Stripped, page 13
The two bedrooms now each held a double bed and simple furniture; the bunk beds he and his brothers had fought over were long gone. The tiny bathroom was barely big enough for a stall shower, toilet and sink. Sawyer frowned as he noticed the rust around the edges of the medicine cabinet, the worn patches on the linoleum. Maybe he’d have to get Logan and Hunter up here another weekend so they could fix it up.
With the windows opened, he retrieved his stuff from by the front door, dropped his duffel on one of the beds and then unpacked his simple groceries. Just as he was putting the last of the food into the fridge, he heard the rumble of an engine, Logan’s blue Silverado pulling up beside Sawyer’s truck.
“Hey man,” Logan called as he lifted a cooler and a large backpack out of the back of his truck. Logan was the baby of the family, four years younger than Sawyer and seven years younger than Hunter. But even though he was the baby, he’d ended up the biggest of them all, towering over Hunter and even standing an inch taller than Sawyer. Sawyer was close with both of his brothers. As a kid, he’d tagged along admiringly with Hunter, and then done the protective big brother thing with Logan. As adults, they had each other’s backs and stayed in touch despite the distance separating them.
Sawyer waved and met him halfway down the steps. Logan set the cooler down and pulled Sawyer in for a bone-crushing hug. When he was done cracking his ribs, Logan pulled back, his gaze going up to Sawyer’s hair.
Logan frowned. “Um . . . did you dye your hair?”
“It’s for work.”
Logan pursed his lips, a sure it is smirk on his face. But as Logan studied him, the smirk faded. “Hey, are you . . .” He paused and shook his head. “Is everything okay?”
Sawyer let out a long breath. “Not really. Come on. Let’s grab a beer.” He wasn’t much for sharing, but for once, he was glad he had Logan there to talk to.
He and Logan quickly unpacked the cooler and then grabbed two beers from the quietly humming fridge. They stepped out onto the covered wraparound porch, by far Sawyer’s favorite spot at the cabin. Leaning his arms against the railing, he stared out at the lake, taking a sip of his beer and letting the peaceful scene before him wash over him. Settle him. He hoped it’d work its magic the way it always did.
Logan stood with his back to the lake, his assessing gaze on Sawyer. “So . . . what’s eating at you?”
Sawyer shrugged, not even sure where to begin. Unsure how much to say.
So he said everything. He told Logan about the one-night stand, about Brooke being his new partner, about the investigation and upcoming undercover work. Naturally, it was the last bit that got the biggest reaction out of Logan.
“Whoa. Wait. Back it up a second,” he said, his hands raised in front of him. “You have to go undercover as a male stripper?” He bit his lip, hard, clearly trying to keep it together.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”
Logan couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer and let it fly, echoing out over the lake. Sawyer rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. Once Logan had collected himself, Sawyer continued. “Anyway, I have an audition on Tuesday. I’ve spent the past week coming up with a routine. Once I’m in, I’ll figure out who the dealer is and work from there.”
“But really what you’re all in knots about is this new partner.” It was a statement, not a question.
Sawyer nodded. For the past week, Brooke had kept her distance, vacillating between awkward and stiffly professional. Which, he reminded himself for what felt like the thousandth time, was a good thing. “She’s . . . different. I don’t know how to explain it, but she’s under my skin, somehow.”
“And that’s bad?” Logan frowned at him.
“Hell yeah it’s bad. We’re partners. Getting involved would be a one-way ticket to unemployment.”
Logan nodded slowly. As a fellow first responder, he knew what Sawyer’s career meant to him.
“I just . . .” Sawyer shook his head and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I was a dick and tried to get her kicked off the team.”
Logan let out a low whistle. “And now she hates you. Which is good, but also maybe not good, because I haven’t seen you all twisted up over a woman like this in . . . since, well. You know.”
“I’m not all twisted up over her. I’m trying to figure out how to ignore the physical shit between us so I can do my damn job.”
