Chapter 15

Ican do this. I can do this. It's not a big deal. I've been on a million dates. Well, not a million, but I've done this a few times. It's just another date. I've dated since high school, and I'm an experienced hand.

Why does it feel like a big deal, then?

Maybe it's because this is the first woman I've gone on a date with where I've seen her in handcuffs before the date. A chuckle rises in my throat and catches there. Fuck, I'm a moron. I wish I could go back in a time machine and tell myself not to give her the first fine. Then again, if I hadn't fined her, I wouldn't have had her in my squad car and wouldn't know her for the goddess she is.

This is a stupid idea. I hope Lorelei isn't looking through her blinds right now because she'll see me scuffing my shoes on her front sidewalk and looking at her purple flowers lining the walkway. I don't know what she'll think, but I don't want her to wonder if the big, strong cop is scared to death to ring her doorbell.

Because the big, strong cop is terrified of ringing her doorbell.

What if this date is horrible? Even scarier, what if it's wonderful? I have to go to court for her fine next week and face her. It's ludicrous that I could finally back her up against the wall tonight and run my tongue over her lips and then face her in front of a judge next week to talk about the bad thing she did to get a fine.

I run my hands through my hair and breathe out as I walk to the door. I imagine Chase laughing at me for not ringing a woman's doorbell, and that makes my feet move. She opens the door as I raise my hand to punch the doorbell. Only then do I notice she installed a camera doorbell. Fuck. She's been watching me the whole time, and she has the receipts.

"Do you want to cancel?" she asks as she opens the door with a hurt look. "Because you seem pretty hesitant to even come to the door."

Giving her a look up and down the length of her body, there is no way I'm canceling this date. No man would cancel with those legs in tight jeans and a black knit shirt that fits every curve of her breasts. She must be wearing a pushup bra because I could reach out and palm those perfect breasts if I was a man without control. Simple Converse rounds out the outfit, and I've always been a sucker for a woman in Converse. As it is, my control wavers along with my hands, and I shove them in my pockets so I don't act inappropriately with her.

"Liam?"

Her voice pulls me out of thoughts of nuzzling those breasts with my stubble, and I blink twice. "I want to go. I'm just nervous."

She tilts her head. "You're nervous about going out with me? Jesus, Liam, you've been a dickhead to me and have both fined me and taken me to the station in your squad car. I think I have the priority on being nervous about going out with you. I may find myself in an orange jumpsuit."

From the back of the house, Bogey runs toward me, bringing a purple squeaky bone and dropping it at my feet. Thankful for the interruption, I bend down and stroke his fur. "Not right now, buddy. I'm taking your mom on a date so I can impress her enough to borrow you for park outings."

"Is that what you're using me for? To hang out with my dog?"

I straighten and smile, still keeping my hand on Bogey's head. He sits and lets me ruffle his floppy ears, and my heart fills with overwhelming love for this dog.

At least, I hope it's for the dog.

"Of course, that's why I'm here," I smile, trying to lighten the awkwardness between us. "Why did you think I was here?"

"For the kitchen counter action," she deadpans without shame, and my face suddenly feels hot. "I thought you wanted a repeat."

I clear my throat as Lorelei reaches behind her and grabs her purse, slinging the strap across her body. She puts Bogey in his kennel as my brain works through if it wants a repeat of the kitchen incident. When she comes back, I take a deep breath. "No kitchen action tonight. Tonight, you'll get a perfect gentleman," I say, gesturing to my car.

As the door slams behind her, I swear I hear a curse of what sounds like disappointment under her breath.

"Line it up real nice and then hammer the shit out of it, Liam," Lorelei gasps, blowing a lock of her hair out her face with a huff.

"I feel like I'm hurting it."

"You can't hurt it. Pound it, for fuck's sake."

We look at the steamed crab on the mat in front of me, and Lorelei sighs as she dips another hushpuppy into a small dish of tartar sauce. "Shit, Liam, it's dead. Hammer it."

I bring the crab mallet down onto the crab shell and grimace while I do it. I've never hammered crab before, and I'm not sure I'm doing it right. Across from me, Lorelei hums and shakes her shoulders as she makes an utter mess of our table.

I've always been a neat and clean eater, but it seems impossible to be neat and clean when you have to hammer your food to get to it. Napkins are strewn across our table and covered in butter. We're both wearing rubber gloves as we pull crab legs apart and separate the outer shell from various sea animals. Chewed corncobs are on a plate in the center of the table next to a bucket full of crab shell pieces and shrimp tails. I guess we had the same idea about eating our corn first and getting to the hard stuff last. I've already been through two bibs, and one of them fluttered to the floor, never to be retrieved.

"We look like toddlers," I say, picking through the crab shell for pieces of meat. "I keep expecting my mother to suddenly appear with a new bib and wipe the table off."

Lorelei shrugs. "They're used to it." She holds up her butter-coated gloves. "They've probably seen worse. But it's good, huh?"

I nod because she's right. The food is perfectly steamed, and the crab legs are pulling apart without much work. I had a hushpuppy for the first time since childhood, and I can see why she likes them so much.

We work on our food in silence for a few seconds. For someone that was desperate to take her out and spend time with her, I can't think of anything to say.

