Page 85 of Brazen Mistakes

“No, it really couldn’t.”

I switch up my stretches, RJ following me, the silence between us comfortable. He looks different now, in a hat instead of his earmuffs to protect his bare scalp from the cold. Just like with Jansen the other night, a strange urgeto verify he’s the same guy comes over me, and I close the distance between us, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Exhaustion is making me paranoid.

After a moment, RJ’s arms band around me, and needing the closeness, willing to risk taking it too far, I wrap my legs around his waist.

I want things to go too far.

Surprisingly, he groans and carries me up the porch, pressing me against the front of the house, our pelvises grinding against each other, our bodies messy and urgent.

We kiss, each moment building in intensity, and I’m wondering what things are on RJ’s bucket list and how quickly I can check them off, when he pulls back, his eyes as unfocused as mine feel. I panic, but his gaze stays warm.

“Inside?”

Oh thank God. “Yes, please.”

I slip my legs down as he keeps me caged in his arms, protected, precious.

Forcing one of his gloved hands into mine, I break the trance, tugging him to the front door.

The bright teal envelope waiting there ruins it, though.

RJ sees it a moment after me. “God damn it.”

Snatching the envelope up, I stuff my gloves into my pocket before tearing it open. I just want to get this over with, so I don’t have to live with the sense of dread squeezing my chest like a sports bra two sizes too small.

I want the fun stuff. I want to pretend the next ten minutes never happened.

Inside, there’s another “Thinking of You” card, a photo of children’s stuffed animals and toy soldiers decorating thefront, and inside, two pictures, one of Jansen’s naked ass as he books it around the house, Walker and I holding each other up with laughter, and the other of me waltzing with Trips.

The looks on our faces, the longing and pain, distract me from further investigation. Until RJ curses.

And there, at the bottom, another threat. “Broken girls get broken toys,” scrawled across one photo.

I find myself bundled into RJ’s arms, his voice soothing, his fingers digging into my scalp, pulling my ponytail loose. “Sugar, we’ll stop him. We’ll find a way,” he whispers to me, my breath halting, but no tears gathering.

I really am becoming a broken toy.

A cough from the foot of the porch pulls me from my pending meltdown, and I catch sight of Officer Tom Reed in a big tan puffer jacket on the front sidewalk. “You,” I say, my speaking ability fleeing at the whiplash of the last two minutes.

RJ’s body grows taut beside me, his arms squeezing tighter, like if he could, he’d pull me inside of him to protect me from this new threat.

“Yeah. Me. I was stopping by to let you know Bryce is out and that your restraining order is still active. You’re free to call me if you run into him. Do you need my card again?”

I’m certain my incredulity is showing when the officer’s brows furrow.

I figure I’ll throw him a bone. A verbal bone chucking, perhaps. “No shit. We figured that out almost a week ago. Thanks for your concern, but you’re too late.”

“He’s been here? Stalking you? That violates the terms of his release.”

Marching down the stairs, I shove the card into his hands. “He’s crafty, but yeah. He’s been letting me know he’s around. Watching. With this new delivery, the whole downstairs of the house will probably have to be abandoned. Apparently, I’ve done too good of a job staying out of my room for him to catch the good stuff this time.”

Officer Reed looks at the photos, his brow still creased, checking the card and the envelope next. “He didn’t sign it.”

“I can’t imagine I’ve collected a second stalker. Unless you’re here to confess?”

He sputters out a half a laugh. “No. How many of these?”

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