Frenched Series Bundle (58 page)

“So do we,” said Mia. “An alarm, not a gun.” She giggled. “Lucas is a lover, not a fighter.”

“You guys live in Detroit. It’s different.”

“Maybe. But we’ve never been broken into.” Coco shook her head. “No neighborhood is completely safe, Erin. Look, I grew up around here, and I know it’s safer than most places, but it’s not like it used to be. You should at least consider it. Wouldn’t you feel better?”

“I guess so.” I brought my hands to my face and rubbed my eyes. “God, I’m so tired. Although I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight.”

“We’ll stay with you,” Mia said firmly. “We already decided.”

“You don’t have to do that. What about your husbands?”

“I don’t have a husband yet.” Coco stuck her chin out. “And if Nick doesn’t quit bugging me about the church thing, I never will.”

“Church weddings can be beautiful, Coco,” Mia pulled a pad of paper and pen out of her bag. “I don’t know why you’re so against it.”

“I’m against it because he and I are liable to burst into a ball of flames if we even go near a Catholic church. We’re divorced, remember? It’s a sin.”

“Yeah, but you’re only divorced from each other. Seems like you should get a free pass on that.” Mia set the pad in front of me. “Here. Write down everything they took.”

Coco sniffed. “I don’t think the Catholic Church gives a free pass to anyone. Unless you buy the archdiocese a new rec center or something.”

“Why does he want a church wedding?” I asked. “I thought you were going to get married in your backyard next summer.” Coco and Nick had recently purchased a beautiful old home in Indian Village and spent all their spare time working on its restoration.

“We were. But his Italian grandmother is giving him the Catholic Old Lady guilt trip. The All-I-want-is-to-see-one-of-my-grandchildren-get married-in-the-Church nonsense. Basically, we’re crushing an old lady’s dream.” She got off the stool, went to my snack cupboard and rummaged around. “Got barbecue?”

“No, sorry.”

She pulled out a bag of sweet potato chips instead. “And then there’s Nick, who decided he doesn’t want to wait until next year. He’s giving me no time whatsoever to plan this thing. And yet he won’t elope.” She sat and crunched angrily.

“No!” Mia’s hand shot out and flicked Coco’s ear. “No eloping. I will smother you with a pillow in your sleep if you get married again and I’m not there.”

“Me too,” I added. “No eloping.”

Coco waved a hand in front of her face and swallowed. “Forget about me. Let’s deal with this. What’s missing?”

I’d just started to write when a loud knock at the back door made us all jump.

“Want me to get it?” Mia asked, her eyes nervously flicking toward the door.

“No.” I got up and set the pen down. “I’m not opening it until I know who it is.” Glancing around for something to use as a weapon, I decided on a butcher knife. Mia and Coco gasped when I pulled it from the block, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Cautiously, I moved for the door, blade raised. “Who is it?”

“It’s Charlie. I have something for you.”

I lowered the knife and opened the door. My heart thumped hard, and I decided it was adrenaline, not attraction. Big difference. Big, big, big.

“Hi.”

“Hi. It’s only been like five minutes. You checked out the station already?”

“Not yet. I had to finish my report. I’m heading there now, but I wanted to give you this first.” He held out his hand, which held a twenty dollar bill.

I stared at it. “What’s that for?”

“I’m paying you back the money I stole from your lemonade stand. I feel bad about it now.”

My eyebrows rose. “
Now
you feel bad about it? Like twenty years later? What’s the extra eight fifty for, interest? Or did you want change?”

He smiled. “Nah, keep the change.” When I didn’t take it, he tucked it into the pocket of my robe. “Planning to stab me, Red?”

I looked down at the knife in my hand, then back at him. “I might, if you keep calling me that.”

He held up his hands. “I come in peace.”

“Fine. Now go in peace.” I pulled the twenty from my pocket and held it out. “And take this back. I don’t need charity. Give it to St. Jude’s, which is where it was supposed to go in the first place.”