Logan shot him an amused smile and Sawyer glanced out over the lake, his words sounding hollow even to his own ears.
“Anyway, I apologized for trying to get her kicked off the team, but somehow that seemed to make things worse. And now, assuming I get hired, I’ll have to strip in front of her on a nightly basis.”
She’d run from the club, and now she was keeping him at arm’s length. He’d given her exactly what she’d wanted and somehow that had pissed her off. She’d been ticked at him—and rightly so—for going to the captain behind her back, so he’d said he was sorry for what he’d done, and now she was . . . mad that he’d apologized?
Logan shrugged. “Women. I have zero advice for you there.”
Even more confusing than her reaction to his apology was how he felt about her. He’d spent the past couple of years running from anything that felt like it could be . . . something, and now here he was, torn between pursuing and pushing away a woman who was completely off-limits. It was unlike him to break the rules, and yet something about Brooke made him want to toss the damn rule book out the window. He shouldn’t pursue her, and he yet couldn’t switch off the part of himself that wanted her. He felt it like an almost constant ache. He didn’t understand it. Then again, he’d never been great at making friends with his emotions. All he knew was that it went deeper than physical attraction, and that maybe, after all this time, he was ready for something more than casual sex.
In fact, the only part of the situation that didn’t confuse the shit out of him was his attraction to Brooke. She was gorgeous, and smart, and took her job seriously. He’d called her a baby detective, and maybe she was, but she was busting her ass and her policing instincts were sharp. She was funny, and didn’t take shit from people. She had a spark that was immensely appealing, and their sexual chemistry was off the charts.
Logan drained the rest of his beer and clapped Sawyer on the shoulder. “It’s a shitty situation, but I know you’ll figure it out. Trust your gut. And it’s not like she hasn’t already seen the goods, so maybe it’ll be fine.”
It didn’t feel fine. Not even a little bit. Everything was a jumbled mess—losing Ryan, the investigation and his nerves about it, the complicated situation with Brooke. Maybe there was a way through, but he couldn’t see it right now.
Sawyer glanced at Logan and nodded, knowing his little brother couldn’t solve his problems for him. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“I’m gonna grab a quick shower and then I’ll meet you down at the dock so we can take the boat out, okay?”
Sawyer nodded again and then finished his beer. The truth was, there were no easy answers. He felt as though whatever path he chose, there’d be consequences. To the investigation. To his career.
Sighing, he stared out at the lake. He rubbed a hand over his chest, the unfamiliar sensation of his T-shirt brushing against the smooth skin bringing him back to the present. Yesterday after work, he’d had his chest waxed in preparation for his audition. It had been the first time he’d ever done it, and he really hoped it was the last, because man, that shit had hurt. He’d come out of the salon with a new appreciation of what women went through. He’d also gotten a haircut, partly as a way to change up his look since he’d be undercover, and partly because he knew his regular eight-dollar Supercuts special probably wouldn’t hack it in the world of male stripping. So he’d shelled out at a fancy place, and he had to admit his new cut looked good. Shorter on the sides, longer on top, and they’d lightened it from a light brown to a dark blond to enhance the change and pretty him up even more. In the back of his mind, he wondered what Brooke would think of it, and then immediately decided that he shouldn’t care, because he’d made the changes for the investigation.
The investigation in which she’d be watching him strip on a regular basis. A pressure he recognized as panic expanded in his chest.
He headed back into the cabin and grabbed another beer, then headed down to the dock. After taking off his shoes, he rolled up his jeans and hung his legs over the edge, letting the cool water slosh against his feet. He closed his eyes and focused on the feel of the sun on his skin, the sounds of the water lapping gently against the dock and the boat, the birds singing in the softly rustling trees above.
He pulled a deep breath into his lungs and cracked the beer open. Confusing mess with Brooke aside, the investigation was weighing on him as well.
