Page 152 of Hot Cops

She started to shake her head, but Blake’s grip tightened. “Blake?—”

Her denial was cut off with a kiss. The second his lips touched hers, she was transported back in time. Their first kiss had been right here, in almost this exact same spot. They’d spent weeks circling around each other at the sub shop, her flirting while he made completely inappropriate but entirely hot sexual innuendoes. Then one afternoon, he’d offered her a ride on his motorcycle and she’d accepted. They had ridden around the city for nearly an hour as Chloe clung to his leather jacket and breathed in the humid Louisiana air. They’d stopped at the French Quarter, walking along the crowded streets until dusk, talking about everything and nothing. When he’d pulled up in front of her house that night, Blake had gotten off the Harley, taken her face in his hands and kissed her.

It had felt just like this—exciting, scary, overwhelming, powerful. And then—like now—Chloe had been helpless to do anything other than accept.

Helpless.

The word jarred, going through her like nails on a chalkboard.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed. Blake clearly hadn’t anticipated her refusal as he stepped back, slightly off balance at her rough shove.

“I’m going inside.”

He smiled. “Running away isn’t going to save you.”

Her pride piqued. “I’m not running. I’m finished with the conversation. I’ll text you later this week once I’ve found a place to take your photo for the calendar. We’ll get it over with and then, this,” she waved her hand between them, “is over. Again.” She stressed the last word, letting it punctuate her sentence like an angry accusation.

Of course, Blake didn’t acknowledge anything she’d said. “We’ll see.” Then straddled his bike, put his helmet on, fired up the engine and pulled away.

Chloe balled her hand into a fist, wishing she had something—anything—to punch. Blake infuriated her, pissed her off, left her struggling to keep her wits.

She released a loud “argh!” then muttered every bad name she could think of as she returned to the house. The front door had only just closed behind her when she heard her mother calling out for her to come to the kitchen.

She sighed. The kitchen window faced the front yard, which meant her mother had no doubt witnessed the entire scene with Blake. Great. Her Sunday just kept getting better and better.

“Did you need help with something?” Chloe asked, half-heartedly hoping for a reprieve. She didn’t get it.

Her mother was sitting at the small kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee and looking wearier than Chloe had ever seen her.

Mama shook her head, then pointed to the chair across from her.

Chloe decided to take the bull by the horns. There was no purpose to beating around the bush. “I guess you saw Blake kiss me.”

Her mother didn’t reply at first. “Actually, no. I didn’t. I didn’t think it was my place to spy.”

Chloe bit her lip, wondering if there was any physical way to kick her own ass. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Her mother smiled, though the expression certainly didn’t depict happiness. “Aren’t you tired, Chloe?”

Chloe was. Exhausted. But she couldn’t understand how her mother knew that. “What do you mean?”

“Anger takes a lot of energy to maintain. You’ve been holding on to your Blake fury for nearly a decade now. Doesn’t that leave you drained?”

Chloe swallowed heavily. Truthfully, until running into Blake this week, she thought she’d let go of all those old hurts. If someone would have asked, Chloe would have laughed and sworn she didn’t have any feelings for the man one way or the other. This past week had proven that belief false. She was harboring more pain and rage than she’d thought possible. And her mom was right. It was wearing her out…dragging her down.

“I was just surprised to see him again. It sort of knocked me back to a bad time. But it’ll pass soon.”

“No. It won’t. None of this is going to go away until you forgive him.”

Chloe’s temper sparked. “Forgive him? God, Mama. At some point, you’re going to have to stop being a doormat, stop letting people take advantage of your kindness.”

“I don’t think it makes me weak to try to find the good inside people. That’s not being a doormat. It’s being compassionate.”

“And look what that compassion got you. Blake stole two hundred dollars from your purse. That was our grocery money for the week. Maybe you don’t remember how tight times were back then, but I do. We barely made it until payday at the end of the month.”

Her mother reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a wad of money, tossing it onto the table between them.

“What’s that?” Chloe asked.

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