“I can,” he said smoothly. “After all, it’s the least I can do after you let me off with a warning this afternoon …Constable …”
“Matthews.”
Right.
“Constable Matthews.”
She squinted at him. “Thanks … uh … ”
“You don’t remember my name, do you, constable?” He chuckled again, grabbing a menu and pushing it in front of her. “Pick something. I’m buying.”
She rolled those striking blue eyes and opened the menu. “Deluxe burger withbacon, mushrooms and extra pickle.”
Brock caught Mickey’s eye and held up two fingers. The bartender nodded.
“Do you remember my name?” Brock probed again, scooting his barstool just a tad closer to hers.
“I pulled overa lotof people today. Issueda lotof citations. I can’t remember everyone’s name.”
“Brock Hart. And you’re Constable K. Matthews. What does the K stand for?Kantakerous?”His chest and shoulders bobbed at his own mirth and, as hard she was trying to fight it, because that was obvious, a bubble of a laugh leaped from her throat.
“Krista,” she whispered, raising her eyebrow and nodding at the bartender when he asked if she wanted another shot.
“You live around here?” he asked, rolling her name around in his head and deciding it suited her.
She nodded. “You?”
“You live aroundhere?” he asked in surprise, ignoring her question. “Doesn’t a cop’s salary pay well enough for you to live … I don’t know,notaround here?”
She lifted one slender shoulder and shrugged, thanking the bartender when he placed another shot in front of her. “I grew up in a small town. On a dirt road, out in the middle of nowhere. This is home to me. I’m not used to the big-city life. I like peace and quiet. I like the idea of having bears and deer in my backyard. Plus, I’m a rookie. I make peanuts.”
“Bears?”
She nodded. “They used to raid our apple trees all the time.”
“Do you rent some property around here?”
“I rent a basement suite in a big house on a chunk of land a few kilometers or so down the road.”
Mickey ambled over and plopped two big, beautiful greasy burgers in front of them, the plates piled a mile high with thick, wedge-cut fries. Krista’s eyes went wide, and he smiled to himself at her childish glee. The burgers were awesome.She had a right to be impressed.
Brock reached forward and took a bite of a still-steaming fry. “Eat up, otherwise you won’t be able to walk home given how much tequila you’ve just slammed back.”
She shot him a surly glare but dove in anyway. “And I plan on having more.”
The bar was located pretty much out in the middle of nowhere in a municipality known as Fern Valley, which was part of the Greater Victoria area. Not far, but at the same time far enough from the prestigious and comely homes on Prospect Lake. This part of town wasn’t exactly where doctors and lawyers were buying their 1.2 million-dollar homes. It was more where rednecks parked their double-wides and drove their pickups into the bushes for burial when they stopped working. But that suited Brock just fine. He liked his solitude and the quiet. And the seedy dive bar located in the middle of the middle of nowhere was half his. He’d co-bought it with Mickey when the old guy retired, and Brock served as a silent partner. He checked in and handled the business side while Mickey managed the staff and tended bar. It was a biker bar, a redneck bar, but it was home, and Brock liked it.
He watched in the mirror behind the bar as Krista chewed her food slowly, a small, sexy smile on her face. She closed her eyes and hummed softly. Jordy in the kitchen always made a killer burger. Brock’s taste buds were just as happy as Krista’s. And fuck what he would give to be that burger right now, rolling around on her tongue and in her hot little mouth.
“So,BrockHart,if that’s your real name?” she finally asked on a swallow. “Where doyoulive?”
A smile jogged on his lips as he methodically chewed his fries. “Around here,” he finally said. “Walking distance.”
“Stumbling distance?” She snickered, digging into her own fries. “’Cause that’s what we’d do, stumble there. Or at least me. That tequila’s hit me hard. Good call on the food.”
Brock didn’t say anything. He simply studied her face. She had a tiny bit ofmustard at the corner of her mouth that he wanted to wipe, lick, or suck off for her. Preference on the latter.
“You want to get out of here?” he finally asked.
