Turning Thirty-Twelve (5 page)

The temperature in the Accord instantly rose by a good ten degrees when his fingers brushed my hip. My stomach did a quick somersault.

Chemistry
.

I must have looked like I was sporting a wicked sunburn, judging from how warm my face felt.

“Carly seems to be okay with...
this?
” I asked, trying to recover my scattered thoughts.

He nodded as he started the engine. “She’s encouraging it. She really likes you. Likes your class, too.”

“Thanks. That’s nice to hear. She’s a great kid.”

“What made you choose to be a teacher?”

Let the fishing expedition commence
.

The problem with a first date was trying to get enough information to see if a second date was warranted while not appearing to be conducting a criminal investigation for the FBI. Blood samples at this point would be a simple courtesy, but highly expensive and a tad messy. So a person works with what’s available and asks a ton of questions.

Let’s be honest, no one wants to date a loser.

The truth about a person and her baggage had to come out somehow. On a date, those nice little “small talk” questions were a hell of a lot more than simple chatter.

“What made you choose to be a teacher?” translated in my insecure mind as, “Why did your husband divorce you if you are such a great person?” I didn’t want to get my guard up, but it snapped right into place before I even had a chance to prevent it.

“Look, I don’t know what Suzanne told you, but I’m divorced.” My voice sounded strained.

He appeared a bit perplexed at the statement, even cocked his head at me while also trying to drive. “What does that have to do with why you wanted to be a teacher?”

“I know Suzanne tends to build up people she wants to fix up to be more interesting than they are. I’m probably not exactly what you expected and—”

He was shaking his head and interrupting before I could even get my pathetic thought to finish tumbling from my mouth. “Suzanne didn’t tell me anything. I don’t like to play twenty questions with other people about someone I’d rather get to know on my own.”

“You want to get to know me?” That stupid and entirely undependable filter between my brain and my mouth had obviously decided to stay at home.

Mark pulled the car over and threw it into park. Then he turned to me with a perturbed look in those gorgeous brown eyes. “Okay, Jackie. You can let the firewall down now.”

I knit my eyebrows and stared at him. The fact that he seemed to be able to read my mind was slowly freaking me out. I wondered if he knew I called him Mr. Yummy.

God, I hoped not. “What firewall?”

He stared at me intently for a moment. “I’m not sure what some idiot did to make you so insecure, but you need to stop it.”

I waved my hand to dismiss the thought, but I knew deep down that he was entirely correct.

It happened before I even knew what he intended. With a quick reach, he wrapped his warm, slightly calloused fingers around the back of my neck and gently pulled me toward him. When those heavenly lips touched mine, my toes actually curled. The kiss was sweet. Soft. Warm. It lasted long enough to make me blush—but not long enough to satisfy me.

He tasted so good.

“Now that I’ve got your attention,” he said as he slowly withdrew his hand, “let’s start over. Hi. I’m Mark Brennan. I met you at OfficeMax. I thought you were a fascinating person, and if I’d have had any type of courage at the time, I would have asked you out on the spot.” Mark chuckled. “What can I say? I’m a chicken-shit, but I lucked out. You fell into my lap anyway.” 

Don’t I wish!

The sincerity in his eyes made my heart pinch. The guy was being honest. He really wanted to go out with me.

I held out my hand. “Hi, Mark. I’m Jackie Delgado. I’m just going to dump my enormous bundle of insecurity out the window here, and we can go on a real date.”

He laughed as he shook my hand, then he threw the car into gear and eased back into the flow of traffic. “So why did you decide to be a teacher?”

“I love kids. Well, not
all
kids. I could never
teach elementary. Little rugrats would drive me nuts. But teenagers are great. They’re funny and so full of life.”

“Sounds like my girls.”

“They’re really sweet. I adore Carly. What do you do for a living, Mark Brennan? I don’t know anything about you, either.”

He steered the car into a small parking lot. “I’m a cop.”

You could have blown me over with a single puff of air. I’d forgotten that Suzanne said he was a cop.

I wasn’t sure if the notion made me excited or frightened. “A cop. Wow. How long have you been a cop?”

