“I’m going to get a quick shower,” I say. “Watch the water in the pot so it doesn’t boil over. When I get out, I’ll make you dinner.” I stop beneath the doorframe and shoot her a glance over my shoulder. “One more thing. Don’t ever think you’re not good enough for me, because you always have been.”

I cross my bedroom floor, yanking off what remains of my clothes, and walk into my bathroom. I blast the hot water, waiting for the steam to rise before stepping in.

My hands are making quick work of lathering my chest when the bathroom door opens. Through the thick wall of hot mist, I watch Tess stroll in naked, her hips swinging with every step. She opens the glass door and shows me the condom tucked between her two fingers.

“I turned the stove off,” she says. “Do you want me to wash your back, or would you prefer I take you from the front?”

Chapter 17

Curran

Declan polishes off his sausage stew. “What’s going on with you and Contessa?” he asks me. “You barely talk to her, and she keeps her distance.”

That’s because she doesn’t want you to know what’s going on between us. “Nothing. She’s a good kid.” I take the last bite of my sandwich. Damn, it’s good.

“Did you piss her off?”

“Not lately,” I say, truthfully.

“Then what’s up? Every time you’re in the same room, there’s all this goddamn tension between you.”

“Nah. It’s just your imagination.”

My phone buzzes. I have to work not to grin when I see the text from Tess.

Thanks for dinner again, cop.

Speak of the devil in argyles and corduroy. I glance at the time. Looks like she’s on break between her Torts and Civil Liability classes.

Last night, I cooked her my specialty: Velveeta Shells and Cheese smothered with sautéed mushrooms and onions, just like I did the first night she spent at my place. I tap on the keyboard. You’re welcome. If you’d like, I can make you ravioli tomorrow night.

Ravioli? Is this another secret recipe passed down from your ancestors—like your gourmet grilled cheese?

Oh, yeah, I type. It was given to me by our great uncle, the Chef of the Boyardee.

I hit send, only to catch Declan watching me. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Who?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know who. Contessa.”

“You mean Tess? Yeah. I told you, she’s a good kid.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it,” he tells me, pushing his empty bowl aside. “The problem is, you can’t have her.”

I roll my neck from side to side. “Why? Because she works with you?”

“No. To be honest, I’m willing to ignore that fact.”

“Is that so? Why the change of heart?”

“Because I think she might be good for you.”

This makes me grin. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Problem is, I don’t think you stand a chance at getting her.”

“I did before,” I shoot back, reaching for a leftover pickle.

“Back then you had a keg and Jell-O shots working to your advantage. That’s not the case anymore.” Declan leans back in his chair, one of his more arrogant smirks playing across his face as he swirls the glass of water in his hand. “You know what your problem is?”

I scroll through my phone. “Nope. But I bet you’re going to tell me.”

“You don’t know how to treat a lady.”

This time, it’s my turn to meet him with a cocky grin. “I don’t?”

“Nope,” he says, emphasizing the “p.”

“Is that a fact—but I take it you do, right?”

“Damn right. Curran, you may have your moves. You may get laid, but you don’t know how to treat a classy broad. A woman like Contessa—”

“Tess,” I clarify again.

His smile widens. “Okay, we’ll play it your way. A woman like Tess is used to a certain guy—refined, highly educated, and driven.”

He’s starting to piss me off. “Like you?”

“That’s right. You need to put on the charm. Open doors, shit like that.”

“Shit like how?”

His smile fades. “Don’t be an asshole. I’m trying to teach you something here, so pay attention.”

I show him my phone. “Oh, I’m taking copious notes, believe me. Teach me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”

“Women love me,” he says in the same way I ask for the time.

“Do they?”

“They do. I get dates. All the time. You know why?”

“They think you have money, and want you to be their sugar daddy.”

“No. I—”

“They lost a bet.”

“No.”

“They prefer men with small dicks.”

It’s then that Assistant District Attorney O’Brien loses his cool and nails me in the face with a roll. To his credit, he does it when no one’s looking, or because no one at Rhonda’s Bistro gives a shit.

“My dick is bigger than yours, and you goddamn know it.”

I laugh. “Says you.”

“Look,” he says, adjusting his tie. “You’re pissing me off, but I’m still going to give you some free advice.”

“You’re a hell of a guy.”

“Do you want the goddamn advice or not?”

I’m kind of curious what Declan has to say, even though it’s probably straight-up bullshit. “Sure. Let ’er rip.”

He leans back again and spreads out his hands. “Treat her like she’s a goddess.”

“Goddess?” I repeat.

“Yeah, you know, like your world isn’t the same until you see her smile, touch her skin, and breathe the same air she does.”

Holy God.

“Bring her flowers for absolutely no reason. When she asks you why, let her know it was because you missed her, and couldn’t stop thinking about her.”

And couldn’t stop thinking about her?

Declan continues like this is the greatest advice ever despite my WTF expression.

“Take her hand, interlacing your fingers with hers. Draw her close to you when it’s cold to shield her from the bitter wind.”

“Jesus, Declan.”

“You say Jesus. I say help her off with her coat, and you’ll be helping her out of her panties next.”

I nod. “Okay. Got it.” I go back to eyeing my phone, grinning when I see Tess’s reply. If I pick up her list of ingredients, she’ll make me dinner tonight. Sweet.

“You already fucked her, didn’t you?” Declan asks, looking stunned.

He can’t see my phone, but he knows me well enough. “Oh, hell yeah. And I didn’t even have to shield her against the bitter wind.”

In fact, Tess and I have been spending every night together for the past month. The last few nights have been at my place; tonight I’ll be at hers. But that’s my business, not his. My phone buzzes. Another text, this time from Wren. “Hey, Wren wants to hit Merve’s next week for brews and wings. You want to go?”

“You think I’m full of shit.”

“Yup. So you up for it? She’s thinking either Wednesday or Thursday.”

He ignores me. “Pick a woman here. Anyone between the ages of twenty-two and forty-two, without a ring.”

I know where he’s headed, but I ask anyway. “Why?”

“I want you to watch me pick her up. By tomorrow night at the latest, her legs will be locked like a vise around my hips and she’ll be calling to God, Jesus, and anywhere from three to four disciples.” He scoffs when I laugh. “Come on. I’m serious. Pick one out and watch me work my magic.”

Declan’s always been a player. Always. Political aspirations aside, he doesn’t commit, and I’m not sure he ever will. But if he ever does, one thing I know: he’ll never cheat, and he’ll never look back. Nope. If Declan ever falls for someone, it’s going to be hard and there won’t be anything to cushion his landing.