Rachel Gibson - Crazy On You

Lily rose from the couch and moved into her shiny white kitchen with yellow cupboards. She’d deal with that when it happened. God knew Pippen needed some testosterone around him, if only for a few hours. He spent most of his time with her and his grandmother. Occasionally, he spent time with her sister Daisy’s husband, Jack, and their son, Nathan, when he was home from college. Daisy and Jack had a six-year-old daughter and another one on the way.

Lily went to the kitchen sink and leaned across as far as she could. She pushed aside a bamboo plant, a pinch pot, and one side of her daisy-print curtains. She could see just a sliver of the driveway with the basketball hoop. The ball hit the backboard and bounced off.

She could clearly hear the steady bounce of the ball and then a shot that was nothing but net. Clearly, the shot was not made by her son, who hadn’t grown into himself yet.

Her cell phone on the counter rang and she glanced down at it. Ronnie. Great. He was probably calling to say he couldn’t take Pippen next weekend.

“You better not be calling just to piss me off,” she answered.

“Ha-ha-ha,” he chuckled in that stupid Ronnie way that she used to think was so cool but now was like nails on a chalkboard. “I need to talk to Pip.”

“Not if you’re going to back out on next weekend, you don’t.”

“I’m not backin’ out. I thought he might want to go see my parents in Odessa, is all.”

Pip hadn’t seen his grandparents in at least a year. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Ronnie was a deadbeat. No doubt. But Pippen thought the sun rose and sat on that rat bastard’s ass. She could stand on her head and juggle cupcakes to make Pippen happy, and all his daddy had to do was pull up in his latest monster truck and Pip was in heaven.

“I’m sure he’ll like that,” she said as she moved out the garage door and hit a switch on the wall. “You better not back out.”

“I ain’t gonna back out.”

“That’s what you said the last time you backed out.” The door slid up and she ducked beneath it and walked out onto the driveway. Her son and the deputy stood near an imaginary free throw line. “If you do, it’ll be the last time, Ronnie.”

“He’s my son.”

“Yeah. You might try and remember that on a somewhat consistent basis.” The cool air touched her face and neck, and the heels of her boots tap-tapped across the concrete. “Pip. Your daddy’s on the phone.” She handed her son the cell and watched his little face light up.

“Tucker’s winning,” Pippen said, excited as a monkey on a peanut farm as he took the phone from her. “One more basket and I’m toast.”

She looked toward the man standing in the middle of the driveway slowly dribbling the ball. Sunlight reflected off the lenses of his glasses and shined in his rich brown hair. “I got your back,” she told her son and moved to stand in front of the deputy.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t score while Pip’s on the phone.” She raised her arms over her head for added measure.

“We’re playing H-O-R-S-E.”

She had a vague memory of H-O-R-S-E from grammar school. It had something to do with the first player to spell horse winning. She’d never played. As a Texan and a girl, she’d played volleyball. She’d been one hell of a spiker.

“There’s no man-to-man in horse.”

She dropped her arms. “What?”

He said it again, only this time really slow. “There’s… no… man… to… man… in… H-O-R-S-E.”

She still wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “Are you being condescending?”

He bounced the ball and moved a few inches closer. Close enough that she had to tip her head back to look up. Close enough that she could smell sweat and clean Texas air. “No. You told me I talk fast.”

“I did?” She swallowed and felt a sudden urge to take a step back. Back to a safer distance. “When?”

“The other night when I pulled you over.”

She didn’t remember saying that, but it was true. “Where are you from, Deputy?”

“Originally Detroit.”

“Long way from home.”

“For the past eleven years, I’ve lived at Fort Bliss, then El Paso and Houston.”

“Army?”

“Staff Sergeant, Second Battalion, Third Field Artillery.”

He was in the Army and now the police force? “How long were you in the military?”

“Ten years.” He slowly bounced the ball. “If you want to play man-on-man, we can.”

Ten years? He had to be older than he looked.

“Or man-on-woman.” One dark brow rose up his forehead and his voice got kind of low and husky. “You wanna play a little man-on-woman, Lily?”

She blinked. She wasn’t sure what he meant. Was he joking or was that a real position or play or whatever in basketball? “Do I have to sweat?” She didn’t like to sweat in her good clothes.

“It’s not good if at least one person doesn’t work up a sweat.”

Okay, she was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about basketball. She glanced over at Pippen standing at the edge of the driveway listening to his daddy. She looked back at Tucker, at her reflection in his glasses. If she leaned forward just a bit, she could put her face in the crook of his neck just above the torn collar of his sweatshirt. Where his skin would be cool and smell like a warm man.

“You’re blushing.”

In his glasses, she could see the pink creeping to her cheeks. Could feel it heating her chest. He was young and attractive, and she wasn’t used to men flirting with her. At least men she hadn’t known most of her life. “Are you hitting on me?”

“If you have to ask, then I’m not as smooth as I think I am.”

He was hitting on her! “But I’m a lot older than you,” she blurted.

“Eight years isn’t a lot.”

Eight years. He knew her age. No doubt from her driver’s license. She was so flustered, she could hardly do simple math. He was thirty. That was still young, but not as young as she’d thought. Not so young that thinking about him as a faux cop in Playgirl was perverted. Well, not all that perverted. It wasn’t illegal anyway.

“Your cheeks are getting really red.”

“It’s chilly out here.” She turned toward the house but his hand on her arm stopped her. She looked down at his long fingers on the forearm of her white sweater. She ran her gaze up the frayed wrist of his sleeve, up his arm and shoulder to the scruffy growth on his square jaw. He had the kind of mouth that would feel good sliding across her skin.

“What are you thinking, Lily?”

She looked up into this mirrored glasses. “Pure thoughts.”

A deep chuckle spilled from his lips. “That makes one of us.”

For the second time in less than an hour, Deputy Tucker Matthews stunned her into silence.

“Momma!” Pippen called out as he headed toward her. “Daddy and me are going to Odessa next weekend to see Memaw and Papaw.”

She tore her gaze from Tucker’s face. “I know, sugar.” She took her cell phone from her son. “We’ll pack lots of road snacks.”

Pippen turned to the deputy. “Is it my shot?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I gotta go take a shower before work.” A slight smile curved his lips. “I worked up a sweat.”

“Not me,” Pippen told him. “I don’t sweat. I’m too little. Momma doesn’t sweat either.”

He raised his brows above the gold frame of his sunglasses. “That’s a shame. She should do something about that.”

Lily’s own brows knitted and her mouth parted. Was he hitting on her in front of her son? And was she so out of practice she didn’t know?

Tucker laughed and looked down at the young boy in front of him. “But I have tomorrow and Tuesday off. We can finish then.”