Resisting Love

  “Why is it not okay to talk about what you’re going through? I see that you’re mind is on it. You’re only half here. You should let out some of that mess you have in there,” she said, quietly.

  I didn’t want to confront it. I didn’t want closure. I didn’t want to acknowledge anything or feel any of this agony. I wanted to go numb and let my pain hollow me from the inside out. But I looked up into the palest blue eyes I’d ever seen, and it was hard not to let it all go. “I am a mess inside. My head is like Pandora’s box. The only difference is Hope was the first thing that flew from that box when I opened it.”

  She poured more wine.

  “You must be so angry at him,” she sighed, looking down at her fingers and twisting them together. “And horribly sad at the same time. Probably running all your conversations through your head wondering if you could have done something…”

  She was right.

  I shifted closer to her. “It just doesn’t make sense. He wasn’t the kind of person to ever think about hurting himself. Something was happening; I just didn’t know about. Our Sergeant thinks he was in trouble at work. But, that wasn’t Thomas either. He was a good detective.”

  Her eyes softened, and a small smile slowly spread across her features. It was mesmerizing how it lit up her whole face, making me want to lean in even closer to her. “That’s what you have to keep remembering then.”

  “Hey,” I smiled back at her, “Brooke is going to be at work for a while today. She was on an arrest when I left earlier; she had to take a prisoner to the hospital. Have dinner with me?” I asked, surprising myself.

  “Dinner?” she asked, going immediately rigid—cheeks exploding with color.

  “Yeah, come back to my place,” I said low. I didn’t want to talk anymore. I wanted to drink and drink and see how soft her lips were.

  “Your place?” her voice pitched. “For dinner?”

  “I can cook. Why is that such a surprise?”

  “I…I have so much still to do here, and I’m already on my second glass of wine. I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

  “I like talking to you—and drinking your mom’s wine. I’m not interested in good ideas right now.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, huskily. That’s when I realized that she was right—this wasn’t a good idea at all. This was my sister’s childhood friend. Someone I would regret spending a night with. Someone who would hate me in the morning. Someone whose pale blue eyes would never look up to me again.

  This was a very bad idea, I thought as I tugged her and all the bottles of wine we could both carry back to my place.

  Chapter 6

  Liv

  It was the wine’s fault.

  The wine was making me picture him naked. I couldn’t stop from envisioning him in front of the stove, broad tan muscular shoulders, tendons and muscles moving under the skin as he stirred whatever he was stirring in that copper pot. In my head, he was wearing a barely there black apron. It tented impressively in the front, but the back, the back was open and the most glorious ass peeked out.

  Stupid wine.

  “I hope the spaghetti is okay,” he said over his shoulder. “I make a killer meat sauce.” He suddenly spun around; wooden spoon splashing crushed tomatoes everywhere. “You eat meat, right?”

  “I fucking love meat,” I purred, feeling my face flush with heat. Stupid, stupid wine.

  A slow, knowing smile spread across his face.

  I poured him more wine when he turned back around.

  My knees felt loose, and my shoulders warm and weak. I wonder where his bedroom is; the wine whispered to me.

  I needed to stop myself. This was not the road I wanted to travel down with this… gorgeous, sexy as hell man, the wine cut through my thoughts.

  I pushed the glass of wine away—a little spilled over the rim, dripping onto my fingers. I immediately licked them clean like an animal. Dean looked over his shoulder at me again, narrowing his eyes.

  I pretended not to notice and sat on my hands.

  Here’s the truth: When, no, if I slept with him, he’d never speak to me again. I’d just be some alcohol fueled one-night mistake that both of us would hardly remember and totally regret. That was the absolute truth.

  So, I thought about piss-stained mattresses, broken bottles, and the stench of burnt onions that still seemed to be stuck in my nose. Embarrassingly, my stomach gurgled out some strange sort of loud mating call. How long did sauce take to make? I blinked at the countertop where our empty wine bottles stood as straight as soldiers. Apparently, it took three full bottles of wine to make a meat sauce. The room started to spin. How in the world did my mother want to feel like this every day?

