Tipsy (11 page)

“
Jules,” he began, sitting
down beside me, causing my body to slide closer to him as the
mattress dipped.

He called me
Jules.

I liked it.

“
Hey,” he said, calling me
back from my swooning. “Did he give you anything to drink… anything
at all?”

I knew who the “he” was that Blue was
talking about. “You mean like drugs?”

He nodded stiffly.

“
No. I would never take
drugs.”

“
Did he buy you a
drink?”

I knew he was thinking of the date rape
drug.

“
No. He didn’t. I wouldn’t
have drunk it anyway.”

My words didn’t seem to make him feel
better. He gazed down at me with worry lacing his face. I sighed.
“I never drink, okay? I didn’t eat dinner so that just made it
worse.”

He ran a hand over his head, pulling
off the knit cap as he went and tossing it on the floor. Then he
stood and paced to the end of the bed. “This is all my fault,” he
muttered.

You know… I had imagined a time when
Blue was here in my bedroom with me and this was not the scene I
was picturing.

Disappointment crackled over me and I
sat up, swinging my legs over the bed.

“
I think you should lie
down,” Blue said, coming over to my side.

“
I think you should tell me
what the hell a cop is doing breaking and entering.” I glanced at
him with narrowed eyes. “You are a cop, aren’t you?”

He barked a laugh. “Yes.”

I stared at him, waiting for the
explanation I deserved.

“
Your front door was
unlocked,” he said sternly. Like it was somehow
my
fault he invited himself
in.

“
I have a
doorbell.”

“
I don’t want anyone to know
I’m here.”

I sighed. “What the hell is going on,
Blue?”

He fell silent again and resumed
pacing, like he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. I pushed up off
the bed and headed into the bathroom. “I’m going to clean up,” I
told him before shutting the door and locking it.

I had no idea if a lock would keep him
out, but I did it anyway.

I grabbed a can of Lysol from under the
sink and sprayed it around the toilet, closing the lid. Then I
stripped off my shirt and threw it in the hamper sitting inside the
closet. After grabbing the pink razor off the floor where I dropped
it and tossing it in the trash, I took a quick shower.

The cool water felt wonderful against
my sticky skin. As I washed, I rinsed out my mouth. I still felt
lightly queasy and a little weak, but I knew my throwing up was
over. As I dried off and combed out my hair, I wondered if Blue
would still be here when I walked out.

He had a tendency of hanging around
long enough to mess with my emotions and then disappearing without
explanation. After I pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and a
T-shirt, I glanced at myself in the mirror.

Do not get sucked in by his
good looks, authoritive and sexy demeanor. He will tie you up in a
knot that you have no hope of untying.

I glanced at the toilet where the
finest hours of my evening were spent (uh, not).

He will also make you
tipsy.

Once my self-imposed lecture was over,
I pushed away from the sink and opened the door. I half expected
the room to be empty.

It wasn’t what I expected.

The bed was remade, the covers all
smoothed out perfectly. The small lamp beside the bed provided a
bit of illumination, and he was sitting on the floor with his back
to the wall.

I flipped off the bathroom light and
stepped into the bedroom, my stomach doing that funny flip-flopping
thing again.

“
Feel better?” he asked, his
voice low.

“
Yeah.”

He pushed up and grabbed a bottle of
water off the nightstand, unscrewed the cap, and held it
out.

“
Thank you,” I said, taking
a dainty sip.

He picked up a bottle of pain reliever
and shook out two in his very large palm, which he extended to
me.

I plucked them out of his hand. “Looks
like you found your way around my kitchen.”

“
Figured you could use
this.”

I swallowed the pills and noticed the
paper towels wrapped around the hand that I gouged with my razor. I
also noted the gash on his cheekbone from the hit he took earlier
at the club. He was in no better shape than I was.

I retreated into the bathroom, grabbed
a first aid kit, and dampened a fresh cloth with cool water. “Sit,”
I instructed when I had all my supplies.

He glanced at the only place in the
room to sit. The bed.

I sighed. “Go on.”

He turned and walked toward the end of
the bed. I couldn’t help but admire the way his butt looked in his
jeans. I was totally a butt girl.

Once he was sitting on the end of the
bed, I laid out the first aid supplies and then brought the cloth
up to his face to wipe away the dried blood. He didn’t say a word.
He just watched me intently with that wide indigo stare; his eyes
never left my face.

It was a little unnerving.

“
This might hurt,” I said
quietly because the silence was just too loud.

He didn’t even flinch as I cleaned his
skin, lightly stroking over his very smooth cheekbone.

“
Does it hurt?”

“
No.”

I noticed his skin felt slightly stiff,
and I giggled. I got him good with that hairspray. He raised his
eyebrow in silent inquiry as I snickered.

“
Your skin is stiff.” I
giggled some more.

He cracked a smile. “What the hell were
you thinking?”

“
That I could blind you with
my hairspray, attack you with my razor, and then escape out the
front door.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s the best
you could come up with when you thought you had an
intruder?”

“
Hey,” I admonished. “That
was not a hasty plan. That was well thought out.”

“
You
planned
that?” he asked
incredulously.

“
A girl needs to have a
plan,” I said sensibly, setting aside the cloth and reaching for a
bit of antibacterial cream.

“
Let me get this straight.”
He began. “You don’t lock your door at night and your idea of a
plan to save yourself from a home invasion is a pink razor and a
can of hairspray?”