He dropped his hands. “Take it. It’s yours.” Then he grinned mischievously. “Put it toward a real pair of hand cuffs.”

I slammed the door in his face. “God, he’s annoying.”

“What was that all about?” Mia asked. She was pouring a glass of water into the kitchen herbs I had on the windowsill in little pots that said BLOOM on them. Although in my case they might as well say DIE because for some reason I can never remember to water plants.

“It was Charlie Dwyer again.” I replaced the knife in the block and touched my cheeks, hoping they weren’t as red as they felt. “He wanted to pay back the money he stole from me almost twenty years ago, of all things.”

“Oh?” She and Coco exchanged a look, which I decided not to acknowledge. “It’s nice that he’s taking a special interest in you.”

“He should, as a public safety officer,” I huffed, plunking down on the stool again. I avoided meeting their eyes and picked up the pen. “If they would have caught this guy already, I wouldn’t have been robbed tonight. Number one,” I said loudly, eager to drop the subject, “laptop computer.”

I’d like to sit on his lap.

I forced myself to concentrate, gripping the penis—ahem, the pencil—way harder than necessary. After I wrote down everything the burglar took and its replacement value, we searched for alarms on Mia’s iPad. It looked like the least expensive option would be to have my cable company put in a wireless system. But it would add to my cable bill each month, and I was on a really tight butt—tight budget, tight
budget
—right now. (Jesus, what was the matter with me? Could there be a more inappropriate time to be thinking about Charlie Dwyer’s ass?)

Where was I? Budget. Right.

“God, why did I have to make that big announcement about new flooring?” I moaned. “I told everyone I’d have a brand new surface in the downstairs room by Christmas.”

“People will understand.” Coco rubbed my back. “These things happen.”

I stared at the list. “You guys. I have to say something out loud.”

I want to ride Charlie Dwyer like a deranged cowgirl.

“Go ahead, honey.”

I took a deep breath. Shooed the wasp away. “I’m scared I did the wrong thing taking over that studio.”

“Why?” Mia asked. “Are the kids driving you crazy?”

“It’s not the kids so much as the mothers. It’s stuff that has nothing to do with actual dancing, either. It’s jealousy and resentment and she-said-this and she-said-that and threatening to leave if I don’t put so-and-so in this number or partner her with him or bring in this particular choreographer…nothing but drama.”

“Are they really that bad?” Mia looked surprised.

“Yes.” I took another drink.
If only I had some way to relieve the stress…for example, taking out my frustration on Charlie Dwyer’s cock.

“I don’t know how you stand it,” Coco said, taking another handful of chips. “Dance moms sound as bad as brides.”

“At least you can be done with a bride once her wedding is over. I’m stuck with these mothers for years unless I tell them to take a hike.”

“So tell them to take a hike.” Mia shrugged, as if it were that easy.

“I can’t. If one of my competitive dancers leaves, more will follow. The loudmouth ones have a lot of influence.” I dropped my forehead to the cool marble. “I’m a smaller studio as it is, and it’s hard to compete with the big powerhouses that have a thousand kids and five huge rooms and mega bucks. I have to deal with them. But I have to stop taking their phone calls at night.” And do something else with my time, like…. No! Stop it! No more Charlie Dwyer thoughts. You can’t escape
into a fantasy this time. You have actual problems here. Face them.

“They have your phone number?”

In my mind, I grabbed a fly swatter, knocked the wasp to the ground and stomped on it.

When I was sure it was dead, I picked my head up and nodded miserably. “I gave it out last year as part of this whole Better Communication campaign. Told them to call me with questions or concerns at any time.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Mia asked, her eyes wide.

I groaned. “I wasn’t. I had no idea what I was in for—now they email me and text me and call me twenty-four seven with all their complaints. Tonight a mom caught me in the parking lot to tell me that her daughter can’t be at the mandatory choreography session tomorrow because she’s going to an audition for a ketchup commercial. Ketchup!” I yelled, as if it were ketchup’s fault. “Yesterday I would have said ‘OK, fine’ but today I summoned all my courage and told her she’s out of the piece if she can’t make it.”