He’d put together an audition routine by watching the Magic Mike movies and countless YouTube videos, but what if it wasn’t good enough to get hired? What if their only solid lead on Baracoa vanished because he blew the audition? And if he did get hired . . . shit. It meant he’d actually be stripping in front of people. Putting on an act while dancing and taking his clothes off, all in the name of getting closer to the drug dealers.
He took a sip of his beer, the cool liquid sliding down his throat but doing nothing to calm him. He looked up at the sky, squinting at the clouds above, dragging his toes through the water. Wondering if Ryan could see him right now. Wondering what he’d say if he were here.
“I miss you, man,” he said, his voice coming out rough around the edges. Setting his beer down, he reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out, opening up his saved videos and scrolling down to the one he’d watched probably a hundred times over the past few weeks. He hit Play, and the tinny sound of a group of people singing “Happy Birthday” echoed out over the lake. Ryan sat at the head of a crowded table at his favorite restaurant, a cake covered in flickering candles in front of him.
“Blow ’em out before I have to call the fire department,” said the Sawyer who’d taken the video.
Ryan laughed and blew them out, everyone around the table clapping, Amelia smiling and laughing beside him.
“What’d you wish for?” she asked.
“Nothing,” said Ryan. “I have everything I want right here.”
“Do you need a knife to cut the cake?” a waitress asked Sawyer, and the video stopped abruptly.
That was the night Ryan had told Sawyer he was going to ask Amelia to marry him. His thirty-third birthday. His last birthday.
Sawyer tossed his phone down on the dock and wiped at his wet cheek with the back of his hand. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
He picked up his beer and stared out at the lake, thinking about Brooke and wondering if he’d gotten so caught up in missing Ryan that he’d started missing out on life.
Chapter Nine
The whir of the blender filled Brooke’s grandmother’s kitchen as late afternoon sunshine streamed in through the window. Nan’s white-blond curls bounced as she shuffled across the floor to grab a pair of margarita glasses from a cabinet. At ninety, Nan was still quite spry, but Brooke could tell that her hips were bothering her more and more. She had a cane, but she hated to use it, worried that she’d become dependent on it. Stubborn and spirited, as always.
“Brooke, honey, grab the salt, would you?” she asked over her shoulder as she set the glasses down on the counter. Brooke nodded and started rummaging around in the pantry. She was less familiar with this kitchen than the one she’d grown up in. But selling the house and moving Nan into the retirement community after her grandfather died had been the right thing to do. Her grandmother was still independent, but help was just around the corner if she needed it, which made Brooke feel a bit better.
She found the salt and sprinkled a layer onto a plate, while her grandma dipped the rims of the glasses in lemon juice. Brooke watched her, taking in her little pearl earrings and red blouse, the same shade of pink lipstick on her lips that Nan had worn for as long as she could remember. The way she hummed softly to herself as she salted the rims and then poured the margaritas into each glass, her movements sure and steady. Brooke hoped she was still as healthy and with it at ninety, almost as much as she hoped her grandmother had a long time left.
Sometimes she daydreamed about throwing her a huge surprise party for her one-hundredth birthday. Nan reaching one hundred would give Brooke ten more years with her. And yet ten years didn’t feel like nearly enough. So she tried to live in the moment when she was with her, to soak it all in while she had the chance. To memorize even the mundane moments like these ones, because she knew they were what she’d miss most when Nan was gone.
“Come on, let’s go sit outside,” she said, handing Brooke her glass. “My bones could use some sunshine.”
She followed her grandma out to the little patio off the kitchen, and settled herself into one of the wicker chairs. Brooke had barely taken a sip of her drink before Nan was on her.
“So. You going to tell me what’s wrong?” She arched an eyebrow, studying Brooke.
She shrugged, taking another sip of her drink, fighting back her wince. Nan always made her drinks strong. “Nothing. Just a lot going on with work and the new job and everything.”
“Really? Because you’ve seemed as though you’ve got something on your mind. A few days ago on the phone, and again today. More than just the stress of a new job.”
