Stephanie Doyle - For the First Time

Not the dangerous red-zone level of like. More bordering on orange. He was funny and could trade barbs with anyone. But there was something else that made him different from other men she’d known. She’d worked for detectives, she’d trained with law enforcers. The term swinging dick was a staple in her descriptive vocabulary.

The difference between Mark and the other types she’d known in this profession was that he didn’t have to swing his dick to prove anything to anyone.

He was a badass, and his dick was just there. Impressive without having to announce its presence.

And that is enough time thinking about the Penis. Move on.

She considered what he had said earlier. If he was going to trust her with his daughter’s safety, then she could at least be honest with him about the basic facts of her life.

“Rent.”

“Because you can’t buy or won’t buy?”

“If you’re offering me a raise already...”

He sneered at her. That was the only description she could come up with for the way his lips thinned while half his mouth curled up. “I’m trying to find out if you’re renting for a reason.”

“Like, duh,” she said, with what she hoped was enough teenage speak so he would understand.

It only made him sneer harder.

“Yes, I’m renting for a reason. Until you and I figure out if we can mesh together, I don’t want to make any long-term commitments.”

“Why do we have to...mesh? Why can’t we simply be two people working together?”

“Dude, small office. You need to accept the fact that I’m the type who will go into your office and take the case folders if I need them. I probably need to accept the fact that, deep at heart, you’re still a paranoid spy guy. If we can’t do that, no meshing.”

“Well, then I want to mesh.” He shook his head slightly. “What I meant to say is, I want this to work out. With us.”

“Ditto.”

“Good. Okay, well, if you don’t have a place of your own, you’re probably sick of eating out. Come over for dinner.”

“You cook?”

“Why did your voice go up an octave? You don’t think I can cook? Is it because I’m a man? That’s so stereotypical and, I have to say, a little cliché.”

JoJo bit her lip because who knew? Maybe his secret passion was cooking. But she had a feeling she was being played. In fact, that was always how she felt around him. Like she was being tested or there was some hidden agenda behind everything he did and said. It constantly kept her on her toes.

The man—the real man—behind the intimidating spy or the sarcastic jokester or the seriously lost new dad, was a mystery.

Which was not a good thing because there was nothing she loved better than solving a mystery.

He’s your boss. He’s not a mystery. He’s your boss. A boss without a Penis.

Still, a home-cooked meal—if he could deliver it—was not something a woman who ate most of her meals at restaurants ever passed up. Cooking was a luxury her job rarely afforded.

“You’re on, chef.”

* * *

MARK CLUTCHED THE take-out bags in one hand while he fiddled with his key. He opened the door and found Sophie where he’d left her after he had picked her up from rehearsal. Nancy was with her and the two of them had their heads down over a big book.

“Hey, I’m home.”

Nancy lifted her head and smiled. “Hi.”

Again, Mark was struck by the sweet nature of her smile. So open and friendly and welcoming. So unlike the woman who was coming for dinner tonight.

I want to mesh....

Where in the hell had that come from? It had been her word, but to him it conjured all sorts of lurid images. Mostly involving naked bodies and what happened to them when they meshed.

He wasn’t even sure why the images arose. It wasn’t like he was attracted to her. She was so far from what he wanted in a woman she might as well be a man. Any thoughts of meshing should be irrelevant.

That was what he needed to do. He needed to think of her as a man. A man, a fellow detective, a coworker. A hey-buddy-let’s-get-a-beer-after-work dude. Or a go-watch-the-game-and-burp kind of man.

Did JoJo burp?

“What’s that?” Sophie asked him.

Shifting his thoughts away from his she-man coworker, Mark set the bags in the kitchen. “This is lasagna. Homemade. Well, at least homemade by someone else. But we’re going to pretend tonight. What are the odds I have a dish remotely this size?”

He started foraging through his cabinets, where he knew he’d stashed the pots and pans and serving dishes he’d bought. When he first realized that it only made sense for Sophie to live with him, he’d gone out and bought everything he thought a home should have. Things like kitchen implements. He was a man who owned a grater, a juicer and a whisk.

Not one of those tools had ever been used in this kitchen.

“Ah-ha!” Mark pulled out a square white ceramic dish and a saucepan and held them up to show off his discovery to the two ladies seated at the island.

“Yeah, so you have pots? I don’t get it.”

Mark opened the bags and pulled out a container of red sauce. He dumped the contents into the pot and put it on the stove, setting the heat level to warm.

Next action item: the delicate surgery of removing the lasagna from the aluminum container and placing it into the serving dish. What might a man need for that? Spatula. Yes! That was a kitchen tool he was familiar with. A man had to have eggs and pancakes after all.

Sophie followed his activities with a bemused expression. “What are you doing? What is the point?”

“I think he’s trying to impress someone.”

Mark glanced at Nancy and saw a sad smile on her face. It was crazy, but he had the feeling he’d disappointed her by being interested in somebody else. The crazy thought occurred to him that his daughter’s tutor might have a crush on him.

If so, it was flattering. She was a woman in her early thirties and attractive in a no-nonsense way. Long, ash-blond hair, pretty green eyes. Soft in all the right places. She was a woman any man would find it easy to be around. Hell, if she wasn’t his daughter’s tutor, he might consider asking her out.

Because wasn’t that what he wanted? A nice woman. A steady woman. A woman with a lovely smile.

But she was his daughter’s tutor and Sophie liked her. That was something he wasn’t going to mess up. There were boundaries that couldn’t be crossed if he didn’t want to see Nancy storm off, leaving him hanging over something as silly as her broken heart. After all, what were the odds he could actually make a relationship work long-term?

Given his track record, his odds were on par with being able to cook lasagna on his own from scratch. And since he had no clue about what went into lasagna, those odds were basically none to none.

“Not impressing anyone,” he clarified. “Just proving her wrong.”

“Her.” Nancy nodded. “I sort of figured.”

“Who is it?”

Mark looked at Sophie. “JoJo is coming over.”

He watched her face instantly change from suspicious to excited. “Awesome. Why, though? I thought you guys were working together. Mark, you do know you can’t date someone you employ, don’t you? It’s totally not cool.”

“It’s not a date. It’s a work thing. But she made a crack about me cooking and well...”

“You would rather set up an elaborate scene with pots and dishes than tell her the truth. Which is that you don’t cook.”

“Exactly.” Mark smiled. “You know, Soph, I really feel like we’re getting to know each other.”

“Well, I’ll be going,” Nancy said as she closed the book. “Let you do your...work thing. Sophie, I’ll expect that report next week. See you around, Mark.”