Page 23 of Last First Kiss
“Fine.”
“Fine.” They were still close, not as close as they were a minute ago, but close enough that her stance about professionalism was teetering on a thin line. She could pretend all she wanted, but there was an attraction, a spark, that couldn’t be denied.
A torrid affair for the next four months would be explosive. Every reason he’d given himself the night before flew away, every cautious word from Paul, her own reasons why mixing business with pleasure was a bad idea. The simple truth was that being around Annie was exhilarating.
She was still looking at him, her hair, that blonde that could look red when she was by the window, the sun shining in, or golden when the light was a certain way, like right now. The way her face reddened a little when he spoke with her, but not with anyone else.
Fuck this.
He took a step closer, ready to tempt her into an affair . . . with his lips and tongue.
But the talking from downstairs grew louder and there seemed to be someone arguing. “Mr. Monroe, Ms. Clad. Please come down here,” a voice hollered.
They looked at each other, flummoxed, and hurried downstairs, the moment essentially ruined. He was humiliated, mad, and turned on all at the same fucking time. He didn’t even know where to begin when it came to Annie. Except that damn, he wanted her. Badly.
* * *
They’d almost kissed. Who was she kidding? She almost kissed him. She had been this close to pressing her lips against his, she hadn’t even tried to step away from his very inappropriate grip. With one hand, she could have had him with his face against the floor and her knee on his spine crying for her to let go. Instead, she’d pushed her breasts against his chest and savored his strong arms wrapped around her. It was girly and stupid, and so not like her, but it made her feel so good. The way he’d worried about her . . . no one had ever done that before and it made her heart do strange things. Things she hadn’t felt in far too long.
As soon as they reached the bottom step, she saw two officers struggling to hold two men. Both were in their early twenties. One was five-ten, 140 pounds, with a crew cut. The other had a low ponytail coming apart by the ears, about five-eleven, maybe 130 pounds. They wore black jeans and black shirts and were Hispanic, not only by their looks but by the way they were arguing in Spanish to the officers who were now firmly pushing their cuffed bodies down onto kitchen chairs. It was inherent in her to notice all the details she could.
“Found these two geniuses running down Coral Way, looking back as if they’d just committed a crime. When we tried to stop them, they ran faster until we had to go on foot to get them. Searched their backpack and found two Sharpies and a brick, as well as . . .” The officer pulled out Mapquest instructions to Rocco’s house. “ . . . directions to your house. I told you they were geniuses.”
In heavily accented English one said, “That doesn’t prove anything.” Annie noticed a tattoo on his wrist of a yellow, blue, and red circle.
“Do they look familiar?” one of the officers asked.
“No. Not at all,” Rocco answered.
“Okay. Take them down to the station and book them.” One officer lifted the two perps by the plastic flex cuffs and led them out. The other officer then took a few more statements from Rocco and Annie before leaving. “You have my info, officer.” She had given him her card earlier. “Please call me and keep me updated.”
“Will do,” he said, closing the door behind him. It was late afternoon by the time the cops left.
“So, guess that’s that.” Rocco shrugged and walked to the fridge and snagged a bottle of water and some bread and cheese. “I’m starving. You want a grilled cheese or you gonna stick to your shake?”
Grilled cheese . . . yum. With all the events of the day they’d skipped lunch and she was famished. “Grilled cheese, please.”
She sat down and watched him work comfortably in his kitchen. “Do you want help?”
“Nah, I’m good,” he said, slathering butter into a pan.
There goes my attempt at healthy, she thought.
He put two delicious looking sandwiches on the table along with a bag of potato chips. “Smells great.” She took a bite and groaned.
“Turned out to be a good day, right?” he said between bites.
Her mouth hung open. What? Good day?
“Uh . . . two men threw a brick through your window, did you forget?”
“No, obviously I didn’t forget.” He stuffed the last piece of sandwich in his mouth. “Boarding up the window tonight is going to be a pain in the ass, but at least those guys were caught, right?”
Too much to process in that one statement.
She’d always been a person who reasoned and analyzed everything. This wasn’t exactly computing. Did he think that was it? Those two kids were the be all and end all of the scare tactics trying to stop a multimillion-dollar movie production? She’d bet all her money that they had nothing to do with the letters or riots. They were just two stupid kids who either wanted to join the bandwagon of Rocco-bashing or they really did feel strongly about him being in the movie and just took it upon themselves to do a little homemade vandalism. They weren’t part of a larger organization. This wasn’t going to just stop.
And did he say he was going to board up the window?