“Good for you,” cheered Mia. “You’re too nice. Except to your plants.” She glanced at my windowsill.

“Look, I have bigger problems than my plants, OK?” I said miserably. “There’s a leak in the studio ceiling, the paint is peeling in the lobby, and the wood floor in the downstairs studio is totally warped. The entire place needs a very expensive makeover.” My voice was shaking by now, my throat tight. “And I knew that when I took over and totally planned to take care of it. But I’ve been so busy with the day-to-day management and teaching, I haven’t had time to get to all that.” Tears spilled over, and I pressed my fingertips to my eyes.

I kind of wanted the wasp back.

“Erin, you don’t have to do all this alone. We can help you,” Mia said.

“Of course we can,” Coco added. “I wish you’d have said something before.”

“Thanks, but I know you guys are busy. You’ve got houses to renovate and weddings to plan and husbands and fiancés and grandmothers to manage, not to mention a business to run.” I sat up a little taller. “Actually, you know what? It helps just to talk about it.” I did feel a little better now that I finally admitted to someone that owning a dance studio wasn’t entirely the dream job I’d thought it would be.

“We are never too busy to help you,” said Mia, commandeering the pen and paper from me. “Now let’s make a to-do list for you. It’s easier to face a lot of work if you have a plan. You should start by hanging those shades in here.
Tomorrow
.” She looked down at me pointedly.

“OK.” I emptied my wine glass and set it down. “I think I need a drill.”

“We have a drill. I’ll ask Lucas where it is.”

“So do we,” Coco added. Then she grinned. “Or you could call that cop. He looks like he’d be handy with a drill.”

Yes! Drill me, Charlie Dwyer. Hard!

“No way.” I shook my head. “Charlie Dwyer will do no drilling in this house. Ever.” Coco took a sip of her wine, looking at me over the top of the glass as if she knew better.

Confession: Part of me hoped she did. Certain parts, anyway.

#

When the wine bottle was empty, we rinsed our glasses, double-checked the locks again, and went upstairs. Mia and Coco took the guest room, which held the trundle sleigh bed from my childhood room, and I went to my room to get them some comfortable clothes to sleep in.

On my way I ducked into the bathroom to grab the Box and Naughty Rabbit from under the sink. Not that Mia or Coco would be so shocked if they saw those things, but they were much more open about sex than I was. They talked freely about doing things I’d only fantasized about.

And I fantasized a lot.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t had good sex—I had. At least I thought I had. It’s just that I’d dated such
nice
guys. Guys my mother adored and whose mothers adored me, said what a sweet girl I was. Guys who treated me like gold. Guys who would never steal a hamster or hold up a lemonade stand. Guys who would pretend they hadn’t seen the fuzzy handcuffs in the bathroom.

Gentlemen.

But I could never bring myself to be
totally
honest with a gentleman about the things I wanted sexually. I felt like it would be too shocking, like maybe if they knew the things in my head, they’d think I wasn’t the girl they (and their mothers) believed me to be. 

And to be honest, I’d never experienced any of the insane chemistry I saw between Coco and Nick or Mia and Lucas, so holding back hadn’t been that difficult. Now, this could be because one boyfriend came out shortly after our relationship fizzled, and the other decided to join the priesthood. (I’m not even kidding. Those were my two serious relationships—a gay man and a priest.) Anyway, it would be nice to find someone with that
spark
.

Until then, there was work to be done, there was late-night wine with friends, and there was Charlie Dwyer and the Naughty Rabbit.

Damn it—I meant Brad Pitt. There was
Brad Pitt
and the Naughty Rabbit. 

Although next time, I might put him in uniform.

He had to have been a cop in something, right?

