Read Online How Hard Can It Be? by Robyn Peterman - Free Book Online
Authors: Robyn Peterman
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looking down at his folder. “Please tell me your name isn’t Rena Gunderschlict.”
Panic like I’d never known rushed through me. I had no idea why he didn’t want me to be me, but I had a bad feeling I was about to find out . . . and I wasn’t going to like it.
“Why?” My voice seemed to be coming from a hundred miles away.
“Just please tell me you’re not Rena.”
“I can’t,” I whispered.
He looked up to the heavens and ran his big hand through his hair. As terrified as I was, I was jealous of his hand. I wanted my hands in his hair, but as much as I wanted that, my instinct told me to run. Something was off . . . very off.
Still staring at the ceiling, he muttered, “Goddamn it, I hate my job.”
“Are you okay?” I asked. I knew I truly loved him, or at least seriously lusted him, when I actually forgot about my own impending shit storm and worried about his.
This time when his eyes met mine they were mortified and apologetic. Apprehension swept through me and a lead weight settled in my stomach. He slowly pushed back his bomber jacket and revealed a badge . . . and a gun. “Rena Gunderschlict, I’m placing you under arrest for breaking your restraining order. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights?” I mutely nodded my head as the love of my life continued to rip my heart out. “I don’t want to handcuff you, so please follow me out to my vehicle.”
Of course he was a cop . . . Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My walk of shame was compounded by my little hairy friends from the coffee shop. Vito and Angelo spotted me and the hunk who was about to ruin my life.
“Rena!” Vito screamed, shoving startled customers out of the way to get to me. Mr. Hottie’s hand went to his gun.
“They’re my friends,” I quickly interjected before he blew two sixty-year-old little hairy guys away for no reason.
Vito, with Angelo on his heels, ran to me like an excited puppy. God, I’d missed them.
“Did you finally get the weather girl job?” Vito screeched, squishing my face. “I made white chocolate apricot scones this morning. You will come in and have one,” he demanded.
Angelo smiled slyly. “Looks like our little girl has something to tell us.” He nudged Vito and started winking repeatedly at what he assumed to be my new man friend.
“Um, guys, I can’t hang right now. I’m a little busy.”
“Did you get the job?” Angelo asked, still winking obscenely at the cop who he clearly thought was my boyfriend. I wish.
“No, I didn’t get the job.”
“Ba Fongool to the slut they hired. I spit in her coffee every day,” Vito informed me and anyone within a hundred feet. This was a new kind of loyalty. Kind of gross, but kind of great.
“Guys,” I whispered, nodding surreptitiously to the freedom-destroying sexy bastard standing next to me, “I’m actually under arrest.”
“Again?” Angelo gasped. He quit winking at my boyfriend and gave him the evil eye.
“Shame on you, big man,” Vito hissed. “She is no criminal! Have you seen her ass?”
Oh. My. God.
“Rena”—Angelo cut Vito off before he started waxing nostalgic about my other body parts—“did you break the law?”
“Kind of,” I muttered, “but it wasn’t my fault this time.”
“Did you hear that, Mr. Big-Meany-Police-Man? It is not her fault! No one who has a rack as stupendous as she does should ever be arrested,” Angelo concluded, making me want to die.
“Um . . . guys, you’re not really helping here.” I stole a quick glance at Mr. Big-Meany-Police-Man, who to my shock seemed amused.
Angelo stood up to his full five-foot-two height. “Rena, do you want me to kick his ass?”
“Um, no.”
“We will visit you in the big house,” Vito whispered loudly. “We have connections.” He winked
Panic like I’d never known rushed through me. I had no idea why he didn’t want me to be me, but I had a bad feeling I was about to find out . . . and I wasn’t going to like it.
“Why?” My voice seemed to be coming from a hundred miles away.
“Just please tell me you’re not Rena.”
“I can’t,” I whispered.
He looked up to the heavens and ran his big hand through his hair. As terrified as I was, I was jealous of his hand. I wanted my hands in his hair, but as much as I wanted that, my instinct told me to run. Something was off . . . very off.
Still staring at the ceiling, he muttered, “Goddamn it, I hate my job.”
“Are you okay?” I asked. I knew I truly loved him, or at least seriously lusted him, when I actually forgot about my own impending shit storm and worried about his.
This time when his eyes met mine they were mortified and apologetic. Apprehension swept through me and a lead weight settled in my stomach. He slowly pushed back his bomber jacket and revealed a badge . . . and a gun. “Rena Gunderschlict, I’m placing you under arrest for breaking your restraining order. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights?” I mutely nodded my head as the love of my life continued to rip my heart out. “I don’t want to handcuff you, so please follow me out to my vehicle.”
Of course he was a cop . . . Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My walk of shame was compounded by my little hairy friends from the coffee shop. Vito and Angelo spotted me and the hunk who was about to ruin my life.
“Rena!” Vito screamed, shoving startled customers out of the way to get to me. Mr. Hottie’s hand went to his gun.
“They’re my friends,” I quickly interjected before he blew two sixty-year-old little hairy guys away for no reason.
Vito, with Angelo on his heels, ran to me like an excited puppy. God, I’d missed them.
“Did you finally get the weather girl job?” Vito screeched, squishing my face. “I made white chocolate apricot scones this morning. You will come in and have one,” he demanded.
Angelo smiled slyly. “Looks like our little girl has something to tell us.” He nudged Vito and started winking repeatedly at what he assumed to be my new man friend.
“Um, guys, I can’t hang right now. I’m a little busy.”
“Did you get the job?” Angelo asked, still winking obscenely at the cop who he clearly thought was my boyfriend. I wish.
“No, I didn’t get the job.”
“Ba Fongool to the slut they hired. I spit in her coffee every day,” Vito informed me and anyone within a hundred feet. This was a new kind of loyalty. Kind of gross, but kind of great.
“Guys,” I whispered, nodding surreptitiously to the freedom-destroying sexy bastard standing next to me, “I’m actually under arrest.”
“Again?” Angelo gasped. He quit winking at my boyfriend and gave him the evil eye.
“Shame on you, big man,” Vito hissed. “She is no criminal! Have you seen her ass?”
Oh. My. God.
“Rena”—Angelo cut Vito off before he started waxing nostalgic about my other body parts—“did you break the law?”
“Kind of,” I muttered, “but it wasn’t my fault this time.”
“Did you hear that, Mr. Big-Meany-Police-Man? It is not her fault! No one who has a rack as stupendous as she does should ever be arrested,” Angelo concluded, making me want to die.
“Um . . . guys, you’re not really helping here.” I stole a quick glance at Mr. Big-Meany-Police-Man, who to my shock seemed amused.
Angelo stood up to his full five-foot-two height. “Rena, do you want me to kick his ass?”
“Um, no.”
“We will visit you in the big house,” Vito whispered loudly. “We have connections.” He winked
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