Unbearable by Sherry Gammon
“I feel bad, taking them. I’m sure they have sentimental value to you.”
He pointed to the stove. One of the plates had been mounted on the wall above it. “Mags did that for me. She says my place is too masculine.”
“Or she’s a sweetheart and knows how much these mean to you.”
“Knowing Magpie, I’d say you were right. But seriously, I need to de-junk around here. If you don’t take the plates I’m donating them to the local thrift store along with seven other boxes in the basement.”
“Are you sure? It’d be nice not to have to dip into my savings.”
“Positive.” He set the box on the floor next to the counter. “Okay, tell me what you like to cook and I’ll see what kind of pans I have for you.”
“Booker, I don’t want to take—” He threw open a large pantry filled to the brim with pans. My mouth dropped open.
“Don’t judge me.” He chuckled. “Seth’s worse, just for the record.”
“Judge you? Remember my box of unworn shoes?”
“Good point. Alright, what do you like to cook?”
“I hate to cook. I’m terrible at it.” I shrugged, feeling guilty looking at all his pans and knowing he clearly enjoyed it.
“You hate . . .” He dramatically stretched his arms across the pantry doorway. “She didn’t mean it,” he said to the pans, while glancing playfully at me over his shoulder. “Okay. Even haters have to cook a little.” He pulled out a couple of small pans, saucepans he called them, and a frying pan, and set them on the counter. When he reached back in the pantry for more, I stopped him.
“Booker, this is plenty.”
He faced me. “Wow, you don’t like to cook.” He closed the doors. “I guess that’s it then. I’ll take—”
A large black dog came bounding around the corner, barking. I all but jumped into Booker’s arms, staring at the huge dog with huge teeth. “She won’t bite. She may lick you to death, but she won’t hurt you. You’re safe.” We stood there, arm in arm, staring into each other’s eyes before the dog broke the trance. She jumped up, placing her large paws onto Booker’s back. He stumbled forward, pulling me into his arms even more to keep us both from falling over.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, backing away. “Rude, Daisy May.” He chastised the dog with a playful rub of her ears. I could’ve sworn she sighed with joy. “Come on.” He walked her to the patio door and let her outside.
“Let’s get this stuff loaded.” He picked up the box and I grabbed the pots.
“She’s a pretty dog.”
“Daisy is actually Maggie’s dog.”
“Why is she here? Are you dog-sitting her?”
“Long story,” he said way too casually as I followed him to the garage. “I got Daisy for her a few years ago from an unscrupulous breeder. He was going to put her down because she wasn’t perfect. She has some brindling on her legs and chest.”
“Brindling?” I had no clue what that meant.
Booker set an empty box in the back for the pans and shut the tailgate when I finished folding the flaps over. “If you look at her legs you can see yellow streaks running through her otherwise black fur. That’s called brindling. Her father is a black lab, and her mother’s a yellow lab.”
“That’s horrible,” I said.
“I told him I’d take her and he sold her to me, full price, mind you. Some people have no scruples,” he grumbled. “I have to let Daisy in, then we can head over to your new place.”
I watched him through the door as he tossed a ball to the dog before bringing her in and giving her a bone to chew on while he was gone.
I had to stop crushing on that man.
Chapter 9
Despite its small size, the trailer turned out to be a godsend. It was clean, and everything functioned properly, especially the heater. An added bonus? A small nightstand next to the bed with a hidden drawer. It made for the perfect location to keep my gun at night.
For the next few days, Booker gave me a ride to work until Dewey completed the repairs on my car. “It’s on my way,” he said, brushing off my concerns about burdening him. Since we had our first snowfall already, most days he drove the truck. Worked for me. I loved his truck. But by the end of the week the snow melted and we were back to the POC.
