Page 39 of The Love Losers

“Yes,” I all but growl.

She holds my gaze, her hands lifting to grip my arms. “You’ve got to understand. That’s not what I’m used to. I’ve always…I’ve been the cherry on top, not the whole sundae.”

I grab my phone from the pile of bricks and pocket it. Then I take one of her hands in mine and lift it to my lips, pressing a kiss above her knuckles while I look at her. Her eyes widen and warm, and an answering warmth blooms in my chest as I weave my fingers through hers and lead her toward the door.

Only three bucket list items to get through…

“We’re leaving?” she asks, probably the only person other than me who’s ever regretted leaving this place in its current form.

“We’re getting ice cream sundaes.”

“At midnight?”

“At midnight. It’s happening. I’ll churn the ice cream myself if I have to.”

Her sweet laugh is music to my ears, but we’ve barely made it a couple of steps before the door bursts open, and someone shouts, “Police, put your hands in the air!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ROSIE

Well, shit.

Here’s the proof that I really am a love loser: the most romantic moment of my entire life is going to end with me being arrested.

A tall, lanky male police officer stands in the door with a flashlight pressed to his gut. A smaller figure stands behind him and to the side. His partner.

My brothers are going tokillme.

“I own this building,” Anthony says as he lifts his hands in the air, and I do the same. “I used my key to get in.”

“Sure you did, boss,” says the lanky officer. “I guess that’s why there are signs of wear on the lock. Now, come on out of there. Both of you. Hands up. Lift ’em to the sky like you mean it.”

I know better—a toddlerprobably knows better—but part of me is tempted to run for it. Instead, I set my teeth and step out past the officer, who smells distractingly of Bubbalicious gum, and his partner. Anthony follows me out.

Once we’re both outside, the taller officer closes the door to the warehouse. “Do you know why we’re here?” he asks ina condescending voice, shining his flashlight directly into our faces.

“No, but Iamaware of my rights,” Anthony says, sounding every inch Anthony Rosings Smith, heir to a fortune. He looks it too—his chin is raised slightly, his very fine jawline on display. “I’m free to enter and leave my own property as I see fit. And my lawyer will certainly have something to say about you blinding my friend with your flashlight.”

He’s doing what he did inside of that bar earlier—taking charge. I’ve seen him vulnerable and uncertain, but he’s good at this. Probably better than he realizes. Maybe it was being raised in that big house, knowing there was a fortune waiting for him at the end of the rainbow. But I could hardly hold that against him given he’s using his ability to try to protect me. It calms my racing heart.

The officer huffs out a breath, but he does shift the flashlight away from my eyes, leaving behind little sunbursts at the edges of my vision.

“You said you own the building?” says the second officer. Now that I’m not being blinded, I can tell she’s a woman, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Her hair and eyes are dark, nearly black.

“Yes,” Anthony says through his teeth. “And if you’ll allow me to show you my identification, you can easily verify that.”

The female officer gives her male counterpart a significant glance.

“You’re doing it again, Jolene,” he says with a sigh. “These here are criminals, and we don’t owe them the benefit of the doubt. What honest business goes on in a dark warehouse at midnight?”

I almost burst out laughing, because he’s right, really. It was a sketchy thing to do. But it felt like Anthony and I were flying.It felt like the bond between us was pulling us together like the ribbon on a gift.

“What were you doing in there?” she asks us directly.

“Like I said,” Anthony answers, his tone defensive. “It’s my property. What we were doing is our own business.”

“You’re making it sound like we snuck in there to have sex or do blow,” I say, laughing now, because I can’t help myself. Sometimes nerves come out as laughter, and they feel better that way, even if it’s always made people assume I’m a dumb blonde.

---