Nicole Helm - Falling for the New Guy

When she laughed, he squinted at her and his hand missed the handle of the complex door. “What’re you laughing at?”

“Aboot.”

“Huh?”

She giggled again. “Your Minnesota shows when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk! I’ve never been drunk in my life.” He stepped inside and then promptly tripped over the mat, barely catching himself on the wall.

“Never?” She offered Marc her shoulder and he grumbled something before using her as a bit of a steady crutch on their way up the stairs.

“Not once. Didn’t even touch a drop until I was twenty-one. I am a perfect citizen through and through.”

“You really are a superhero.”

“The world loves superheroes. They have women and families falling all over them telling them how great they are. Well, when their parents aren’t dead. Still, I am no superhero.”

Oh, don’t have hidden hurts. Please don’t have hidden hurts. She was such a sucker for hurts of any kind. She wanted to soothe. Then there was the whole fact Marc was all muscle. Yummy, chiseled muscle leaning against her.

That leaning was enough to bring a little sanity into the equation. She couldn’t juggle someone else who needed to lean on her. Dad took all her be-someone-else’s-rock strength.

So she gave Marc a nudge so he leaned, with an ungraceful thud, against his door.

He squinted down at her, and even with the squint and the slightly glazed-over eyes, the color had impact. He had impact, and she did not have the time or energy to be impacted.

But there were certain parts of her body not getting that memo.

“Sleep it off, buddy. You don’t want me storming your gates in the morning, because it won’t be late and I won’t be nice.”

His gaze dropped. A quick, odd, up-and-down once-over. The kind she usually got in a guy’s face for, but because he was drunk and that was kind of her fault, she let it go.

Totally had nothing to do with the fact she liked it from him. You are one sick puppy, Camden.

“Drink some water. Take some aspirin and get some sleep, Captain Quiet.”

“Night, Mother Hen.”

She gave him a mock salute and then walked to her apartment and slipped inside. She pulled out her phone. Twelve missed calls. Six voice mails. All from Dad.

It took a lot of willpower. A lot of thinking about her meeting with Franks earlier today to delete the messages unheard. She knew what they’d be. The first would be sweet, ending in crying. Increasingly belligerent with each message.

She got enough of him calling her a bitch to her face—she didn’t have to deal with it via message. Not tonight.

Are you sure you want to delete all messages?

She stared at the little pop-up, not sure for how long, then clicked yes with more force than necessary. He would not get her in trouble again. Police work was the only thing she could count on in this life, and no amount of crappy guilt or biological duty was going to make her screw that up.

* * *

MARC STARED AT the coffeepot slowly spitting out dark liquid. Scowling was probably a better word. Glowering.

He felt like utter shit. Head pounding, dizzy, queasy. All from a few too many beers and one weird cocktail Stumpf had talked him into. How did all those people who’d rolled their eyes at his two-beer limit over the years enjoy this?

The pounding at the door made him wince, then growl. Then groan because, damn it, that all hurt.

The pounding started again. Moving gingerly, Marc walked to the door and jerked it open. “Do. You. Mind?”

Tess’s sunny smile only served to irritate him further. “Morning, sunshine.” She was in her uniform, like he was, and her hair was back in that tight work braid. Which reminded him of how loose it had been last night, how tight her jeans had—

“I’m just waiting for coffee,” he grumbled, turning away from her. “No thanks to you, I feel like I’m going to die.”

“Hey, I didn’t force-feed you any of those beers. Didn’t buy you any, either.”

“It was whatever concoction Stumpf convinced me to drink. I’m sure of it. But I wouldn’t have been there to drink it if not for you.” He poured his coffee into a travel mug before flipping off the coffeemaker and unplugging it.

“Sorry our welcome was so unwelcome.”

He turned to face her and found her looking around his living room. “Sparse. Stark. Why am I not surprised?”

“Am I going to come home some day when we’re not in each other’s pockets to find you’ve mother henned your way into sneaking throw pillows on my couch and frilly curtains in the window?”

She laughed, a full-bodied, sexy laugh.

This attraction thing was getting really annoying.

“If you ever see my apartment, you’ll know why that’s laughable. Now, can we get going, or what?”

“I’m not late.”

“We will be if you keep chitchatting.”

“I’m never late.”

“Never late. Never drunk. Boy Scout Captain Quiet to the rescue.”

“You’re irritating in the morning.”

“You’re hungover.”

“You were irritating yesterday morning.” She would be irritating every morning. What with the cheery demeanor, smug grin and smelling-like-flowers shit.

And he talked too much around her, under the influence or not. That needed to stop. So he waved her out of his apartment, grabbing his utility belt, going into his closet and unlocking his gun safe.

Tess, of course, watched instead of shooing out like he’d asked her to.

“Man, I know a lot of cops who own a lot of guns and I’ve never seen anyone keep them locked away like you do. Code and key?”

“Safety.”

She shook her head, finally taking that stupid flower smell with her as she stepped into the hallway. “I’m pretty well versed in gun safety. That, my friend, is what we call gun paranoia.”

“Well, you and my sister can share your penchant for unlocked firearms sometime. I will remain staunchly prosafety.”

“You have a sister, huh?” She side-eyed him as they walked down the stairs.

Talked. Too. Damn. Much. Why did she have that effect on him? No one had ever had that effect on him. Top-heavy mouth, queen-of-the-world attitude, really amazing ass or no. He was a bastion of silence. She was screwing that all up and it had only been about a week.

She slid into the patrol car and he placed his travel mug in the console before attaching his gun belt and sliding into the passenger seat.

Just had to get through today and then he got a break from her. Then four more days until he’d at least have his own car, even if she was there. He hated this two-week watch thing BCPD did. He wanted to be behind the wheel. In charge. Maybe then he would feel as though he had some control, because today, with headache pounding and mentioning Leah, all he felt like was a helpless...amoeba.

“So, what’s she like?”

“Who?”

“Your sister. I always wanted one, and I can’t picture you doing a lot of playing with a sister. Although, in fairness, I can’t picture you as a kid.”

“Leah and I didn’t do a lot of playing.”

“Big age difference?”

“No.”

“You’re too macho and manly to have played with girls?”

“No.” He squeezed the coffee cup and lifted it to his lips. He wouldn’t engage. Not on this. He was not elaborating on his pathetic family situation.

She picked up the radio, seeming to have given up on him explaining. “Ten forty-one,” she said into the speaker.

Now they were officially at work, which meant he was officially not thinking about her mouth in any way aside from official officer-to-officer...mouth things.

He focused on the window. He drank his coffee and kept his mouth otherwise firmly shut. She whistled, off tune, to some terrible ’80s power ballad in between answering some minor calls.