He said it like it was a bad
idea.

“
The door was an accident,”
I explained and leaned closer to dab a little of the cream on his
cheek. It wasn’t a bad cut. I figured it would be healed in a week
or so.

I pulled back a little to study my
handiwork. “I don’t think it needs a bandage.”

“
Bandages are for
girls.”

I smiled, but when our gazes crashed,
an odd sort of feeling came over me and it was hard to breathe.
Without thinking, I reached up and traced the cleft in his chin, my
forefinger dipping in gently and then sliding across his
jaw.

His eyes were closed when I pulled away
and he had this look… this look of peace on his face. On impulse, I
brushed a lock of hair off his forehead.

Then I realized that I was doing
exactly what I said I wouldn’t and pulled away. “Let me see your
hand,” I said, ignoring the fact my voice sounded like I hadn’t
spoken in days.

He held it out between us and I pulled
away the red-dotted paper towel. The cut was fairly deep and a
little jagged. Probably because my razor had three rows of blades.
A little pinch of guilt stung my chest when I realized I’d done
this to him.

Then I reminded myself he didn’t knock.
And he stood me up.

I didn’t feel as bad after
that.

I dabbed at the cut with the cloth,
noting that it was still bleeding lightly. I applied some more of
the antibacterial cream and then pulled out a couple bandages. He
made a sound, and I smiled. “Care to change your previous statement
about bandages and girls?”

“
How about bandages applied
by girls are manly.”

I snorted and worked in silence. The
whole time I fixed him up, I avoided his stare and I avoided
touching him more than necessary.

When he was cleaned up, I noted the
redness on his knuckles. I ran my fingertips over the skin. “Is
this from earlier?”

“
Yeah.”

I sat back on my haunches and gazed up
at him.

“
What the hell is going on?
What are you doing here?”

His answer was the last thing I
expected.

10

Blue

Her touch made me wish the guy landed
more punches. Her touch made me wish the cut on my hand was just a
little bit worse.

Her touch made me want to touch her. To
reach out and cup her face in my palm, to stroke the side of her
neck with my thumb… to press my lips completely against
hers.

In that moment I wasn’t an undercover
cop. She wasn’t pissed at me for all the shitty stuff I’d done. I
was just a guy sitting in front of a girl whose heart made mine
beat a little unevenly.

I knew I shouldn’t be here. Involving
her in any aspect of my life was just wrong.

Yet here I was. She was like my own
personal siren, calling me closer, towing me in.

At first I thought I could come here,
give her a lame excuse for my behavior, and make it so she wasn’t
so mad at me. The thought of her out there day after day, thinking
bad thoughts about me was unacceptable.

I knew we couldn’t be together, but I
couldn’t stand her hating me.

But then she attacked me.

Like a little fierce hell cat, dashing
out of the dark with a can of hairspray and a freaking pink razor.
I would laugh if it didn’t scare me to the balls of my
feet.

She definitely wasn’t a damsel in
distress. Anyone who crossed her would have a hell of a
fight.

But in the end she wouldn’t
win.

She was too small, to naïve, and far
too unprepared.

Any woman whose best plan was a can of
hairspray needed some serious help. My skin crawled with what could
have happened here tonight if I hadn’t been the one to walk through
her door. Shit, she was half drunk, uncoordinated, and sick as
hell.

I’d never seen anyone throw up so much
after so few drinks.

Of course, I wasn’t a fool. I knew it
hadn’t just been the alcohol that sent her racing into the
bathroom. It was a culmination of events, many of them (okay, all
of them) entirely my fault.

How the hell did she get so wrapped up
in all of this so fast?

That first haircut was a mistake on so
many levels.

But every time I looked at her, I
wanted to keep making the same “mistake” over and over
again.

“
Blue?” she asked softly,
getting up from her place beside me and packing up the first aid
kit.

I blinked and watched her move. “Sorry.
I was just thinking.”

“
About what?”

“
About my answer.” She asked
me what was going on. I should lie. I should make something up. I
should be a jerk and piss her off so she would never come near me
again.

I wasn’t going to.

“
You’re not going to tell me
anything are you?” she said, coming out of the bathroom and
standing in the center of the room, watching me.

She looked so damn cute in her little
cotton shorts and striped T-shirt. Her hair was damp and ruffled
and her cheeks were pale.

“
I shouldn’t,” I began, and
her shoulders slumped. “But I am.”

Her eyes snapped up to mine.

“
We had a good time on our
first date, right?” I began.

Her eyes narrowed and her jaw jutted
out a little stubbornly. “Are you fishing for
compliments?”

“
No.” I sighed. “It just
seemed like we had a really good time.”

“
And then you never called.”
She finished.

“
It wasn’t because I didn’t
want to.”

“
Oh?” she asked, crossing
her arms over her chest. “Let me guess. You lost your phone. No
wait, your dog ate my number. Then you lost your memory and forgot
where I lived.”

“
I don’t have a dog,” I
quipped.

She didn’t think it was
funny.

I sighed. “Right after I dropped you
off that night, I got called into work.” She didn’t shoot out a
smartass comeback so I figured I had her attention. “I got assigned
a case that kept me out of town for a long time.”

“
They didn’t have phones
where you went?”

“
Yes, but I wasn’t allowed
to have contact with anyone I knew. Not even my family.”