On Saturday I had six straight hours of classes and rehearsals, starting at nine AM. By three in the afternoon, I was tired and hoarse, but feeling surprisingly positive about life. The dancer with the ketchup commercial had shown up today, I’d managed to come in and rush out the back door without running into any parents, and thanks to Mia, I had a manageable plan of attack for getting the studio in shape and amping up the security at my townhouse. Just having a plan and people willing to help lowered my stress level considerably.

On my way home, I noticed the gas gauge on my car was low—so low the light was on. Thankfully, I’d stuck the twenty from Charlie in my pocket this morning. I’d be able to put a few gallons in, and that would at least get me through until Monday, when my new credit cards were supposed to arrive. I pulled into a Mobil station and pumped some gas, and while I was in line waiting to pay, I heard a deep voice behind me.

“Excuse me, miss. Are you driving without a license?”

I turned around to find Charlie Dwyer behind me, dressed in jeans and a gray sweater. (I can confirm he looked way, way above average in regular clothes.)

My heart thumped a few wacky, uneven beats. “And if I were?”

“You know that’s against the law, don’t you.”

I smiled. “You going to write me a ticket?”
Or push me up against the counter and frisk me?

“I might.”

“Depending on…”

“Whether or not you’ll have coffee with me.”

The smiled faded. What was this? “Coffee with you?”

He shrugged. “Why not? I thought we could catch up a little. It’s been a long time.”

Up until yesterday, I’d have said
not long enough
, but now I found myself considering his offer.

For about a second.

Fantasy was one thing, but reality was another, and handsome as he was, the real Charlie Dwyer irritated me to no end. He’d probably just start in with all the single woman alone stuff again. Bullies like an easy target to knock around, and I didn’t have to be his anymore. “Sorry, I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

“No, really. I can’t. I have to go find a drill and hang shades in my kitchen.”

“Right this minute?”

I arched a brow. “Hey, I’m a
woman living alone
, remember? We spinsters can’t be too careful.”

He laughed. “Spinster, right. Well, how about this? You save me from drinking a lonely cup of gas station coffee by myself, and I’ll help you with the shades. I’m off tonight.”

I considered it. Could I put up with him for an hour or so if it meant I could cross something off my list? Maybe so. “OK. Deal.”

After I paid for my gas, Charlie and I agreed to meet at a Starbucks not far from my house. He beat me there, which was kind of a bummer because then he watched me pull up and park, and I didn’t have a chance to give myself a once-over in the rearview mirror. I don’t wear much makeup when I teach, and my hair was in sort of a bedraggled nest on top of my head. Unwilling to let him see me applying lipstick, I settled for taking my hair down before I got out of the car, although I scolded myself for caring what Charlie Dwyer thought.

This wasn’t a date.

Was it?

#

As if he were a gentleman, Charlie held the door open for me and stood behind me in line. “Your hair smells good.”

I looked at him over my shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Thank you.”

“What’s with the suspicious face?”

“The manners. The compliment. So unlike you.”

He laughed. “You knew Charlie Dwyer, the boy, Erin. You don’t know Charlie Dwyer, the man.”

“Ha. Charlie Dwyer, the
man
, is a nice guy, then?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes.”

Why that made my core muscles clench, I had no idea—well, I had an idea, but it wasn’t anything I wanted to advertise, so I turned around and faced the counter again before Charlie could see me blush.

Charlie insisted on paying for my pumpkin spice latte, for which I was grateful, since I was down to my last couple dollars. As always on a Saturday afternoon, Starbucks was crowded, and there were no available tables inside. “You want to sit outside?” he asked.

“I guess we could. If it’s not too cold.” I didn’t have a coat on, just a navy blue Detroit Tigers hoodie.

“You a baseball fan?” Charlie asked once we’d settled at our sidewalk table. It was cool and windy, temperatures in the low fifties, but the crisp air smelled like dead leaves, which sounds weird but is a scent I love.

