In Your Dreams

It was eight o’clock before she knew it. “Pack it in, kids,” she said.

“Show us your cop trick,” Tamara said. The kids had been ridiculously thrilled last time when she’d radioed Dispatch for an audio check. Smartphones had replaced the wonder of walkie-talkies, it seemed.

“Shoot a bull’s-eye into that clock,” Dalton suggested.

“That would be illegal and get me fired,” she said.

“Tase Dalton,” Kelsey said.

“I can’t. I can’t tase anyone, alas,” Emmaline said. “So unfair.”

“Show us how to take down the bad guy,” Cory suggested.

“Yeah!” Tamara said.

“I volunteer,” Dalton said. “Don’t be rough with me, Officer Em.” He grinned like a naughty toddler.

“Inappropriate, young man,” she said, borrowing a line from her boss. She glanced at Jack. “Do you mind helping me show the kids how to bring down an assailant?”

“Hell, no,” he said.

She felt a warm buzz in her lady parts. She was about to touch him, and heck! She needed to get out more. “I might hurt you,” she warned.

“You can try,” he said.

“Oh, a challenge! How thrilling for little old me. Okay, kids, watch this. Jack, go ahead and grab me from behind.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured.

“There are children present. Behave.”

“I’m the bad guy. I’m not supposed to behave.” He smiled.

She narrowed her eyes, then turned her back. Was her heart embarrassing itself by hammering a little too hard and fast? Why, yes, the idiot organ was.

The kids gathered around to watch.

“How should I grab you?” Jack asked.

“Any way you want,” she said.

He bear-hugged her, eliciting a bark of joy and some laps of delirious excitement from Sarge, and Em really would’ve liked to just sit there and think happy thoughts and maybe press back a little bit and had she washed her hair today? Hopefully, it smelled good and not like garlic... Oh, where was she? She did a neat step-twist-push, and Jack was down on his knees and then flat on his face, and she had her knee in the small of his back and was handcuffing him.

Gosh, it was fun.

“Any questions?” Em asked, grinning at the kids.

“Yeah, Officer Em!” Tamara yelled. “You’re such an awesome chick!”

“I turn eighteen in two months, Officer Em,” Dalton added. “Just putting that out there.”

Her dog loped over, licked Em’s face and then bit Jack’s ear. “Ow,” he said.

“That’s it for tonight, kids. I’ll see you next week. And make sure you show up when you said you would for tutoring. Jack is not just here to look pretty.”

She uncuffed her volunteer, and he got up. “Next time we use handcuffs, it’s my turn,” he said, his voice low and, uh, scrapey and velvety at the same time. She focused on putting the cuffs back on her belt and not blushing.

“See you, Officer Em,” Cory said.

“You bet, honey. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

He muttered assent and left, hitching up his droopy pants. Kelsey followed, staring zombielike at her phone, and Dalton and Tamara headed out, as well.

“You’re really good with kids,” Jack said.

“You, too. I’m surprised you and Hadley didn’t have any.”

“Why do you always bring her up?” He folded his arms and gave her a stony glare.

“Why is she always around? Why don’t you tell her to take a flying—”

“This is America. She can live wherever she wants.”

“I think you like having a stalker. How’s her delicate little ankle?”

“Swollen and blue.”

“You going over to carry her to bed? Tuck her in, read her a story?”

Jack didn’t answer. Just kept looking at her, then raised an eyebrow with great effect. Em felt her cheeks flush.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

Sarge flopped down on the floor and began gnawing on Jack’s bootlace.

“Would you have dinner with me if Hadley wasn’t around?” Jack asked.

“Would you want to have dinner with me if Hadley wasn’t around?” she countered. “That’s the real question.”

“I’m guessing I would,” he said, stepping closer. “I had a nice time with you in Malibu. I liked sleeping with you. I’d like to see more of you.”

“Shit, Jack, knock it off.”

He laughed. “What did I say?”

“Nothing! You’re just hard to argue with.”

“So don’t argue.” There it was again, that deep, velvety voice. “Just say yes.” Em swallowed.

If she were honest, she’d say, “Here’s the thing, Jack, I want a devoted husband and three extremely well-behaved but delightfully irrepressible children. You up for that? Because otherwise, let’s skip dinner, since I’d probably fall in love with you in twenty, twenty-five minutes, then spend months resenting you for not feeling the same about me.”

He reached out and touched her earlobe.

Good God. She was halfway to Planet Orgasm because he touched her ear. Get a grip, Neal. You own adult toys for a reason.

“Come on, Emmaline. Say you will.”

Then again, who was she to tell him he didn’t want to date her? Of course, he wasn’t talking about dating, not really...it was just “dinner,” which probably would lead to sexy time, and in this case, sexy time probably meant “I’d rather do you than have a flashback and also use you to make my ex-wife jealous” and that, friends, was where stupidity lay, but his finger really knew what it was doing, and who knew earlobes were directly connected to other parts of her anatomy?

His phone chimed with a text.