  If you walked up behind him and pressed your bare chest against his back what do you think he’d do? The wine asked in a sing-songy drunken voice.

  Shush up, wine.

  Let him lick me off your body, the wine purred, pushing me forward.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I grumbled, trying to sit still on my chair.

  “What?” Dean asked, spinning around.

  The wine danced and flipped around, low in my belly. She needs a big thick throbbing—. “Nothing. Sorry,” I said before the wine told him all my secrets.

  If Dean and I had sex right now, it would be sloppy and stupid. We would grab onto the wrong things, bruise each other with awkward elbows or knees, and fall off the bed. An ambulance might even have to get called. I laughed out loud accidentally. Remembering my last drunk sexcapade. I was barred from a whole foods store because of it, in an inexplicable twist. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, losing count on four separate occasions.

  He brought the spoon to his lips and tasted his cooking. Imagine if that was your…NO! I growled at the wine, deep in the base of my throat.

  Would it be weird to him if I just walked into his bathroom and turned on a cold shower and stepped in? I think he’d think that was weird. I didn’t want him to think I was weird. Or a drunk.

  A drunk like my mother.

  “Um…Uh,” I stammered, jumping up and leaning my hands heavily on the table. “Where’s your bathroom?”

  He didn’t turn around again, thank God, he just pointed his free hand toward the hallway. “Second door on the right.”

  Of course, I walked into the first one, which was a closet, and practically got sexually assaulted by a leather motorcycle jacket. At least, I had the head not to scream like a banshee even though my heart was drumming wildly in my chest.

  I have no idea how I made it to the bathroom, but I did. I splashed water on my neck and face and tried desperately to gain control of my runaway thoughts. Leaning my mouth under the facet, I gulped down as much water as I could before attempting to fix my face in the three circling reflections of myself in the mirror.

  It was a lost cause.

  The wine had done its job, and I was shitfaced. I stayed in the bathroom for as long as I could, alternating between reprimanding myself in the mirror to peeking through his medicine cabinets. I was a little too overjoyed I didn’t spy any bizarre medications. I was positive at the time it called for a silent cheer routine that I still had memorized from middle school cheer squad.

  I must admit that trying to get back up from the split was a touch terrifying.

  By the time I walked back into the kitchen, Dean Fury had made homemade garlic bread.

  Dean Fury. Homemade garlic bread.

  My clit was actually tingling, that was how close he had me to coming—all with his fucking back to me and a goddamn hand full of garlic bread.

  “Go ahead, try one,” he urged. Like I’d say no—or any other clearly pronounceable words at the moment.

  I was speechless and so aroused I didn’t want to sit back down. But once I hungrily grabbed a piece and tasted the buttery garlic-filled doughy orgasm that exploded in my mouth, my ass landed on the seat, and I was groaning my praise.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s that good,” he smiled, dumping out a steaming
pot of spaghetti into a strainer.

  He quietly went about his dinner creation and set down a heaping plate of the most delicious pasta dish I’d ever seen. “Wow,” I said, looking down at the plate.

  “Don’t say wow until you’ve tasted it,” he said, setting down a plate across from me and pulling out a chair to sit. “It might just look good and taste like—”

  My mouth was full already—moaning for him to shut up—and wanting to punch myself in the face for not letting it cool down a little. I acted like I didn’t just singe a layer of my tongue off. “This is absolutely amazing, Dean. Thank you,” I mumbled in between chews.

  He looked down quietly and slowly twirled his fork around the pasta. He suddenly looked like he once again had the weight of the world on his shoulders. It sobered me. A little.

  My racing thoughts slowed to a crawl.

  I took another forkful and blew on it softly, carefully picking through my thoughts. He was obviously suffering. Grieving alone.

  “How’re you really feeling over there?” I asked, low.