“Yeah. I guess so. My dad used to take my brother and me to games when we were kids.” I took the lid off my cup so it would cool off faster. “What about you?”

“I like the Tigers. I’m a bigger Wings fan, though.”

“That’s right. You played hockey as a kid, didn’t you?”

He nodded, picking up his plain black coffee and taking a long swallow. “Yep. I still play, just for fun. And for exercise.”

I warmed my hands on the outside of my cup. “I’m a terrible skater but I know it’s really good for your legs. Your endurance too.”

“I haven’t had anyone complain about my endurance so far.”

I rolled my eyes but felt that little kick of excitement in my belly again. “Of course not.”

“You’re a terrible skater?”

“Yeah. I mean, I haven’t been on the ice in years, but I remember being pretty bad. As a dancer, I like feeling sure of my feet on the floor, you know? Ice is too slippery!” I laughed. “But it’s OK. I’m sure a lot of good skaters wouldn’t be good dancers.”

“Oh, I’m an awesome dancer.” Charlie took another sip of his coffee, so I couldn’t read his face, but I gaped at him. Was he really that conceited?

“Shut up. Are you serious?”

He lowered the cup to the table and I saw the teasing smile. “No. I’m not a dancer. But I’ve got good rhythm.”

My neck warmed, and I hoped the flush wasn’t showing above my hoodie. “I’m sure you do.”

He leaned forward. “Are you? Maybe you should test it.”

I crossed my legs. “No.”

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. “Suit yourself.”

God, that slow smile. It was starting to get to me. “But you could come to my adult class sometime.”

“You teach adults too?”

“Yes. You live around here?”

“About half an hour away.”

“Well, my studio is in St. Clair Shores. And I have a Wednesday night social dance class every week in November and December.”

“Social dance? Like with a partner?”

“Yes, but you don’t have to have a partner. There are usually extra women there.” And wouldn’t they love to see Charlie walking in the door!

“Do I get to dance with you?”

Sure, how about a hot, sweaty, naked horizontal mambo?
I lifted my shoulders. “Maybe.” Bringing my cup to my lips, I took a sip, scalding my tongue. In fact, I was feeling hot all over. Better move to a safer topic. Guys liked to talk about themselves, right? And Charlie Dwyer struck me as the kind of guy whose favorite topic of discussion was Charlie Dwyer.
I’ll try that.
“So how long have you been a cop?”

“About seven years. You have whipped cream on your nose.”

I wiped my nose with my napkin. “Gone?”

He grinned. “I’m not telling. It’s sort of cute.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. “Do you like police work?”

“Mostly. It’s not exactly what I thought I’d do, but I needed a steady job and I’d studied criminal justice for a few years at Purdue.”

“Really? Did you graduate from there?”

“No, I never finished my degree. I had some…personal issues and had to drop out.” He fiddled with the plastic lid of his cup. “Anyway, I needed work and didn’t want a desk job. Police work suits me in that way.” He didn’t elaborate on the personal issues, and I didn’t feel like I should press him, although I was crazy curious. “But I’d always thought about moving back up here. Then last year, my grandfather had some health problems, so the timing seemed right. Your family still in the area?”

“Yes. But my parents are divorced now.”

“Really?” Charlie seemed genuinely surprised. “I guess you never know what’s going on in anyone’s house, but your family always seemed really happy.”

“We were, in a way. Most of the time.” I hesitated before opening up a little more. “My dad has always been very charming and outgoing, but he’s sort of a functioning alcoholic. He was a great dad, but he was awful to my mother in private.”

Charlie’s chin jutted. “He abused her?”

“No. Well, yes. I mean, he didn’t
physically
abuse her, but he said…horrible things to her.” In my mind I could still hear them fighting late at night. He’d berate her for any little thing—dust on the furniture, undercooked pot roast, a bill paid late. He’d accuse her of flirting if they’d been out and make scathing remarks about her clothing, her hair, her makeup. I shuddered, pulling my hands inside my sleeves to warm them. “I overheard a lot of terrible stuff.”