Em stepped back. “Bet I know who that is,” she said. Her voice sounded normal, she was almost sure.

“Would you like to have dinner with me sometime, Emmaline?” he said.

“Check your phone.”

“As soon as you answer, I will.”

“Nah,” she said. “I’d rather you take this first.” Da-da-ling. “Ooh. Another one.”

“You’re tough,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket, looked at it and put it back. “My sister.”

“Which one?”

“Faith.”

“Liar.”

“Fine,” he said. “You’re right. It’s Hadley.”

“I bet she needs something, and you’re the only one who can help.”

“Well, I need something, too, and you’re the only one who can help.”

“See, that’s just it, Jack. I don’t think that’s true.”

“You have a terrible self-image.”

“Wrong. But I can tell the difference between someone who really likes me and someone who needs a distraction from—”

He was kissing her all of a sudden, and how the heck had she gotten against the wall? The clever man had backed her right against it, and holy bleep, Jack could kiss. His mouth was insistent and warm and his hand cupped her face, and she was kissing him back without even thinking about it, and her arms went around his lean waist, and whoops, yes, she might’ve been grabbing his ass, but come on, he was completely irresistible.

He pulled back a little, then kissed the corner of her mouth. Em was dimly aware that she was breathing hard.

Jack took her hand and put it over his heart; she felt the hard, solid thumping.

Damn, he was good.

“Please have dinner with me,” he whispered.

“Okay.” She cleared her throat.

“Saturday?”

“Okay.”

He smiled. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

Not put off by her one-word vocabulary, he kissed her forehead and then walked off, just like that, leaving Emmaline shaky and flushed and...and worried.

It didn’t look like she’d need twenty or twenty-five minutes to fall in love. It looked like she’d just needed that kiss.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“YOU NEED A thong, darlin’.”

The statement was delivered by Allison as they stood over Em’s pathetic wardrobe, the nicest piece being a cashmere sweater with a hole in the sleeve, courtesy of Sarge, who was surreptitiously trying to reclaim it. Allison’s thumbs flew over her phone. “Yep. Caroline concurs with my professional opinion.”

Was it wrong that Allison was consulting her child about slutty underwear? Granted, Caroline was on the elderly side of “child,” but still. “Well, Jack’s not going to see my underwear,” she said.

“Sure, baby doll,” Allison said. “They all say that.”

“Who’s they? Is Jack a slut? Tell me the truth.”

“Hell, no! Maybe I could’ve gotten me a little some-some if he was. That being said, he was the best date I’ve ever had, and don’t think I didn’t call Charles to gloat about it.”

“How is Charles?” Emmaline asked.

“Oh, fine. We’re probably getting back together. He’s given up the cookie jars. Don’t tell anyone, though. I want to lord that over his little bald head the rest of our natural days together. Anyway, back to you. Thong. Let’s go. The bridal store has some real nice trashy underwear. Don’t you make that face at me! I assure you, that ex-wife of his wore thongs all the time. Tramps like that give us Southern girls a bad name. And you’re wearing a dress.”

“This is not a dressy occasion.”

“Shush, darlin’. You just let Auntie Allison do the thinking here.”

And so it was that two hours later, Emmaline stood in her bedroom, cutting the tags off a pale pink lace bra-and-thong set from the bridal shop across the green. They were very pretty. And small. She put the bra on first. A little scratchy, but not too bad.

And then the thong.

This couldn’t be...did women really...? She must be wearing it wrong, because good God in heaven! It was horrible! Was the little string supposed to...

She took it off, went to her laptop and Google searched “how to wear a thong.” No, she hadn’t put it on wrong. She tried again.

Ow. Fantastic. This was just a twenty-five dollar version of a severe wedgie. She picked up her phone and called Allison. “Hey, Allison, I—”

“You’ll get used to it,” Allison said without bothering to say hello. “Takes a couple of weeks to adjust.”

“Weeks? Are you kidding?”

“Gotta run. Some kid put a Lego Darth Vader up his nose, and I’m the doc on call tonight.”

Okay, well, the thong was...horrible; there was no getting around that. But it did look nice. Better than the cotton panties with the orange and purple stripes (on sale, don’t judge) and the rip in the side, purchased in the year I Can’t Remember. And if she was going to sleep with Jack (slow down there, girl, warned the smarter, less slutty part of her brain), she felt he deserved better than orange and purple stripes. And rips. He deserved thongs and shoes with heels and Sicilian hair slime.

The fact that she’d already slept with Jack felt surreal. The moon had been shining that night, and the doors to the balcony had been flung open, and the ocean had lapped at the shores and all those other innuendo-laden metaphors. If he didn’t refer to it, she’d pretty much think she’d made it all up in a post-wedding, homemade-vodka-induced fantasy.

But if they slept together here, in Manningsport, it’d be real.

She took a painful step toward the bathroom. Crikey! That hurt! How was she supposed to be able to walk, let alone sit?

She practice sat, made it halfway down, then jolted up, causing Sarge to run over to her, jump and cover her front with dog hair.