Since the move was a new beginning for me, I decided it was the perfect time to work harder at pushing past my fears. I forced myself not to constantly look around whenever I went out. I allowed a quick check of the area when I arrived, then that was it. At the office I refused to overreact to awkward noises and random strangers. It’d be a lie to say I had no reaction, but they were more like tiny . . . alright, medium-sized twists in my gut and not all-out meltdowns. I still cringed just thinking about the persistent salesman who had me near tears until Booker showed up and kicked him out.
The best part about the trailer was its proximity to the recreation center. I could walk there, which saved me gas money. This past summer I’d volunteered to teach yoga to the senior citizens in the area two days a week. Not the most strenuous of workouts, but usually the manager allowed me to stay after if the room wasn’t booked and run through a more vigorous routine. Some days I played around with choreography to my new CDs.
Today was one of those lucky days. Tired of the internal turmoil over my growing feelings for Booker, I hoped an hour of strenuous yoga would burn off the angst. We’d spent the day putting together documents for an important deal he’d been working on. Side-by-side we verified signatures, copying and printing reports, and arranging the documents. We’d crossed hands, pressed by each other in the cramped working space, and bumped noses as we tried to go opposite ways. More than once I turned to find him looking at me before he averted his eyes. I had a strong suspicion that he too struggled with his attraction to me as much as I struggled with mine to him.
Instead of concentrating on a calm peaceful place in my yoga routine, all my thoughts were of Booker, and they were anything but calming. I felt like a silly, lovesick schoolgirl by the time I finished my workout.
Joyfully exhausted, I showered, taking the time to blow-dry my hair since it was already freezing cold outside, and left for home. I cut across the parking lot, cinching my backpack up on my shoulder, and remembering a joke Booker told me earlier as I made my way to the sidewalk. Distracted, I tripped over a lip in the concrete and landed in someone’s arms. A muscular, well corded set of arms. Arms I’d seen once too often in my dreams, holding me, wrapped around me—
“Falling for me, are you?” I looked up into the eyes of my obsession as I righted myself. What were the odds?
“Sorry, Booker.” I pushed my backpack back up onto my shoulder. Booker kept his arms around my waist. My inner voice told me to back away and put some space between us. Thankfully, I didn’t listen. I did, however, get lost as I noticed flecks of dark honey in his otherwise deep brown eyes. His damp hair held the scent of shampoo, as if he’d just showered. “Do you work out here?” I asked.
“Yup. I keep meaning to put a gym in my house so I don’t have to pay the outrageous fees they charge here, but obviously I’ve not done it yet.” He smiled tightly. I swallowed hard. I’d seen that tight smile before. Many times today, in fact.
“Obviously you work out here also.” His eyes searched my face, stopping at my mouth. Yeah, he felt what I felt.
“I teach yoga to seniors. Teaching a class gives me a place to work out without having to get rid of my couch,” I chuckled. His eyes didn’t stray from my mouth. “C—come January I’m done, though. No one signed up for the winter class. I may have to move the desks around at work and use the office after hours.” I again chuckled nervously. Only then did I realize I was staring at his mouth. Stop staring! My self-chastisement was about as effective as it was during my yoga workout earlier. I found myself moving closer to him, instead of away.
“Sounds like a great—” Booker didn’t finish his sentence because he was too busy kissing me. I bit back a groan as his lips brushe
I thought he was done until he buried one hand in my hair, and tightened the other around my waist as he angled his head just enough to deepen the kiss. Why I did not spontaneously combust mystified me.
Oh. My. Gosh.
When he finally released me, I stuffed my hands into my pockets to keep from grabbing him and pulling him back to me. How could this be? I hated kissing.
“Sorry. Got a little out of hand there.” He dipped his head. “Can I give you a ride home or do you have your car here?”
Unable to speak, I only nodded.
“So which is it?”
“Sorry.” I pulled my eyes away. “I walked. A ride would be great.”
We drove in silence. Now, with time to think, my inner demons set me in full panic mode. Did I want to take a chance getting involved with Booker knowing that at any minute Garen could show up and I’d have to run? And leaving Booker behind would be hard, that much I knew.