“Too long.” Mark’s handsome smile seeped into my heart.

He got out of the car and actually came around to open my door.

As I hoisted myself out of the vehicle, he continued his story. “I’ve actually been on the job for fifteen years. I was in the Army for a while. I made detective ten years ago.”

He pulled a small leather wallet out of his back pocket and flashed me a gold shield.

I was impressed.

“Army, huh? My dad was Army. He retired several years back.” I should have known from the way Mark carried himself. Proud. Ramrod-straight spine. No-nonsense stride.

“You’re an Army brat. Awesome.”

I hadn’t really taken notice of our location. He was holding the door open for me, and I slipped through.

The interior of the restaurant was a surprise—it was nothing more than a fancy picnic ground. Wooden tables with benches were scattered all around and covered with plastic red and white checkered tablecloths. Loud country-western music thrummed through the joint. Most of the people were eating enormous piles of crab legs as they cracked the shells with tongs and threw the discarded shells into small silver buckets that sat in the middle of each table. The place radiated home-style warmth from every angle.

Mark walked us over to one of the smaller picnic tables.

I took the opposite side so we could talk more easily. That and I wasn’t entirely sure I could keep my hands off him if I sat next to him. If our thighs brushed, I wouldn’t know how to handle it.

Damn, it had been a long, long time since I felt that elation of a simple touch or that quickening of a heartbeat. I enjoyed the heady mixture of anticipation and knowledge of what could be. I wanted him.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Almost immediately, a teenage server came over with menus. The poor kid hadn’t quite grown into those big hands and feet.

Mark waved the menus away. “All-you-can-eat crab legs for both of us.” The teenager nodded. “What do you want to drink, Jackie?”

“Iced tea, please.”

“Long Island? I’m driving.”

I shook my head. I wasn’t entirely sure alcohol and Mr. Yummy would be a good combination if I wanted to hold off any type of embarrassing and wanton display at the end of the evening. Hell, I was already fantasizing about kissing him at my doorstep.

“Just iced tea, please. With lemon.”

“I’ll have the same,” he told the waiter before the kid disappeared into the kitchen through some swinging doors. “I take it you’ve never been here before.”

“Never.” I stared at Mark, ignoring the restaurant entirely. “What’s it called?”

“The Wharf. I’ve known the guy who owns it since high school.”

“You’re from around here?”

He nodded before taking the glasses of iced tea and a basket of hot rolls from the waiter and setting them between us. He pulled one of the rolls from the basket and handed it to me.

I broke it in half, took a bite, and sighed. Light as air with a touch of cinnamon. Bad carbs, but who cared tonight?

“I grew up in Evansville.” Mark contently munched on his roll then asked, “Where are you from?”

“Me? Just about everywhere. We moved around a lot when I was little. I call Chicago my hometown, because I lived there for three straight years once. Westmont, actually. I miss it sometimes. There was always something to do, someplace to go. Indiana is a bit...”

“Antiquated?” he offered.

I smiled. “Good word choice. I seriously think the state is two decades behind the rest of the country.”

“There’s a lot to be said for that when you’re raising kids, though. I like that my girls aren’t running around trying to look like some of the kids I see on MTV.”

I laughed aloud before I could stop myself. “You watch MTV?”

Mark laughed back. “Kathy and Carly make me. They love the reality show about the rich girls planning their sweet sixteen parties.”

“Yuck. You must really
love
that.”

“Believe it or not, I do. Watching those spoiled brats spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on one damn party makes me appreciate my girls.”

He ate another roll and seemed to contemplate me for a moment. I could feel the heat spreading over my cheeks again. Even my ears felt warm.

Good God, what am I? Sixteen?

The notion that Mark’s stare was turning my insides into nothing more than a mixture of warm soup was totally unnerving. I didn’t like the idea that any man had that kind of power over me. I could feel all of my defenses rising to the surface again.

Being vulnerable only got a person hurt. I’d already been hurt enough. Letting someone new into my life would only lead to more wounds. What I suddenly realized was truly upsetting me was recognizing that Mark Brennan could hurt me.

