Sitting up on the couch, I tap my fingers on my lap. I’m in love with him. All the signs are there—laughing at everything he says, hanging on every word, sighing happily every time I see him with Isabelle or Dolores, or the cats, for that matter, the squishy, gooey feeling inside when I think about him.
He is kind of perfect, really. I mean, if he was staying and had a plan for his life, that is. I don’t see myself with some party animal who lives off his rich parents. But if he wanted tostay, and if Dolores is right and he’s just getting started…
I mean, he’s only got three weeks leftuntil his contract is over and he’s back in his father’s good books (or pocketbook, depending on how you look at it). At that point, he can quit his bellboy position and figure out what he really wants to do. More than likely, he’s going to get on the first plane that will take him back to Avonia forever. But what if he has a reason to stay? And what ifI’mthat reason?
My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel thrilled and terrified at the same time. I’m going to do it. I’m going to ask him if he’ll stay.
Maybe.
But not tomorrow. I should think about it for a few days before I decide…
CHAPTER 26
The Lethal Weapon Effect
Leo
“Okay, Jolene, a pleasure as always,” I say as I walk toward the front door, having provided my urine sample.
She grunts in response. “Try not to screw up, you’ve only got less than three weeks left of this whole model-citizen thing. This is when things go sour, right at the end.”
I stop and turn to face her. “Really? So in all the father-son contracts you’ve overseen over the years, it’s the last few weeks that are the hardest?”
“Hilarious.” She opens the door and moves aside to let me out. “I was talking about theLethal Weaponeffect. You know, it’s always the day before a cop retires that he gets shot.”
“Ah, yes. I’m familiar with the concept, but in my case, there really is no need for worry,” I say, stepping out into the hot wind. “I’ve got my eye on the prize, Ms. Fita, and when I set my mind to something, I never fail. Believe me, when the six months are up, I’ll be back home living the good life.”
“You sure your eye is on the right prize?” she asks, following me out onto the porch.
“The money, yes,” I call over my shoulder as I jog down the three steps to the sidewalk.
“Money won’t buy you a quality woman like that lovely landlady. Took me nearly forty years to find Ursula.”
My shoulders drop and I turn around to face her. “I’m confused. Is giving life advice part of your job description?”
“That was free of charge,” she answers. “I guess I’m just a romantic at heart, and I’m pretty sure your happy ending would be found with her.”
Great. Girl talk with Jolene. “As lovely as Brianna is, I’m not the right man for her.”
“Sure, not now, but you could be if you stopped letting your parents run your life.”
Jesus, first Pierce, now my parole officer? “Thanks for the advice, but I’ve got it all figured out.”
Jolene shakes her head. “You just love to tempt fate, don’t you?”
“Yes, fate is my bitch,” I answer, mounting my bike.
Chuckling, Jolene shakes her head at me. “All right then, Crazy. I’ll be seeing you around.”
“Not if I see you first.”
As I make my way home, my mind wanders to riding tandem with Brianna, as it does every time I’m en route since our day together. I also think about our date—let’s just be honest and call it what it was—when I’m in bed, in the shower, standing next to her at the desk in the lobby, watching her at work or with Isabelle, and pretty much every other minute of the day and/or night.
The real kicker is that for the first time in my stupid life, I’m completely and utterly taken with a woman, and of course, it has to be a woman I have no business wanting. And yet I can’t seem to stop myself. I want to know everything about her—what she thinks about every topic under the sun from politics to religion to her favourite book when she was a child. When she speaks, I drink in the sound of her voice and take in her words in a way I’ve never done with anyone. It’s like every cell in my brain is desperate to know her, no matter how many times I tell them to stop.
At night, I lie awake listening for the sound of a knock at my door, thinking about all the things we could do if she’d slip inside silently under the light of the moon. Even though we haven’t so much as kissed, I already know it would be incredible between us. A guy can just tell. There’s either that whole chemistry pheromone thing going on or there isn’t. And with Bree, it’s there all the time, even when she isn’t. I can immediately conjure the scent of her shampoo and of her skin, the sound of her laugh, the delight in her eyes when she’s teasing Isabelle—or me, for that matter. My brain tortures me with it on a minute-by-minute basis, rendering me utterly frustrated and pathetic.
The worst thing is I’m pretty sure she feels it, too. I catch her watching me when I’m loading luggage onto the cart, or mowing the lawn, or hanging my clothes on the line. She seems to find reasons to be near me, whether at home or at work. Little excuses to touch my hand or stand extra close to me at the desk. I do it, too. Yesterday, after our lunch break, I pretended she had something on her cheek, just so I could feel her skin against the pad of my thumb. That tiny gesture has kept me going for almost sixteen hours, but there’s only so long a man in love can go on that.