And what of his demons? Didn’t the designer from his office tell me he too struggled after the fiasco with his ex-wife?
I drew a weary breath. I’d better nip this in the bud now, before either of us fell too hard. But . . . how could I tell him that? He’d probably think me some sort of nut after kissing him back like I had not more than three minutes ago.
“Do you have the Broadbent file?” he asked, breaking the deafening silence.
“Yes. You asked me to prepare the documents for court on Thursday, remember?” He pulled up to the trailer and turned off the truck.
“Oh, that’s right. No wonder I couldn’t find it. Would you mind if I grabbed it from you? I have a few things I need to work on,” he said, already getting out of the truck. “I’ll bring it back Monday.”
I nodded, working my way up the small pathway to the door. He followed me in as I set my backpack on the couch. “I believe it’s right here.” I stepped over to the kitchen counter, pulling it out of the small stack I’d brought home, and handed it to him.
“Thanks. You’re as bad as me about taking work home at night, I see.” He pointed to the pile. “I guess we both need to get a life.” He chuckled nervously. Neither of us seemed to know how to handle what happened in the parking lot. Maybe he too regretted it. The thought made me a little sad, which was ridiculous since I’d just decided to tell him that I didn’t want to get involved. You’re psycho, Tess.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.” He glanced around the room.
I hadn’t done anything. It looked the same as when I’d moved in.
“Thanks.” I folded my arms. “I’m thinking about moving the couch over to this wall. The glare from the window makes it impossible to see the TV. Not that I watch much TV,” I admitted.
“I’ll move it for you, if you’d like.” Before I could say yes, he set the file down and moved the couch to the other wall with ease. I enjoyed watching his biceps bulge more than I should. “Better?”
I stepped to the side. “No. It looks crowded. Unbalanced.”
“I’ll put it back,” he chuckled.
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly.
“How about we put the TV on this wall?” he suggested. We tried several different combinations before returning everything to where it started.
“Are you trying to wear me down so you can ask for a raise?” he said, wiping perspiration from his forehead.
“Oh, you’ve figured out my evil plot.” I poured him a glass of ice water.
“Thanks.” He took the glass and downed it in three swallows. “Well, hate to move furniture and run, but I have a date tonight so I’d better get going.”
His comment hit me like a fist to the gut. A date? How dare he kiss me like there was no tomorrow, then tell me he had a date?
But then again, it was just a kiss. Calm down, Tess.
“It’s with Sofia, Lilah’s daughter, remember?” Booker chuckled, stroking my cheek. Judging by his soft tone, and the fact that he’d closed the distance between us, he sensed my indignation. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “Cole and Lilah are going out and Sofia begged me to babysit.”
“That’s right. I forgot you mentioned that yesterday.” Warmth flooded my cheeks.
“I’m not a scoundrel, Tess,” he said gently. “I very much want to kiss you again.” And he did. This time he kicked the heat up a notch, if that was possible. He cradled my head in his hands and pressed his mouth onto mine, his lips still cold from the iced water. My eyelids fluttered closed, and this time I failed to stifle my sigh. He pulled me closer. I was lost. Any thoughts of telling him I didn’t want a relationship were shoved to the furthest corner of my mind. He pulled back, his breath haggard.
“I should go,” he said, resting his forehead on mine. “How about you come over to my place and I’ll make us some lunch tomorrow. I’ll pick you up around one?”
“I’d like that.”
Then he was gone. I paced to the kitchen then back to the living room, anxiety surging through me now that he wasn’t around clouding my brain. “You’ve been dying to kiss him. Why are you freaking out?” I snapped to myself.
My fears hit me like a sledgehammer. It wasn’t just the fear of Garen finding me that had me in knots. The fear of getting into something I couldn’t get out of tore me up inside. The fear of being trapped again. The fear of opening myself up to another person on such an intimate level again. Garen’s abuse involved more than his fists. He’d taken away my freedom. Destroyed my feelings of self-worth.