I wasn’t about to allow him inside enough that he would leave mortal wounds when he finally discarded me.

Like David had.

His brown eyes twinkled for a moment. “You’re thinking too hard, Jackie.”

I tried to act surprised.

“Someone hurt you. Bad.”

“Are all cops so nosey?” I asked in that defensive tone I tended to use when I was...well,
defensive
.

“Oh, yeah.” Mark chuckled. “Especially detectives. So how old are you, Ms. Delgado?”

“I turned thirty-twelve a couple of weeks ago.” I smirked at my own answer.

“Thirty-twelve?” His question held the hint of laughter. “That’s...
old
.” He winked. “I take it that magic word ‘forty’ is hard for you to say.”

“Actually, it’s just a joke between my friends and me. Guys can be forty and still be...I don’t know...
wanted.
Attractive.”

He regarded me with curiosity, so I decided to regale him with my middle age sermon. “Alan Rickman is still sexy. He still plays the hero. Diane Keaton isn’t. She gets to play the mother—or the grandmother. And they were born in the same stupid year. When a woman hits forty, it’s all downhill. So my friends and I always say something like we’re celebrating our thirtieth birthday the tenth time.”

I stopped talking. I probably sounded a little bitter which wasn’t an attractive trait on a first date, especially when I wanted a second one—and probably a third. “Just how old are you, Detective Brennan?”

“Forty—” An easy smile spread over his face. “
Thirty-eighteen
on my last birthday.”

“Glad to see you’re getting with the program.”

Our brilliant conversation was interrupted by the waiter.  At least when the enormous piles of steamed crab legs were put on the table, we had something to occupy our mouths.

I pushed the little bowl of melted butter toward Mark so I wouldn’t be tempted to soak my crab in it and increase the size of my waistline.

He pushed it right back at me.

I decided to avoid being rude and enjoy some of it.

I’d never seen so many crab legs. I sure as hell hadn’t ever eaten so many. About the time I was entirely convinced that I’d need to unbutton the waistband of my pants, Mark wiped his hands on his napkin and threw it on his plate. “Man. I’m full. Good though, wasn’t it?”

I nodded. “I love seafood. I wish I’d have known about this place. My boys would eat them out of business.”

“Your boys?”

I hadn’t been horribly forthcoming with any really revealing facts all evening. “I have two sons. Patrick and Nathaniel. They’re both away at college.”

“College? You must’ve been in junior high when you had them.”

Will you marry me? You’re tremendously good for my ego.

We spent the next fifteen minutes talking about my favorite subjects as he paid the bill and dropped a tip on the table.

Once we were back in the car, Mark steered us toward our next destination. Unfortunately, he hadn’t shared the location with me. When we pulled up in front of an ice skating rink a few minutes later, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes.

“We’re going ice skating?”

Do I even remember how?

He nodded, grabbed our jackets, and got out of the car. After he opened the door and I crawled out, he put his hand on the small of my back and guided me in the front door. I liked the way that telling gesture made me feel. That foreign security was floating through my mind again.

I was practically sleepwalking as I told him my shoe size, watched him rent some skates for us, and lead me to a long bench where we both started taking off our shoes.

“Mark, I don’t skate very well,” I finally confessed as I laced up the rented white skates that he’d handed to me.

“That’s okay. I’ll help you.” I liked the smugness in his voice.

“I take it you skate well.” I finished tying the double knots in the laces.

We both slipped on our jackets, and then I tried to stand up. My ankles immediately rebelled. I was way too out of shape to even be
attempting
this. But Mark’s enthusiasm was contagious, and I let him lead me toward the rink, hoping I didn’t look as stupid as I feared I did.

“Used to play hockey.” He pulled me out onto the ice. He smiled broadly and pointed to one of his front teeth. “See the chip? Busted my face on the ice.”

I didn’t see a chip. I saw a perfect smile that made me warm all over.

The place was almost deserted. Since it was summer, I wasn’t surprised. One girl who appeared to be ten or so was working in the center of the rink with a clearly frustrated coach. There were two boys who blew by us a couple of times as they played “tag” around the rink. I was having a hard time not yelling at them.