Brooke licked at the salt on the rim of her glass, avoiding the question. She refused to lie to Nan, and the truth was, there was something on her mind: a six-foot-four muscled jackass named Sawyer. God, making out with him in the club had been such a mistake. What if Jack had seen them? What if she’d done something stupid like go home with him?
“You haven’t started seeing that weasel Peter again, have you?” asked Nan, eyeing her over the rim of her glass.
Brooke shook her head. “God, no. I haven’t even talked to him since the night I found out he was married.”
“Good.” She pursed her lips, as though debating if she should say what she was thinking.
“Out with it. What?”
“I was talking to Doris, and she was telling me that her granddaughter just got engaged. A man she met on . . . I think it was Timber?”
Brooke bit her lip, hiding her smile. “Tinder. As in lighting a fire.”
“Oh. I thought it was Timber since the point is to find some available wood.”
Brooke snorted, almost choking on her drink. Nan looked at her, a naughty twinkle in her eye. If the woman hadn’t raised her, she might have been scandalized by Nan’s dirty sense of humor, but it was one of her favorite things about her.
“Available wood would be nice. Emphasis on the available,” she said, toying with the stem of her glass. “And I appreciate the sentiment, but I have enough man problems right now without adding Tinder dudes into the mix.”
Nan’s eyes narrowed. “Ah. So there is someone.”
Brooke shrugged. “Not . . . not exactly. It’s complicated.”
“Give me the abridged version.” She settled back in her chair and took a long sip of her drink. “Maybe we can uncomplicate it.”
No way was she telling Nan about the one-night stand she’d had with Sawyer the night she’d broken up with Peter. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed, trying to figure out where to dive in. “I guess the simplest way to explain is that I . . . I have a thing for my new partner. His name’s Sawyer, and since we’re partners, nothing can happen between us, but . . .”
“There are sparks anyway,” Nan finished for her. She waited for Brooke to continue, but when she didn’t, she waved a wrinkled hand in the air. “Pfft. That’s not so complicated.”
“He’s also a jackass who tried to get me kicked off of his team because of those sparks.” Irritation, hot and prickly, flared in Brooke’s chest as she remembered how humiliated and angry she’d felt.
At that, Nan threw her head back and laughed. “God, men are so stupid sometimes. I’d have hoped they’d have made some progress between my generation and yours, but apparently not.” Nan took a sip of her drink and set it down on the little glass table, then reached over and patted Brooke’s hand. “It sounds like he’s as hung up on you as you are on him if you’ve driven him to that kind of idiocy. I assume you let him have it after that little stunt?”
Brooke nodded. “Damn right.”
Nan’s eyes twinkled again. “And let me guess: that only made the sparks brighter?”
Given the way Sawyer had kissed her the other night at the club, yeah. It was safe to say the sparks were only intensifying. “But we can’t happen. Not only did he disrespect me and interfere in my job, we can’t date because we work together. And that’s assuming he even wants to date me.”
“Oh, he does. He wouldn’t have his knickers in such a twist if you hadn’t gotten under his skin.”
Brooke hated the way the butterflies in her stomach swarmed at the idea of actually being with Sawyer, a mixture of giddiness and fear swirling through her. “But it doesn’t matter because being romantically involved with an assigned partner is a big fat no-no. I could lose my job.”
Nan got quiet and stared up at the sky for a minute before reaching for her drink and taking a big sip. “I’ve never told you this, but when I first met your grandfather, he was engaged to someone else.”
Brooke’s mouth fell open. “What? Nan, you hussy.”
Nan smiled ruefully. “It’s true. We met at a USO dance in 1945, and the night we met, Brooke, honey, there were sparks. So many sparks I couldn’t see straight. He told me he was engaged, but as the night went on, that seemed to matter less and less. I knew we were meant for each other. I’d never had an instant connection like that before.”
Brooke’s mind flew back to the night she’d met Sawyer, how she’d felt almost instantly drawn to him, how she’d never had chemistry like that with anyone. “So what happened?”