Lorelei wipes a spot of butter off her outer lip and stops with her hammer mid-air over a new crab. "How is your mom?"

My eyes flick to hers, and I almost lean over the table to kiss her. Nobody really asks about Mom. Chase does when he thinks about it, which isn't very often. Mom's had cancer for so long that people have gone numb to asking about it unless I bring it up. "She's weak. It's hard seeing her like that."

"Chemo?"

I nod. "She's at max for radiation, so that's not an option. The doctors say it's looking good for her to beat it since they found it fast. The chemo is awful this round, though."

She chews a piece of food and swallows, staring at me the whole time. I feel myself blush under her gaze. The woman can't even look at me without me acting like a lovesick fool.

"I bet people two hundred years from now will look at chemo and think we're ignorant barbarians. They'll probably laugh at it like we laugh at leeching," Lorelei says, oblivious to my unease.

"Let's hope they find something better. I'd be disappointed in science if they didn't."

"Is she taking anything for it?"

I look behind her, trying to remember the bottle on Mom's kitchen counter. "I think a steroid. She doesn't like it. She says she gets all this poison pumped into her, and the last thing she likes is taking more meds on top of it. She does what the doctor says, though."

"You get that from her then?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You do everything anyone tells you."

I stop cracking a crab leg open mid-crack. "I do not."

"When was the last time you broke a rule or went against what you were told?"

I look out the window next to me, squinting like I'm trying to see out into the night. "Well…" My voice fades. When was the last time I did something I wasn't supposed to do?

"You can't even think of one."

"I can."

She shakes her head and smiles. "It's fine, Liam. It's who you are." She makes a blade with her hand and holds it in front of her. "You follow a straight line. No going off course. No trying a different road. It's you, and I guess people need to understand that if they want to be in your life, right?"

I nod and inhale. Here goes nothing. "Do you, uh, want to be in my life?"

Her eyes widen. "This is just a first date, right?"

"I'm just wondering if you want to hang out more."

She looks down at her food, and my heart drops to my feet. Please say yes. Please say yes. Does she need a love letter? I'll write one. Does she need morning texts to remind her that I'm thinking of her? I'll send them. I just want to be around her more. It enrages me that I want to be around a drug seller, but I can't fight it any longer. I have no energy left to fight her freckles or those breasts. I can't argue with that voice any longer without also wanting to hear it hum around my dick. No heterosexual man could fight that ass.

"Liam, you've made it clear you hate what I do for a living. I'm not giving up my business. I love it. Other people love it. I'm starting to make decent money and pay back my small business loan. By the end of the year, I'm forecasting to buy another truck."

I squint. "A second drug den?"

She laughs and cracks open crab legs a little harder than necessary, staring at me. "Jesus, Liam, it's not an opium tent. Can you quit your job and run it for me?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why do you hate my job so much? You obviously like me. I know you do. I felt your cock on my butthole. Are you really that turned off by my job?"

"Yes," I say, pounding the table. She startles, and I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound so angry, Lorelei. I just hate it. You could be so much more."

"Let me ask you a question." She furrows her brow and tilts her head. "If I was a nice little pie baker with my cute little apron and pleasant disposition, where would we be right now?"

I pause my mallet. Even my heart stops. Every muscle in my body wants to look away from her, but I won't. I refuse to look away from her challenging eyes, boring into me from across the table. "We'd be in my bed with your panties bunched on the floor, and you'd already have a ring on your finger."

It comes out, and I suddenly realize it's honest. Never have I been so obsessed over a woman. I want to know what she's thinking. I wonder what she's wearing every day I don't see her. Yesterday, I went shopping and searched for her soap again. Fine, I've done that more than once now. It's a selfish store run because I want to wash my dick with it.

God damn me to hell, but I've imagined her pregnant with my child, her breasts full and her belly rounded. It's a new image in my mind, only tempting me the last couple of days, but it's there. And it disturbs the shit out of me every time I think about it.

She's silent, chewing on something that isn't food, her tongue maybe. Her eyes flash angry, but there's something else there. The air crackles between our hands on the table, and I want to touch her, even wearing these stupid buttered gloves. Can I reach over and grab her hand? Can I hold a drug baker's hand in a crab restaurant?

I can't take it anymore. "Talk to me." More silence from her. Her leg shakes, and it jostles the table. "If you want to hit me for being a dick to you all those times, go ahead and hit me with your buttered plastic glove right here, Lorelei."

Her smile starts slow, and she tries to fight it. Her lips close together, her cheeks getting pinker until the strain is too much. She covers her mouth with a giggle, instantly getting butter all over her face. I reach for napkins from the dispenser and lean over the table, wiping the butter from her mouth and the tip of her nose.

"Are you giggling at the buttered glove slap idea?" I ask.

"Yes, I'm imagining slapping you with a buttered glove."

"If I wasn't a drug task force agent and you were a nice pie baker, where do you see us?" I ask, unable to help it. I want to know.

She stiffens and takes the napkins from me, suddenly growing serious. "I think I'm done eating and ready to kick your ass in Skee-ball now."

"Are we not going to talk about this?"

"Nope," she says, shaking her head and signaling for the waitress.