If I even looked at another man, no matter how innocently, he overreacted, insisting I was a whore. I had to give Garen a detailed agenda of everywhere I went. Often he’d show up just to make sure I was where I said I’d be. And there was the tracking app he secretly placed on my phone. I never wanted to feel that way again. Never. I’d lost myself with Garen. I was still somewhat lost no matter how hard I’d tried to move past everything.
“I can’t do this again. I’m not ready.” I sank to the floor. “Why did I think I could do this?” I wrapped my arms around me as deep sobs wracked my body.
Chapter 10
Booker
“Crap.” I smacked the steering wheel. “Forgot the folder and I have to have it.” I looked at my watch, frowning. I was going to be late. I made a U-turn and headed back to Tess’ place.
A wide grin filled my face. Tess’ kiss could drive a man to his knees. Not what I expected from someone so timid. Part of me worried she’d slap my face. Luckily, she didn’t, though if she did, it would’ve been worth it. “Wow, what a great couple of kisses.”
I debated for days whether to do it or not. My train wreck of a past with women kept me from putting myself out there again. But Seth reminded me I didn’t have to fall in love. “Just have fun. Share some laughs.”
“Yeah, might’ve gone a little past that.” I blew out a breath as my nerves gnawed at my gut, hoping I wouldn’t regret my choice.
I pulled up in front of Maggie’s old trailer. How different it looked from the first time I’d seen it almost four years ago. The MET suspected Maggie and her mom of being part of a heroin ring. Thankfully, we were wrong. I’ll never forget the first time I met her on that cold January day. Skinny, pale. The walking dead had more color. Now she was married to my best friend, and the haunting look that held her eyes that day, gone.
I set the emergency break and stepped out. As I approached the trailer, sobs, Tess’ sobs, could be heard through the closed door. Instinct kicked in. I crouched and grabbed the Glock strapped to my calf under the leg of my jeans and crept up to the trailer. Adrenalin, my drug of choice, surged through my veins. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed the rush of police work until right this second. Too bad the stress about
I stood slowly and looked through the living room window from the porch. Tess was crouched on the floor, crying into her hands. She appeared to be alone.
I pounded on the door and watched her reaction. She only looked at the door, which meant if there was someone else in the trailer, they were by the door, or she really was alone, and I’m an overreacting idiot. Probably the latter. So why was she crying? Since she didn’t have a phone she couldn’t have gotten bad news, and she said her mail wouldn’t be forwarded to her new address until Monday.
She jumped up, wiping her face. I stepped back to the door and said, “Tess, are you okay?” No answer. I could hear her muffled cries still. I pulled the gun tight to my chest. “Tess, are you okay? I can hear you crying.”
“Yes,” she finally answered. “But I’m not dressed, I was in the shower. I’ll talk to you Monday.” She added, “Sorry.”
Monday? We talked about her coming over for lunch tomorrow. Something wasn’t right. Was she trying to send me a message? “Tess, I’m coming in. Either you unlock the door or I’ll shoot it open.”
The door immediately flew opened. “Don’t shoot. I’m fine.” She dried more tears with the back of her hand and signaled for me to come in. I stepped in the doorway and scanned the room. “I said I’m fine. You can put your Glock away.”
“You don’t look fine.” I slipped the gun back into the holster, tugging my pant leg back over it. I glanced into her pink face as I straightened. Her wobbling lower lip betrayed her gallant effort to stop crying. “What’s wrong?” I asked carefully.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I thought I could, but I’m not ready.” Tears again tumbled down her cheeks.
I stepped to her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. She fell onto my chest and the waterworks began once more. Only then did I notice her trembling. I held her tighter. “Please tell me what’s wrong, Tess.”
“I thought I was ready. I thought I could move on,” she said against my chest. “Over the past few months, I’ve tried to let the past go, and I honestly thought I was ready.” She pulled back and looked into my eyes. “I’m not. I’m so, so sorry.”