Page 63 of Average Joe

“Marley, Marley, Marley. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Jerk.” She slapped my chest and pushed away, and hell, her lips quivered, fighting a grin again. Yeah, she wanted me.

Too bad she hadn’t figured that out yet.

I retrieved the fragile cups from the closet and headed downstairs, silent but satisfied. Marley opened the front door. I carried the box to her house, waited for her to open up, then slid the container into her arms.”Come get the rest whenever you’re ready. I’ll box ’em up.”

“Thank you, really. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

It didn’t go unnoticed that she blocked the entrance, but I wouldn’t push. A woman needed to feel safe in her space.

“See ya ’round, gorgeous.”

“Bye, Joe.”

I jogged across the yard, then marched upstairs to take care of my boner.

* * *

Wednesday was garbage day. Much like every other day of the week, I rose around seven, stumbled through my morning routine with Ginger under my feet, and planned my day while sucking down a hot mug of dark roast. I finished my second cup of coffee, waiting for the clatter and bang of the Waste Management trucks to pass before heading outside to collect the emptied bins.

Cold cement bit my bare feet while I padded down the driveway, my attention focused on the house next door. I knew Marley wasn’t home, because like every other morning, I stood at my window while she warmed her car and watched until she pulled out of the driveway. If I couldn’t personally send her off with a kiss while kneading that spectacular ass, at least I could make sure she traveled from her front door to her Subi without running into danger. As I headed back up the drive, movement caught my eye, a large figure slipping behind Marley’s house.

“The fuck?” Barefoot and bare-chested, I jogged across her lawn. The man—and I knew the perp was male by his stature—slipped through her back gate as I rounded the corner, his head covered in a black beanie, face and neck shielded by a blue mask, hammer dangling from his gloved hand.

Blood-red mist clouded my vision.

Sprinting, I shoved through the gate, dead set on immobilizing the bastard. I reached him mid-strike, hammer raised to the glass, and tackled the stranger away from her back door. The weaselly fucker knew how to wrestle, but between dodging blows and trying to stay upright, I landed three good strikes to his gut.

On the third, he wheezed and stumbled backward, the mask around his face askew. Our eyes met briefly before he ran the way he’d come. I gave chase but quit before I hit the gnarly pavement of our street, the pads of my feet already throbbing in protest.

I limped home after closing her gate, curled Ginger to my chest, and called Frank.

Twenty minutes later, I gave my statement. Fifteen more, and Marley sped into her driveway, slammed the brakes, stormed my way and, more animated than necessary, got up in my face.

“Did you see him?” was the first question she asked. “What did he look like? How tall was he?” She studied my eyes as if she could pull images of the guy from my pupils. “Young or old? Dark hair?”

Hell, the woman appeared excited, which made no sense. Still, I answered, “Only thing I know for certain was he had blue eyes, pale skin. Five-ten, five-eleven maybe.”

One of the cops, Officer Watson, took Marley aside and spoke to her in private. She shook her head, gnawed her thumbnail, talked in whispered tones. A piece of lace, white and sheer, hung out between her baggy pink sweatpants and white hoodie. Clearly, her work costume.

My blood heated. Fuck. Did those cops know what she did for a living? Did they picture what she wore underneath that heavy cotton?

Watson stood a respectful distance away, maintaining eye contact except when he jotted notes on his pad, while the other officer—Hayes, Haynes, or Heims, I couldn’t remember—bagged the hammer. Both of them remained strictly professional, thank fuck, because with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, who knew how I’d have responded had they looked at my girl the wrong way.

Heh. My girl. I chuckled, then shook the thought away.

I needed them gone, wanted Marley to myself. Her familiarity with that Watson character raised my hackles.

When the blue Ford sedan finally rolled away, Marley made her way to where I’d settled on her patio lounger, my legs outstretched, my dirtied feet crossed at the ankles. Ly would have a few choice words at my next appointment.

Arms crossed, she stared down at me. “You sure he had blue eyes?”

What the hell? “Why you stuck on the eye color, Marley?”

The woman closed her eyes, drew in a long breath. “Never mind.” Those gorgeous peepers, framed in dark liner and shades of golds and browns, opened, spilling a thousand tales of heartbreak. “Thank you, Joe,” she whispered. “What would I have come home to if you hadn’t seen that guy?”

I fought a shiver. The thought of Marley injured, or worse? Fuck. I wanted to drag her into my castle and lock her away from every threat in the world.

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