her moving around anywhere in the house, but he caught the faint aroma of fresh coffee, which was enough to get him out of the bed. A quick visit to the bathroom, then he began pulling on his clothes. He had on his underwear and pants, and was sitting on the bed putting on his socks and shoes, when the door opened and Jaclyn came in, carrying a big mug of coffee in one hand and a … to-go cup in the other.
“I don’t know how you drink your coffee, so I brought two packs of sugar and two creamers, and a stirrer,” she said, extending the to-go cup to him. Startled, he automatically took it. The sugar, creamer, and stirrer were in a plastic sandwich bag, along with a neatly folded paper napkin. “I’m really rushed, I need to jump in the shower,” she continued. “Could you make sure the door locks behind you as you leave? Thanks, you’re a sweetheart. Call me in a week or so.” She bent down, brushed a quick kiss across his forehead, then disappeared into the bathroom. He heard the snick of the lock as she turned it, and a moment later came the sound of running water.
Huh.
He sat there on the bed, staring at the to-go cup in his hand. Get up, get your clothes on, and leave . The only way she could have been any plainer was if she’d pushed him out the door.
He guessed it was safe to say she wasn’t interested in talking about the night before. For a moment he wavered between relieved and … well, fuck! He was a little pissed. Women were supposed to want to talk about it; that showed they were interested, that they were feeling the vibes and the heat. What was he supposed to think now? That Jaclyn had wanted sex but nothing else, and now that she’d been laid she wanted him gone?
He set the coffee on the bedside table and finished dressing. As he slipped his service weapon into the holster on his belt he wondered if the pistol had spooked her. She wasn’t a cop groupie, so maybe she hadn’t liked it that he’d automatically placed the weapon within reach. He’d developed the habit when he’d been on the Atlanta P.D., and now it was so ingrained he hadn’t even thought about what he was doing.
She didn’t seem like the skittish type, but he didn’t know her well enough to decide. For whatever reason, she didn’t want him hanging around for breakfast. Okay, he could oblige her. It wasn’t as if they didn’t want the same thing.
He looked at the closed bathroom door and muttered, “I feel so used.” Then he grinned, shrugged, grabbed the cup of coffee, and headed downstairs.
Eric let himself out of the town house, making certain the door was locked behind him. A light rain was falling, and the streetlights gleamed on wet pavement. The predawn air was cool, with a damp breeze blowing from the west; maybe the clouds would hang in there and the day wouldn’t be so miserably hot. He hadn’t heard any weather predictions so the rain kind of surprised him, but it was a pleasant surprise. The officers working traffic might not agree—he’d always hated a rainy day when he was on traffic detail—but as far as he was concerned, any break from the heat was good.
He stood for a moment on her small, covered front porch, looking around to make certain everything seemed normal—no suspicious cars, no suspicious people—before going down the steps and down the short sidewalk to his car. This was a good area, so a clunker car would be a jarring note. No one was out and about yet, though some of the other town houses had lights on inside, indicating more early risers.
Once he was in his car, he removed the lid from the cup of coffee, dumped in both packs of sugar and one of the packs of creamer, then used the little plastic stick to stir it all together. He lifted the cup to take his first swallow. Then the coffee hit his taste buds and he spewed the coffee back into the cup, shuddering. Holy hell, what was that shit?
Something flavored, and not a good flavor, either. What was it with women, messing
“I don’t know how you drink your coffee, so I brought two packs of sugar and two creamers, and a stirrer,” she said, extending the to-go cup to him. Startled, he automatically took it. The sugar, creamer, and stirrer were in a plastic sandwich bag, along with a neatly folded paper napkin. “I’m really rushed, I need to jump in the shower,” she continued. “Could you make sure the door locks behind you as you leave? Thanks, you’re a sweetheart. Call me in a week or so.” She bent down, brushed a quick kiss across his forehead, then disappeared into the bathroom. He heard the snick of the lock as she turned it, and a moment later came the sound of running water.
Huh.
He sat there on the bed, staring at the to-go cup in his hand. Get up, get your clothes on, and leave . The only way she could have been any plainer was if she’d pushed him out the door.
He guessed it was safe to say she wasn’t interested in talking about the night before. For a moment he wavered between relieved and … well, fuck! He was a little pissed. Women were supposed to want to talk about it; that showed they were interested, that they were feeling the vibes and the heat. What was he supposed to think now? That Jaclyn had wanted sex but nothing else, and now that she’d been laid she wanted him gone?
He set the coffee on the bedside table and finished dressing. As he slipped his service weapon into the holster on his belt he wondered if the pistol had spooked her. She wasn’t a cop groupie, so maybe she hadn’t liked it that he’d automatically placed the weapon within reach. He’d developed the habit when he’d been on the Atlanta P.D., and now it was so ingrained he hadn’t even thought about what he was doing.
She didn’t seem like the skittish type, but he didn’t know her well enough to decide. For whatever reason, she didn’t want him hanging around for breakfast. Okay, he could oblige her. It wasn’t as if they didn’t want the same thing.
He looked at the closed bathroom door and muttered, “I feel so used.” Then he grinned, shrugged, grabbed the cup of coffee, and headed downstairs.
Eric let himself out of the town house, making certain the door was locked behind him. A light rain was falling, and the streetlights gleamed on wet pavement. The predawn air was cool, with a damp breeze blowing from the west; maybe the clouds would hang in there and the day wouldn’t be so miserably hot. He hadn’t heard any weather predictions so the rain kind of surprised him, but it was a pleasant surprise. The officers working traffic might not agree—he’d always hated a rainy day when he was on traffic detail—but as far as he was concerned, any break from the heat was good.
He stood for a moment on her small, covered front porch, looking around to make certain everything seemed normal—no suspicious cars, no suspicious people—before going down the steps and down the short sidewalk to his car. This was a good area, so a clunker car would be a jarring note. No one was out and about yet, though some of the other town houses had lights on inside, indicating more early risers.
Once he was in his car, he removed the lid from the cup of coffee, dumped in both packs of sugar and one of the packs of creamer, then used the little plastic stick to stir it all together. He lifted the cup to take his first swallow. Then the coffee hit his taste buds and he spewed the coffee back into the cup, shuddering. Holy hell, what was that shit?
Something flavored, and not a good flavor, either. What was it with women, messing
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