“That must have been really hard on you,” Charlie said quietly.

“Yeah. He never did it in front of my brother or me, but we heard it from our bedrooms late at night. I used to bury my head under my pillow, but I heard every word.” I didn’t talk about this much, but I felt surprisingly comfortable telling Charlie about it.
Maybe it’s because we knew each other as kids.
“It was so confusing for me, because he was such a happy, loving dad by the next morning. He drove me to ballet classes, came to every performance, coached my brother’s soccer teams, kissed my mother goodbye every morning before work. It was almost like there were two different men living in the house, and I was always nervous the
other one
would make an appearance if I wasn’t perfect.”

“Ah. Makes sense now.” Charlie nodded slowly, as if truth were dawning on him.

“What does?”

“Why you were so obsessed with being perfect.”

“I wasn’t obsessed with being perfect!” I snapped straight up in my chair.

Confession: I was pretty much obsessed with being perfect. I kept my room spotless. I never talked back. I made straight A’s. I didn’t drink, smoke, or have sex until I was twenty-one. And I never once acknowledged that I heard the terrible things my father said to my mother.

That would have meant a Scene, and I hated Scenes worse than messes.

“All right, maybe a little obsessed,” I admitted. “But as a kid, it was my way of coping with things.” I took a breath. “I loved my dad, I still do. I don’t think he’s a bad person. But when my mother finally got the wherewithal to throw him out five years ago, I sobbed tears of joy and told her she’d made the right decision.”

Charlie tipped back his coffee. “How’s your mom now?”

“My mom? Oh, she’s fine. She found God.”

“Yeah? And where was He before?”

I grinned ruefully, bringing my heels to my chair and resting my chin on my knees. “Not sure. She goes on all these religious pilgrimages hoping to—I don’t know, find herself. She’s on one right now in Spain called The Footsteps of St. Teresa. But it’s nice for her, really. My dad was never into traveling and she was.”

“Do
you
like traveling?”

“Yes, but not on those pilgrimage things. Thank God she hooked up with a ladies group at her church. Before that she wanted me to take all the crazy religious trips with her.”

“What, don’t you want to find God?” he teased.

“If I find him by accident, fine. I just don’t want to spend my vacations looking for him. Last year I spent my spring break with my mother on a
faith journey
in Ireland called Slow Down and Smell the Heather.”

He grinned. “Oh yeah? How was that?”

“Put it this way: I asked the bus driver
many
times if we could please Slow Down and Smell the Whiskey. Ireland was beautiful and all, but…” I shook my head.

“You’d prefer more Jameson, less Jesus?”

I pointed at him. “Exactly.”

“I like Irish whiskey too.” He set his empty cup down, but didn’t look as if he wanted to leave yet. “Always been a dance teacher?”

“No. I actually went to school for elementary education and taught fourth grade for a few years. But I really missed dance, and owning my own studio was always a dream of mine as a kid. When the opportunity came up, I decided to quit teaching and go for the dream.”

“And?”

“And…” I tilted my head this way and that. “I have good days and bad. Today was a good day. Yesterday, not so much. Hey, any luck with the gas station camera?”

Charlie grimaced. “Not really. Blurry footage of a short, slim white male wearing a black hoodie. He bought gas with your card and paid for a Red Bull and Cheetos with change he probably pilfered from someone’s unlocked car.”

“Red Bull and Cheetos?” I wrinkled my nose. “Gross.”

“Don’t even tell me you don’t like Cheetos.”

“I don’t like Cheetos. That shade of orange scares me.” Picking up my coffee, which was finally cooling off, I took a long sip.

Charlie’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t that coffee cold by now?”

“Not at all.” I slurped noisily. “It’s lukewarm, the perfect temperature.”

“What? Lukewarm is
not
the perfect temperature for coffee. Not that what you’re drinking is coffee. It has frosting on it, for fuck’s sake. Coffee is hot and black.”