  He raised his wine glass and took a long, deep pull, looking at me as he did so. He lifted the glass from his lips and sighed. “My head is just going wild, and I’m trying not to feel anything at all.”

  “Have you been wondering how to find out what was going on with Thomas?” I asked.

  His movements stilled, and his knuckles whitened, sinking my heart. The room definitely stopped spinning, and my stone cold sobriety was pretty much reached. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. But I can see you’re suffering. Just know if you want to talk right now, I’m here.”

  He actually laughed.

  And it wasn’t a nice laugh; it was a mean, bitter one. “There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t have time to wonder and think. I don’t even have the time or energy to be grieving.” His eyes looked fierce and angry, making me wish I’d just kept my mouth shut. I sucked my lip back in between my teeth and bit down, so I wouldn’t say more. “I’m a cop. We don’t have time to suffer. We’re the one’s that have to take care of everyone else.”

  “What?” I said, angrily—okay so I was still really buzzed. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

  “And that’s what separates people like me and people like you. You get to take time and feel bad and heal.” He said the words like they disgusted him. “You all get to complain and whine about all the shit that happens to you. A cop? A cop has to deal with it. Look at it. Take care of it. I had to clean out a dead man’s locker, so his wife wouldn’t have to. I had to work in eighteen-hour shifts to make sure his family and friends were taken take of while they grieved. With no one ever considering that I might have been his closest family or his closest friend.”

  He leaned forward, laying his palms flat on the table. His words slurred with the wine we’d drank, and he was angry as hell. “We don’t get to be human. We aren’t allowed to feel things. Do you know what happened the day after I found his body? Some stupid punk he arrested once for dealing drugs posted on social media that he was happy Thomas was dead. He invited every one he knew to a funeral party.” He sat back and shook his head, “Do you know what it’s like to be spit on, because you’re just trying to do your job? When you’re just trying to keep everyone safe?”

  “No,” I whispered, not trusting myself to speak.

  “Death is part of who I am. We lose a lot of people on this job. We see a lot of death. We see the worst things people can do to each other, and we have to try to stop it before it happens. But, we usually get there after it does and at the same time, not be effected by it.”

  “That’s a lot to take on for one person,” I said, putting my fork down softly. “You aren’t alone though. Don’t you have friends to—?”

  “Yeah, his name was Thomas. And now, he’s gone.” He pushed his chair back and folded his arms across his chest. “Liv, don’t try to be one of those girls who tries to save me from myself and my job. I’m a cop. Cops don’t matter, and we definitely aren’t worth much. Ask anyone. Go watch the news.” He rubbed at his chest and looked me dead in the eyes. “There’s nothing here for you. You were right before; this wasn’t a good idea.” He stood up and grabbed his plate off the table and clanked it into the sink.

  His words tightened around my throat; his actions squeezed hard.

  “I wasn’t trying to change anything,” my words spurted out, stumbling over each other. How did I completely lose control of this discussion so quickly? How long had I actually been in the bathroom?

  Somewhere downstairs a door slammed shut.

  “Hey!” Brooke’s voice called from one floor below. “That smells delicious! You have any extra?” Her boots thudded quickly up the stairs while I watched Dean grimace at the floor and try to even his breathing.

  Brooke rushed in like a hurricane, attacking the pot of spaghetti and garlic bread like devouring rains. After shoving half a stick of bread in her mouth, she looked up for the first time. Her gaze darted back and forth between Dean and me, and she lifted a single eyebrow, “Oh, am I…interrupting something?”

  It wasn’t the question that made me gasp—it was the deep black and purple ring of bruises that circled her right eye.

  “What happened to you?” I yelped, grabbing for her arm. A sudden, icy sweat broke out across my chest. Was she in an accident? Did she get mugged on the way home? Did she call the… I stumbled drunkenly closer to her.

  She waved me away as Dean reached into the freezer for a bag of frozen peas. “It’s no big deal. Happened at work.”

