drink, taking a big sip. With this one exception, I typically tell my best friend everything. In fact, she often scolds me for oversharing. But I really wish I hadn’t taken that call in front of her. Now she’s going to expect me to explain why I passed on a front-page story, and I simply refuse to divulge that information. Mostly because doing so would mean admitting out loud I’d let a man get under my skin.
She’s still looking at me expectantly as I place my glass back on the table, sighing in frustration. “What exactly did you not understand?”
She scrunches her face. “Don’t be a bitch.”
My lips curl into a smile and I shrug a shoulder. “Sorry, that’s my natural state.”
Her features soften, and she lets out a light giggle. “True, but you’ve been a little extra for some time now.”
She isn’t wrong. I’ve been in a shitty mood for weeks. Possibly because, for the first time in my adult life, I’ve been abstaining from sex. Doing so hasn’t exactly been by choice, it’s that asshole’s fault. Fucking Officer Spencer Duncan. That night at his house and the following morning royally screwed with my head. All his talk about wanting to spend time with me was nothing more than mind games, I know that, but damn if it didn’t work like a charm.
Not only did I have a momentary lapse in judgement by leaving him my number—due in part to his extremely talented mouth—but I also haven’t been able to get him out of my thoughts. I’ve even shamefully slept in the police academy shirt I’d stolen from him—more than once and unwashed. I don’t want to get rid of the comforting piney smell.
After that night, every time I tried to hook up with a guy, the officer would pop into my mind. I found myself comparing my current conquest to him. None of them came anywhere close to the impossibly high bar he set.