  That’s when it dawned on me. She wouldn’t call the police. She was the police, and this was a normal thing. “What?” I squeaked, “How?”

  “It must have happened when I was trying to cuff someone. I don’t even know. You guys look sweet, though.” She smirked and swished her finger between us. “Like you’re on a date,” she said, teasingly.

  Dean stiffened, like it was the worst idea he’d ever heard—a date—with me.

  A sweaty, tingly feeling crept up the back of my neck and across my face. Combine that with the smell of garlic and sauce, I instantly felt sick to my stomach.

  “Jeeze, Dean relax. I was just kidding,” Brooke laughed, chewing on a mouthful of pasta. She swallowed quickly, “Anyway,” she continued, looking toward me, “I need to go get crazy. Want to go out tomorrow night? Get stupid?”

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Shitty day at work,” she replied, shoving another mouthful of spaghetti between her lips.

  “Did they find that kid?” Dean cut in, suddenly scraping out my plate in the garbage. I didn’t even see him take it off the table. I wasn’t even done eating.

  “No. And now another one is missing. So, they’re probably together. I hope they get their asses back home soon, though, so I can kick them.”

  “What happened with the female prisoner?” he grumbled, low.

  Her face slackened, gaze dropping low. “Baby didn’t make it.”

  “Shit,” he hissed, slamming my dish noisily onto the pile of pots and pans in the sink.

  She swallowed another huge bite and slid her dish in the sink next to it. “Anyway, I’m going down to sleep for a million hours. Tomorrow is my day off and tomorrow night, I am going to find oblivion. Liv, you’re coming, right? I need to meet some men and flirt and be wild. Possibly get laid.”

  “You have off in the middle of the week? It’s Wednesday? Wait, hold on, what happened to your almost-serious guy?” I asked, confused.

  “This week, Wednesday and Thursday are my weekends. And he’s out.”

  “Out? Out where?” I asked.

  “Out of the picture,” she said.

  Wow. She was crappy with relationships, just like me. “Uh. Okay, I’ll come,” I said quietly.

  “Good. I miss how wild you were…And, I’m out. Goodnight world,” she called as she bounced back down the stairs.

  Silence settled between Dean and me after Brooke’s apartment door sl
ammed shut. I didn’t want to look at him. I was angry he took my food away. I was angry he got all morbid and righteous on me, even if he had the right to. I kind of wanted to throw something at him. And I definitely didn’t want to sleep with him any longer. Probably tomorrow, I’d want to again, but not tonight, definitely not tonight.

  Wait. Did she say a baby didn’t make it? “Did she say a baby—?”

  “Do you really want to know?” he growled.

  I looked at him, blinking quickly. I probably didn’t want to know. I’d probably have trouble sleeping for days if I knew.

  “Don’t think about it again, and don’t ask her about it tonight either. You’re going to go out with her tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yeah, why not. There’s nothing here for me,” I said slowly, understanding completely for the very first time how different we really were. I spun on my heels to leave, taking the last bottle of wine with me.

  I wasn’t going to drink it, but I sure as hell wasn’t leaving it for him.

  Chapter 7

  Dean

  I slept like shit.

  Tossing. Turning. Waking up in a cold sweat. I kept hearing Liv’s voice, smooth and sexy, telling me I wasn’t alone.

  It had been a long time since someone sincerely wanted to know about me. Pushing her away wasn’t easy. We both wanted each other. The tension between us was thick; you could smell it in the air, hear it crackle like electricity over our skin. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t like I could offer her more than something physical. I didn’t need to have someone depending on me to come home safe. I didn’t need to be afraid I would be letting someone down who was worried about me being safe. I’ve watched cops’ relationships with their significant others. They explode like shooting stars, and then burn out just as quick. I saw it in Sergeant Kannon’s wife’s eyes. The loneliness. The absolute terrifying feeling of never being in control of the safety of the people you love the most. I didn’t want to put that on anybody else.